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Title: The Life of Hon. William F. Cody
       Known as Buffalo Bill The Famous Hunter, Scout and Guide

Author: William F. Cody

Release Date: November 10, 2003 [EBook #10030]
[Date last updated: July 5, 2006]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE OF HON. WILLIAM F. CODY ***




Produced by Papeters, Mary Meehan,
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                    THE LIFE OF HON. WILLIAM F. CODY

                         KNOWN AS BUFFALO BILL

                   THE FAMOUS HUNTER, SCOUT AND GUIDE.

                          _AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY_.

                                 1879




To GENERAL PHILIP H. SHERIDAN, THIS BOOK IS MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED
BY THE AUTHOR.

[Illustration: Yours Sincerely, W. F. Cody]




INTRODUCTORY.


The life and adventures of Hon. William F. Cody--Buffalo Bill--as told
by himself, make up a narrative which reads more like romance than
reality, and which in many respects will prove a valuable contribution
to the records of our Western frontier history. While no literary
excellence is claimed for the narrative, it has the greater merit of
being truthful, and is verified in such a manner that no one can doubt
its veracity. The frequent reference to such military men as Generals
Sheridan, Carr, Merritt, Crook, Terry, Colonel Royal, and other officers
under whom Mr. Cody served as scout and guide at different times and in
various sections of the frontier, during the numerous Indian campaigns
of the last ten or twelve years, affords ample proof of his
genuineness as a thoroughbred scout.

There is no humbug or braggadocio about Buffalo Bill. He is known far and
wide, and his reputation has been earned honestly and by hard work. By a
combination of circumstances he was educated to the life of a plainsman
from his youth up; and not the least interesting portion of his career is
that of his early life, passed as it was in Kansas during the eventful
and troubleous times connected with the settlement of that state.
Spending much time in the saddle, while a mere boy he crossed the plains
many times in company with bull-trains; on some of these trips he met
with thrilling adventures and had several hairbreadth escapes from death
at the hands of Indians. Then, for a while, he was dashing over the
plains as a pony-express rider. Soon afterwards, mounted on the high seat
of an overland stagecoach, he was driving a six-in-hand team. We next
hear of him cracking the bull-whacker's whip, and commanding a
wagon-train through a wild and dangerous country to the far West. During
the civil war he enlisted as a private, and became a scout with the Union
army; since the war he has been employed as hunter, trapper, guide, scout
and actor. As a buffalo hunter he has no superior; as a trailer of
Indians he has no equal. For many years he has taken an active part in
all the principal Indian campaigns on the Western frontier, and as a
scout and guide he has rendered inestimable services to the various
expeditions which he accompanied.

During his life on the plains he not only had many exciting adventures
himself, but he became associated with many of the other noted plainsmen,
and in his narrative he frequently refers to them and relates many
interesting incidents and thrilling events connected with them. He has
had a fertile field from which to produce this volume, and has frequently
found it necessary to condense the facts in order to embody the most
interesting events of his life. The following from a letter written by
General E. A. Carr, of the Fifth Cavalry, now commanding Fort McPherson,
speaks for itself:

       *       *       *       *       *

"I first met Mr. Cody, October 22d, 1868, at Buffalo Station, on the
Kansas Pacific railroad, in Kansas. He was scout and guide for the seven
companies of the Fifth Cavalry, then under Colonel Royal, and of which I
was ordered to take the command.

"From his services with my command, steadily in the field for nine
months, from October, 1868, to July, 1869, and at subsequent times, I am
qualified to bear testimony to his qualities and character.

"He was very modest and unassuming. I did not know for a long time how
good a title he had to the appellation, 'Buffalo Bill.' I am apt to
discount the claims of scouts, as they will occasionally exaggerate; and
when I found one who said nothing about himself, I did not think much of
him, till I had proved him. He is a natural gentleman in his manners as
well as in character, and has none of the roughness of the typical
frontiersman. He can take his own part when required, but I have never
heard of his using a knife or a pistol, or engaging in a quarrel where it
could be avoided. His personal strength and activity are such that he can
hardly meet a man whom he cannot handle, and his temper and disposition
are so good that no one has reason to quarrel with him.

"His eye-sight is better than a good field glass; he is the best trailer
I ever heard of; and also the best judge of the 'lay of country,'--that
is, he is able to tell what kind of country is ahead, so as to know how
to act. He is a perfect judge of distance, and always ready to tell
correctly how many miles it is to water, or to any place, or how many
miles have been marched.

"Mr. Cody seemed never to tire and was always ready to go, in the darkest
night or the worst weather, and usually volunteered, knowing what the
emergency required. His trailing, when following Indians or looking for
stray animals or game, is simply wonderful. He is a most extraordinary
hunter. I could not believe that a man could be certain to shoot antelope
running till I had seen him do it so often.

"In a fight Mr. Cody is never noisy, obstreperous or excited. In fact, I
never hardly noticed him in a fight, unless I happened to want him, or he
had something to report, when he was always in the right place, and his
information was always valuable and reliable.

"During the winter of 1868, we encountered hardships and exposure in
terrific snow storms, sleet, etc., etc. On one occasion, that winter, Mr.
Cody showed his quality by quietly offering to go with some dispatches to
General Sheridan, across a dangerous region, where another principal
scout was reluctant to risk himself.

"On the 13th of May, 1869, he was in the fight at Elephant Rock, Kansas,
and trailed the Indians till the 16th, when we got another fight out of
them on Spring Creek, in Nebraska, and scattered them after following
them one hundred and fifty miles in three days. It was at Spring Creek
where Cody was ahead of the command about three miles, with the advance
guard of forty men, when two hundred Indians suddenly surrounded them.
Our men, dismounted and formed in a circle, holding their horses, firing
and slowly retreating. They all, to this day, speak of Cody's coolness
and bravery. This was the Dog Soldier band which captured Mrs. Alderdice
and Mrs. Weichel in Kansas. They strangled Mrs. Alderdice's baby, killed
Mrs. Weichel's husband, and took a great deal of property and stock from
different persons. We got on their trail again, June 28th, and followed
it nearly two hundred miles, till we struck the Indians on Sunday, July
11th, 1869, at Summit Spring. The Indians, as soon as they saw us coming,
killed Mrs. Alderdice with a hatchet, and shot Mrs. Weichel, but
fortunately not fatally, and she was saved.

"Mr. Cody has since served with me as post guide and scout at Fort
McPherson, where he frequently distinguished himself.

"In the summer of 1876, Cody went with me to the Black Hills region where
he killed Yellow-Hand. Afterwards he was with the Big Horn and
Yellowstone expedition. I consider that his services to the country and
the army by trailing, finding and fighting Indians, and thus protecting
the frontier settlers, and by guiding commands over the best and most
practicable routes, have been far beyond the compensation he has
received. His friends of the Fifth Cavalry are all glad that he is in a
lucrative business, and hope that he may live long and prosper.
Personally, I feel under obligations to him for assistance in my
campaigns which no other man could, or would, have rendered. Of course I
wish him, and his, every success."

E. A. CARR, Lt. Col. 5th Cav., Brev. Maj. Gen'l U. S. Army. FORT
McPHERSON, NEBRASKA, July 3d, 1878

       *       *       *       *       *

Buffalo Bill is now an actor, and is meeting with success. He owns a
large and valuable farm adjoining the town of North Platte, Nebraska, and
there his family live in ease and comfort. He has also an extensive
cattle ranch on the Dismal river, sixty-five miles north of North Platte,
his partner being Major Frank North, the old commander of the celebrated
Pawnee scouts. While many events of his career are known to the public,
yet the reader will find in this narrative much that will be entirely new
and intensely interesting to both young and old.

THE PUBLISHER.




Illustrations.


THE AUTHOR, PORTRAIT, ON STEEL

YOUTHFUL ADVENTURES

SAMUEL'S FATAL ACCIDENT

BILLINGS AS A BOCARRO

BILLINGS RIDING LITTLE GRAY

EXCITING SPORT

STAKING OUT LOTS

MY FATHER STABBED

MY FATHER'S ESCAPE

LIFE OR DEATH

BOYISH SPORT

TWO TO ONE

KILLING MY FIRST INDIAN

A PRAIRIE SCHOONER

WILD BILL (PORTRAIT)

HOLDING THE FORT

CAMPING IN A SEPULCHRE

RAFTING OS THE PLATTE

RIDING PONY EXPRESS

SAVED BY CHIEF RAIN IN-THE-FACE

CHANGING HORSES

ATTACK ON STAGE COACH

ALF. SLADE KILLING THE DRIVER

THE HORSE THIEVES DEN

MY ESCAPE FROM THE HORSE THIEVES

BOB SCOTT'S FAMOUS COACH HIDE

"NEARLY EVERY MAN HAD TWO HORSES"

WILD BILL AND THE OUTLAWS

WILD BILL'S DUEL

GENERAL GEO. A. CUSTER (Portrait)

DEPARTING RICHES

TONGUES AND TENDERLOINS

THE INDIAN HORSE THIEVES

THE MAN WHO FIRED THE GUN

BUFFALO BILL

"DOWN WENT HIS HORSE"

THE FIRE SIGNAL

KIT CARSON (Portrait)

A GOOD HORSE

A BIG JOKE

AMBUSHING THE INDIANS

WHOA THERE!

DELIVERING DISPATCHES TO GENERAL SHERIDAN

THE TWO TRAMPS

CARRYING DISPATCHES

GEN'L PHIL. SHERIDAN (PORTRAIT)

BATTLE ON THE ARICKAREE

BRINGING MEAT INTO CAMP

"INDIANS!"

GENERAL E. A. CARR (PORTRAIT)

A CRACK SHOT

A HARD CROWD

CAMPING IN THE SNOW

A WELCOME VISITOR

ANTELOPES

THE RECAPTURE OF BEVINS

ROBBING A STAGE COACH

INDIAN VILLAGE

THE KILLING OF TALL BULL

AN OLD BONE

A WEDDING CEREMONY

A RIDE FOR LIFE

PRAIRIE DOG VILLAGE

McCARTHY'S FRIGHT

FINDING THE REMAINS OF THE BUCK PARTY

SPOTTED TAIL (PORTRAIT)

GRAND DUKE ALEXIS (PORTRAIT)

INDIAN EXERCISES

TWO-LANCE KILLING A BUFFALO

AN EMBARRASSING SITUATION?

TEXAS JACK (PORTRAIT)

RIFLES

STUDYING THE PARTS

BEHIND THE FOOTLIGHTS

LEARNING THE GAME

GETTING SATISFACTION

A DUEL WITH CHIEF YELLOW HAND

SCOUTING ON A STEAMBOAT

CLOSE QUARTERS

ONE OF THE TROUPE




Contents


CHAPTER I.

CHILDHOOD.

Early Days in Iowa--A Brother's Death--The Family Move to a New
Country--Incidents on the Road--The Horse Race--Our "Little Gray"
Victorious--A Pleasant Acquaintance--Uncle Elijah Cody--Our New
Home--My Ponies.

CHAPTER II.

EARLY INFLUENCES.

Dress Parade at Fort Leavenworth--The Beautiful Salt Creek Valley--The
Mormon Emigrants--The Wagon Trains--The Cholera--A Lively Scene--My First
Sight of Indians--"Dolly" and "Prince"--A Long-Lost Relative Turns
up--Adventurous Career of Horace Billings--His Splendid
Horsemanship--Catching Wild Horses.

CHAPTER III.

BOY DAYS IN KANSAS.

My Indian Acquaintances--An Indian Barbecue--Beginning of the Kansas
Troubles--An Indiscreet Speech by my Father, who is Stabbed for his
Boldness--Persecutions at the Hands of the Missourians--A Strategic
Escape--A Battle at Hickory Point--A Plan to Kill Father is Defeated by
Myself--He is Elected to the Lecompton Legislature--I Enter the Employ of
William Russell--Herding Cattle--A Plot to Blow Up our House--A Drunken
Missourian on the War-Path.

CHAPTER IV.

YOUTHFUL EXPERIENCES.

At School--My First Love Scrape--I Punish my Rival, and then Run Away--My
First Trip Across the Plains--Steve Gobel and I are Friends once
more--Death of my Father--I Start for Salt Lake--Our Wagon Train
Surprised by Indians, who Drive us off, and Capture our Outfit--I Kill my
First Indian--Our Return to Leavenworth--I am Interviewed by a Newspaper
Reporter, who gives me a Good "Send-Off."

CHAPTER V.

IN BUSINESS.

My Second Trip Across the Plains--The Salt Lake Trail--Wild Bill--He
Protects me from the Assault of a Bully--A Buffalo Hunt--Our Wagon Train
Stampeded by Buffaloes--We are Taken Prisoners by the Mormons--We Proceed
to Fort Bridger.

CHAPTER VI.

HARD TIMES.

A Dreary Winter At Fort Bridger--Short Rations--Mule Steaks--Homeward
Bound in the Spring--A Square Meal--Corraled by Indians--A Mule
Barricade--We Hold the Fort--Home Again--Off for the West--Trapping on
the Chugwater And Laramie Rivers--We go to Sleep In a Human Grave--A
Horrifying Discovery--A Jollification at Oak Grove Ranch--Home Once
More--I go to School--The Pike's Peak Gold Excitement--Down the Platte
River on a Raft--I Become a Pony Express Rider.

CHAPTER VII.

ACCIDENTS AND ESCAPES.

Trapping on Prairie Dog Creek--An Accident whereby we Lose one of our
Oxen--I Fall and Break my Leg--Left Alone in Camp--Unwelcome Visitors--A
Party of Hostile Sioux Call upon me and Make Themselves at Home--Old
Rain-in-the-Face Saves my Life--Snow-Bound-A Dreary Imprisonment--Return
of my Partner--A Joyful Meeting--We Pull Out for Home--Harrington Dies.

CHAPTER VIII.

ADVENTURES ON THE OVERLAND ROAD.

Introduction to Alf. Slade--He Employs me as a Pony Express Rider--I Make
a Long Ride--Indians Attack an Overland Stage Coach--Wild Bill Leads a
Successful Expedition against the Indians--A Grand Jollification at
Sweetwater Bridge--Slade Kills a Stage Driver--The End of the Spree--A
Bear Hunt--I fall among Horse Thieves--My Escape--I Guide a Party to
Capture the Gang.

CHAPTER IX.

FAST DRIVING.

Bob Scott, the Stage Driver--The Story of the Most Reckless Piece of
Stage Driving that ever Occurred on the Overland Road.

CHAPTER X.

QUESTIONABLE PROCEEDINGS.

The Civil War--Jayhawking--Wild Bill's Fight with the McCandless Gang of
Desperadoes--I become Wild Bill's Assistant Wagon-Master--We Lose our
Last Dollar on a Horse Race--He becomes a Government Scout--He has a Duel
at Springfield.

CHAPTER XI.

A SOLDIER.

Scouting against the Indians in the Kiowa and Comanche country--The
Red-Legged Scouts--A Trip to Denver--Death of my Mother--I Awake one
Morning to Find myself a Soldier--I am put on Detached Service as a
Scout--The Chase after Price--An Unexpected Meeting with Wild Bill--An
Unpleasant Situation--Wild Bill's Escape from the Southern Lines--The
Charge upon Price's Army--We return to Springfield.

CHAPTER XII.

A WEDDING.

I Fall in Love--A Successful Courting Expedition--I am Married--The
Happiest Event of my Life--Our Trip up the Missouri River--The
Bushwhackers Come after me--I become Landlord of a Hotel--Off for the
Plains once more--Scouting on the Frontier for the Government--A Ride
with General Custer--An Expedition from Fort Hays has a Lively Chase
after Indians--Cholera in Camp.

CHAPTER XIII.

A MILLIONAIRE.

A Town Lot Speculation--"A Big Thing"--I become Half-Owner of a
City--Corner Lots Reserved--Rome's Rapid Rise--We consider ourselves
Millionaires--Dr. Webb--Hays City--We Regard ourselves as Paupers--A Race
with Indians--Captain Graham's Scout after the Indians.

CHAPTER XIV.

EARNING A TITLE.

Hunting for the Kansas Pacific--How I got my Name of "Buffalo Bill"--The
Indians give me a Lively Chase--They get a Dose of their own
Medicine--Another Adventure--Scotty and myself Corraled by Indians--A
Fire Signal brings Assistance--Kit Carson.

CHAPTER XV.

CHAMPION BUFFALO KILLER.

A Buffalo Killing Match with Billy Comstock--An Excursion party from St.
Louis come out to Witness the Sport--I win the Match, and am declared the
Champion Buffalo Killer of the Plains.

CHAPTER XVI.

A COURIER.

Scouting--Captured by Indians--A Strategic Escape--A Hot Pursuit--The
Indians led into an Ambush--Old Satanta's Tricks and Threats--Excitement
at Fort Larned--Herders and Wood-Choppers Killed by the Indians--A
Perilous Ride--I get into the wrong Pew--Safe, arrival at Fort
Hays--Interview with General Sheridan--My ride to Fort Dodge--I return
to Fort Larned--My Mule gets away from me--A long Walk--The Mule Passes
In his Chips.

CHAPTER XVII.

AN APPOINTMENT.

General Sheridan appoints me Guide and Chief of Scouts of the Fifth
Cavalry--The Dog Soldiers--General Forsyth's Fight on the Arickaree Fork.

CHAPTER XVIII.

SCOUTING.

Arrival of the Fifth Cavalry at Fort Hays--Out on a Scout--A little
Skirmish with Indians--A Buffalo Hunt--A False Alarm in camp--A Scout on
the Beaver--The Supply Camp is Surprised--Arrival of General Carr--The
new Lieutenant and his Reception--Another Indian Hunt--An Engagement--A
Crack Shot--I have a little Indian fight of my own--Return to Fort
Wallace--While hunting Buffaloes with a small Party, we are Attacked by
Fifty Indians.

CHAPTER XIX.

A TOUGH TIME.

A Winter's Campaign in the Canadian River Country--Searching for
Penrose's Command--A Heavy Snow-Storm--Taking the Wagon Train down a
Mountain Side--Camp Turkey--Darkey Deserters from Penrose's
Command--Starvation in Penrose's Camp--We reach the Command with
Timely Relief--Wild Bill--A Beer Jollification--Hunting
Antelopes--Return to Fort Lyon.

CHAPTER XX.

AN EXCITING CHASE.

A Difficulty with a Quartermaster's Agent--I give him a Severe
Pounding--Stormy Interview with General Bankhead and Captain Laufer--I
put another "Head" on the Quartermaster's Agent--I am Arrested--In the
Guard-House--General Bankhead Releases me--A Hunt after Horse
Thieves--Their Capture--Escape of Bevins--His Recapture--Escape of
Williams--Bevins Breaks Out of Jail--His Subsequent Career.

CHAPTER XXI.

A MILITARY EXPEDITION.

The Fifth Cavalry is Ordered to the Department of the Platte--Liquids
_vs._ Solids--A Skirmish with the Indians--Arrival at Fort
McPherson--Appointed Chief of Scouts--Major Frank North and the Pawnee
Scouts--Belden the White Chief--The Shooting Match--Review of the Pawnee
Scouts--An Expedition against the Indians--"Buckskin Joe."

CHAPTER XXII.

A DESPERATE FIGHT.

Pawnees _vs_. Siouxs--We strike a Large Trail--The Print of a Woman's
Shoe--The Summit Springs Fight--A Successful Charge--Capture of the
Indian Village--Rescue of a White Woman--One hundred and forty Indians
Killed--I kill Tall Bull and Capture his Swift Steed--The Command
proceeds to Fort Sedgwick--Powder Face--A Scout after Indian
Horse-Thieves--"Ned Buntline"--"Tall Bull" as a Racer--Powder Face wins a
Race without a Rider--An Expedition to the Niobrara--An Indian Tradition.

CHAPTER XXIII.

ADMINISTERING JUSTICE.

I make my Home at Fort McPherson--Arrival of my Family--Hunting and Horse
Racing--An Indian Raid--Powder Face Stolen--A Lively Chase--An Expedition
to the Republican River Country--General Duncan--A Skirmish with the
Indians--A Stern Chase--An Addition to my Family--Kit Carson Cody--I am
made a Justice of the Peace--A Case of Replevin--I perform a Marriage
Ceremony--Professor Marsh's Fossil-Hunting Expedition.

CHAPTER XXIV.

HUNTING EXPEDITIONS.

The Grand Hunt of General Sheridan, James Gordon Bennett, and other
Distinguished Gentlemen--From Fort McPherson to Fort Hays--Incidents of
the Trip--"Ten Days on the Plains"--General Carr's Hunting Expedition--A
Joke on McCarthy--A Search for the Remains of Buck's Surveying Party, who
had been Murdered by the Indians.

CHAPTER XXV.

HUNTING WITH A GRAND DUKE.

The Grand Duke Alexis Hunt--Selection of a Camp--I Visit Spotted
Tail's Camp--The Grand Duke and Party arrive at Camp Alexis--Spotted
Tail's Indians give a Dance--The Hunt--Alexis Kills his First
Buffalo--Champagne--The Duke Kills another Buffalo--More Champagne--End
of the Hunt--Departure of the Duke and his Party.

CHAPTER XXVI.

SIGHT-SEEING.

My Visit in the East--Reception in Chicago--Arrival in New York--I am
well Entertained by my old Hunting Friends--I View the Sights of the
Metropolis--Ned Buntline--The Play of "Buffalo Bill"--I am Called Upon to
make a Speech--A Visit to my Relatives--Return to the West.

CHAPTER XXVII.

HONORS.

Arrival of the Third Cavalry at Fort McPherson--A Scout after Indians--A
Desperate Fight with Thirteen Indians--A Hunt with the Earl of Dunraven--A
Hunt with a Chicago Party--Milligan's Bravery--Neville--I am Elected to
the Nebraska Legislature.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

AN ACTOR.

I resolve to go upon the Stage--I resign my Seat in the
Legislature--Texas Jack--"The Scouts of the Plains"--A Crowded House--A
Happy Thought--A Brilliant _Debut_--A Tour of the Country.

CHAPTER XXIX.

STARRING.

The Theatrical Season of 1873-74--Wild Bill and his Tricks--He Leaves us
at Rochester--He becomes a "Star"--A Bogus "Wild Bill "--A Hunt with
Thomas P. Medley, an English gentleman--A Scout on the Powder River and
in the Big Horn Country--California Joe--Theatrical Tour of 1874 and
1875--Death of my son, Kit Carson Cody.

CHAPTER XXX.

A RETURN TO THE PLAINS.

The Sioux Campaign of 1876--I am appointed Guide and Chief of Scouts of
the Fifth Cavalry--An Engagement with eight hundred Cheyennes--A Duel
with Yellow Hand--Generals Terry and Crook meet, and cooperate Together.

CHAPTER XXXI.

DANGEROUS WORK.

Scouting on a Steamboat--Captain Grant Marsh--A Trip down the Yellowstone
River--Acting as Dispatch Carrier--I Return East and open my Theatrical
Season with a New Play--Immense Audiences--I go into the Cattle Business
in company with Major Prank North--My Home at North Platte.

CHAPTER XXXII.

CONCLUSION.

A Cattle "Round-up"--A Visit to My Family in our New Home--A Visit from
my Sisters--I go to Denver--Buying more Cattle--Pawnee and Nez-Perces
Indians Engaged for a Theatrical Tour--The Season of 1878-79--An
experience in Washington--Home Once More.




THE LIFE OF HON. WILLIAM F. CODY




CHAPTER I.

CHILDHOOD.


My _debut_ upon the world's stage occurred on February 26th, 1845. The
scene of this first important event in my adventurous career, being in
Scott county, in the State of Iowa. My parents, Isaac and Mary Ann Cody,
who were numbered among the pioneers of Iowa, gave to me the name of
William Frederick. I was the fourth child in the family. Martha and
Julia, my sisters, and Samuel my brother, had preceded me, and the
children who came after me were Eliza, Nellie, Mary, and Charles, born in
the order named.

At the time of my birth the family resided on a farm which they called
"Napsinekee Place,"--an Indian name--and here the first six or seven
years of my childhood were spent. When I was about seven years old my
father moved the family to the little town of LeClair, located on the
bank of the Mississippi, fifteen miles above the city of Davenport. Even
at that early age my adventurous spirit led me into all sorts of mischief
and danger, and when I look back upon my childhood's days I often wonder
that I did not get drowned while swimming or sailing, or my neck broken
while I was stealing apples in the neighboring orchards.

I well remember one day that I went sailing with two other boys; in a few
minutes we found ourselves in the middle of the Mississippi; becoming
frightened at the situation we lost our presence of mind, as well as our
oars. We at once set up a chorus of pitiful yells, when a man, who
fortunately heard us, came to our rescue with a canoe and towed us
ashore. We had stolen the boat, and our trouble did not end until we had
each received a merited whipping, which impressed the incident vividly
upon my mind. I recollect several occasions when I was nearly eaten up by
a large and savage dog, which acted as custodian of an orchard and also
of a melon patch, which I frequently visited. Once, as I was climbing
over the fence with a hatful of apples, this dog, which had started for
me, caught me by the seat of the pantaloons, and while I clung to the top
of the fence he literally tore them from my legs, but fortunately did not
touch my flesh. I got away with the apples, however, by tumbling over to
the opposite side of the fence with them.

It was at LeClair that I acquired my first experience as an equestrian.
Somehow or other I had managed to corner a horse near a fence, and had
climbed upon his back. The next moment the horse got his back up and
hoisted me into the air, I fell violently to the ground, striking upon my
side in such a way as to severely wrench and strain my arm, from the
effects of which I did not recover for some time. I abandoned the art of
horsemanship for a while, and was induced after considerable persuasion
to turn my attention to letters--my A, B, C's--which were taught me at
the village school.

My father at this time was running a stage line, between Chicago and
Davenport, no railroads then having been built west of Chicago. In 1849
he got the California fever and made up his mind to cross the great
plains--which were then and for years afterwards called the American
Desert--to the Pacific coast. He got ready a complete outfit and started
with quite a party. After proceeding a few miles, all but my father, and
greatly to his disappointment, changed their minds for some reason and
abandoned the enterprise. They all returned home, and soon afterwards
father moved his family out to Walnut Grove Farm, in Scott county.

[Illustration: YOUTHFUL ADVENTURES.]

While living there I was sent to school, more for the purpose of being
kept out of mischief than to learn anything. Much of my time was spent in
trapping quails, which were very plentiful. I greatly enjoyed studying
the habits of the little birds, and in devising traps to take them in. I
was most successful with the common figure "4" trap which I could build
myself. Thus I think it was that I acquired my love for hunting. I
visited the quail traps twice a day, morning and evening, and as I had
now become quite a good rider I was allowed to have one of the farm
horses to carry me over my route. Many a jolly ride I had and many a
boyish prank was perpetrated after getting well away from and out of the
sight of home with the horse.

There was one event which occurred in my childhood, which I cannot recall
without a feeling of sadness. It was the death of my brother Samuel, who
was accidentally killed in his twelfth year.

My father at the time, being considerable of a politician as well as a
farmer, was attending a political convention; for he was well known in
those days as an old line Whig. He had been a member of the Iowa
legislature, was a Justice of the Peace, and had held other offices. He
was an excellent stump speaker and was often called upon to canvass the
country round about for different candidates. The convention which he was
attending at the time of the accident was being held at a cross-road
tavern called "Sherman's," about a mile away.

Samuel and I had gone out together on horseback for the cows. He rode a
vicious mare, which mother had told him time and again not to ride, as it
had an ugly disposition. We were passing the school house just as the
children were being dismissed, when Samuel undertook to give an
exhibition of his horsemanship, he being a good rider for a boy. The
mare, Betsy, became unmanageable, reared and fell backward upon him,
injuring him internally. He was picked up and carried amid great
excitement to the house of a neighbor.

I at once set out with my horse at the top of his speed for my father,
and informed him of Samuel's mishap. He took the horse and returned
immediately. When I arrived at Mr. Burns' house, where my brother was, I
found my father, mother and sisters there, all weeping bitterly at
Samuel's bedside. A physician, after examining him, pronounced his
injuries to be of a fatal character. He died the next morning.

My brother was a great favorite with everybody, and his death cast a
gloom upon the whole neighborhood. It was a great blow to all of the
family, and especially to father who seemed to be almost heart
broken over it.

Father had been greatly disappointed at the failure of his California
expedition, and still desired to move to some new country. The death of
Samuel no doubt increased this desire, and he determined to emigrate.
Accordingly, early in the spring of 1852, he disposed of his farm, and
late in March we took our departure for Kansas, which was then an
unsettled territory. Our outfit consisted of one carriage, three wagons
and some fine blooded horses. The carriage was occupied by my mother and
sisters. Thus we left our Iowa home.

[Illustration: SAMUEL'S FATAL ACCIDENT.]

Father had a brother, Elijah Cody, living at Weston, Platte county,
Missouri. He was the leading merchant of the place. As the town was
located near the Kansas line father determined to visit him, and thither
our journey was directed. Our route lay across Iowa and Missouri, and the
trip proved of interest to all of us, and especially to me. There was
something new to be seen at nearly every turn of the road. At night the
family generally "put up" at hotels or cross-road taverns along the way.

One day as we were proceeding on our way, we were met by a horseman who
wanted to sell his horse, or trade-him for another. He said the horse had
been captured wild in California; that he was a runner and a racer; that
he had been sold by his different owners on account of his great desire
to run away when taking part in a race.

The stranger seemed to be very frank in his statements, and appeared to
be very anxious to get rid of the animal, and as we were going to Kansas
where there would be plenty of room for the horse to run as far as he
pleased, father concluded to make a trade for him; so an exchange of
animals was easily and satisfactorily effected.

The new horse being a small gray, we named him "Little Gray."

An opportunity of testing the racing qualities of the horse was soon
afforded. One day we drove into a small Missouri town or hamlet which lay
on our route, where the farmers from the surrounding country were
congregated for the purpose of having a holiday--the principal amusement
being horse-racing. Father had no trouble in arranging a race for Little
Gray, and selected one of his teamsters to ride him.

The Missourians matched their fastest horse against him and were
confident of cleaning out "the emigrant," as they called father. They
were a hard looking crowd. They wore their pantaloons in their boots;
their hair was long, bushy and untrimmed; their faces had evidently never
made the acquaintance of a razor. They seemed determined to win the race
by fair means or foul. They did a great deal of swearing, and swaggered
about in rather a ruffianly style.

All these incidents attracted my attention--everything being new to
me--and became firmly impressed upon my memory. My father, being
unaccustomed to the ways of such rough people, acted very cautiously; and
as they were all very anxious to bet on their own horse, he could not be
induced to wager a very large sum on Little Gray, as he was afraid of
foul play.

"Wa-al, now, stranger," exclaimed one of the crowd, "what kind o' critter
have you got anyhow, as how you're afraid to back him up very heavy?"

"I'll bet five to one agin the emergrant's, gray," said another.

"I'm betting the same way. I'll go yer five hundred dollars agin a
hundred that the gray nag gits left behind. Do I hear any man who wants
to come agin me on them yer terms?" shouted still another.

"Hi! yer boys, give the stranger a chance. Don't scare him out of
his boots," said a man who evidently was afraid that my father
might back out.

Father had but little to say, however, and would not venture more than
fifty dollars on the result of the race.

"Gentlemen, I am only racing my horse for sport," said he, "and am only
betting enough to make it interesting. I have never seen Little Gray run,
and therefore don't know what he can do;" at the same time he was
confident that his horse would come in the winner, as he had chosen an
excellent rider for him.

Finally all the preliminaries of the contest were arranged. The judges
were chosen and the money was deposited in the hands of a stake-holder.
The race was to be a single dash, of a mile. The horses were brought side
by side and mounted by their riders.

At the signal--"One, two, three, go!"--off they started like a flash. The
Missouri horse took the lead for the first quarter of a mile; at the
half-mile, however, he began to weaken. The Missourians shouted
themselves hoarse in urging their horse, but all to no avail. The Little
Gray passed him and continued to leave him farther and farther behind,
easily winning the race.

The affair created a great deal of enthusiasm; but the race was conducted
with honor and fairness, which was quite an agreeable surprise to my
father, who soon found the Missourians to be at heart very clever
men--thus showing that outside appearances are sometimes very deceptive;
they nearly all came up and congratulated him on his success, asked him
why he had not bet more money on the race, and wanted to buy Little Gray.

"Gentlemen," said he, "when I drove up here and arranged for this race, I
felt confident that my horse would win it. I was among entire strangers,
and therefore I only bet a small amount. I was afraid that you would
cheat me in some way or other. I see now that I was mistaken, as I have
found you to be honorable men."

"Wa-all, you could have broke _me_" said the man who wanted to bet the
five hundred dollars to one hundred, "for that there nag o' yourn looks
no more like a runner nor I do."

During our stay in the place they treated us very kindly, and continued
to try to purchase Little Gray. My father, however, remained firm in his
determination not to part with him.

The next place of interest which we reached, after resuming our journey,
was within twenty miles of Weston. We had been stopping at farm houses
along the road, and could not get anything to eat in the shape of bread,
except corn bread, of which all had become heartily tired. As we were
driving along, we saw in the distance a large and handsome brick
residence. Father said: "They probably have white bread there."

We drove up to the house and learned that it was owned and occupied by
Mrs. Burns; mother of a well-known lawyer of that name, who is now living
in Leavenworth. She was a wealthy lady, and gave us to understand in a
pleasant way, that she did not entertain travelers. My father, in the
course of the conversation with her, said: "Do you know Elijah Cody?"

"Indeed, I do," said she; "he frequently visits us, and we visit him; we
are the best of friends."

"He is a brother of mine," said father.

"Is it possible!" she exclaimed; "Why, you must remain here all night.
Have your family come into the house at once. You must not go another
step today."

The kind invitation was accepted, and we remained there over night. As
father had predicted, we found plenty of white bread at this house, and
it proved quite a luxurious treat.

My curiosity was considerably aroused by the many negroes which I saw
about the premises, as I had scarcely ever seen any colored people,
the few, being on the steamboats as they passed up and down the
Mississippi river.

The next day my father and mother drove over to Weston in a carriage,
and returned with my Uncle Elijah. We then all proceeded to his house,
and as Kansas was not yet open for settlement as a territory, we remained
there a few days, while father crossed over into Kansas on a prospecting
tour. He visited the Kickapoo agency--five miles above Weston--on the
Kansas side of the Missouri river. He became acquainted with the agent,
and made arrangements to establish himself there as an Indian trader. He
then returned to Weston and located the family on one of Elijah Cody's
farms, three miles from town, where we were to remain until Kansas should
be thrown open for settlement. After completing these arrangements, he
established a trading post at Salt Creek Valley, in Kansas, four miles
from the Kickapoo agency.

One day, after he had been absent some little time, he came home and said
that he had bought two ponies for me, and that next morning he would take
me over into Kansas. This was pleasant news, as I had been very anxious
to go there with him, and the fact that I was now the owner of two ponies
made me feel very proud. That night I could not sleep a wink. In the
morning I was up long before the sun, and after an early breakfast,
father and I started out on our trip. Crossing the Missouri river at the
Rialto Ferry, we landed in Kansas and passed along to Fort Leavenworth,
four miles distant.




CHAPTER II

EARLY INFLUENCES.


General Harney was in command at Fort Leavenworth at the time of our
visit, and a regiment of cavalry was stationed there. They were having a
dress parade when we rode up, and as this was the first time that I had
ever seen any soldiers, I thought it was a grand sight. I shall never
forget it, especially the manoeuvres on horseback.

After witnessing the parade we resumed our journey. On the way to my
father's trading camp we had to cross over a high hill known as Salt
Creek Hill, from the top of which we looked down upon the most beautiful
valley I have ever seen. It was about twelve miles long and five miles
wide. The different tributaries of Salt Creek came down from the range of
hills at the southwest. At the foot of the valley another small
river--Plum Creek, also flowed. The bluffs fringed with trees, clad in
their full foliage, added greatly to the picturesqueness of the scene.

While this beautiful valley greatly interested me, yet the most novel
sight, of an entirely different character, which met my enraptured gaze,
was the vast number of white-covered wagons, or "prairie-schooners,"
which were encamped along the different streams. I asked my father what
they were and where they were going; he explained to me that they were
emigrant wagons bound for Utah and California.

At that time the Mormon and California trails ran through this
valley, which was always selected as a camping place. There were at
least one thousand wagons in the valley, and their white covers lent
a pleasing contrast to the green grass. The cattle were quietly
grazing near the wagons, while the emigrants were either resting or
attending to camp duties.

A large number of the wagons, as I learned from my father, belonged to
Majors & Russell, the great government freighters. They had several
trains there, each consisting of twenty-five wagons, heavily loaded with
government supplies. They were all camped and corraled in a circle.

While we were viewing this scene, a long wagon train came pulling up the
hill, bound out from Fort Leavenworth to some distant frontier post. The
cattle were wild and the men were whipping them fearfully, the loud
reports of the bull-whips sounding like gun-shots. They were
"doubling-up," and some of the wagons were being drawn by fifteen yokes
of oxen. I remember asking my father a great many questions, and he
explained to me all about the freighting business across the great
plains, and told me about the different government posts.

Pointing over to the army of wagons camped below us, he showed me which
were the Mormons' and which were the Californians', and said that we must
steer clear of the former as the cholera was raging among them. Five
hundred had died that spring--1853--and the grave-yard was daily
increasing its dimensions. The unfortunate people had been overtaken by
the dreadful disease, and had been compelled to halt on their journey
until it abated.

While we were looking at the Mormons they were holding a funeral service
over the remains of some of their number who had died. Their old cemetery
is yet indicated by various land-marks, which, however, with the few
remaining head-boards, are fast disappearing.

We passed on through this "Valley of Death," as it might then have been
very appropriately called, and after riding for some time, my father
pointed out a large hill and showed me his camp, which afterwards
became our home.

There was another trading-post near by, which was conducted by Mr.
M.P. Rively, who had a store built, partly frame, and partly of logs.
We stopped at this establishment for a while, and found perhaps a
hundred men, women and children gathered there, engaged in trading and
gossipping. The men had huge pistols and knives in their belts; their
pantaloons were tucked in their boots; and they wore large
broad-rimmed hats.

To me they appeared like a lot of cut-throat pirates who had come ashore
for a lark. It was the first time I had ever seen men carrying pistols
and knives, and they looked like a very dangerous crowd. Some were buying
articles of merchandise; others were talking about the cholera, the
various camps, and matters of interest; while others were drinking whisky
freely and becoming intoxicated. It was a busy and an exciting scene, and
Rively appeared to be doing a rushing trade.

At some little distance from the store I noticed a small party of
dark-skinned and rather fantastically dressed people, whom I ascertained
were Indians, and as I had never before seen a real live Indian, I was
much interested in them. I went over and endeavored to talk to them, but
our conversation was very limited.

That evening we reached our camp, which was located two miles west of
Rively's. The first thing I did was to hunt up my ponies, and from my
father's description of them, I had no difficulty in finding them.
They were lariated in the grass and I immediately ran up to them
supposing them to be gentle animals. I was greatly mistaken, however,
as they snorted and jumped away from me, and would not allow me to
come near them.

My father, who was standing not far distant, informed me that the ponies
were not yet broken. I was somewhat disappointed at this; and thereupon
he and one of his men caught one of the animals and bridled her, then
putting me on her back, led her around, greatly to my delight. I kept
petting her so much that she soon allowed me to approach her. She was a
beautiful bay, and I named her "Dolly;" the other pony was a sorrel, and
I called him "Prince."

In the evening some Indians visited the camp--which as yet consisted only
of tents, though some logs had been cut preparatory to building
houses--and exchanged their furs for clothing, sugar and tobacco. Father
had not learned their language, and therefore communicated with them by
means of signs. We had our supper by the camp-fire, and that night was
the first time I ever camped out and slept upon the ground.

The day had been an eventful one to me, for all the incidents were full
of excitement and romance to my youthful mind, and I think no apology is
needed for mentioning so many of the little circumstances, which so
greatly interested me in my childhood's days, and which no doubt had a
great influence in shaping my course in after years. My love of hunting
and scouting, and life on the plains generally, was the result of my
early surroundings.

The next morning father visited the Kickapoo agency, taking me along. He
rode a horse, and putting me on my pony "Dolly," led the animal all the
way. He seemed anxious to break me in, as well as the pony, and I
greatly enjoyed this, my first day's ride on a Kansas prairie.

At the Kickapoo village I saw hundreds of Indians, some of whom were
living in lodges, but the majority occupied log cabins. The agent resided
in a double-hewed log house, one of the apartments of which was used as a
school for the Indians. The agency store was opposite this structure.

All the buildings were whitewashed, and looked neat and clean. The
Kickapoos were very friendly Indians, and we spent much of our time among
them, looking about and studying their habits.

After a while we returned to our own camp, and just as we arrived there,
we saw a drove of horses--there were three or four hundred in
all--approaching from the west, over the California trail. They were
being driven by seven or eight mounted men, wearing sombreros, and
dressed in buckskin, with their lariats dangling from their saddles, and
they were followed by two or three pack-mules or horses. They went into
camp a little below us on the bank of the stream.

Presently one of the men walked out towards our camp, and my father
called to me to come and see a genuine Western man; he was about six feet
two inches tall, was well built, and had a light, springy and wiry step.
He wore a broad-brimmed California hat, and was dressed in a complete
suit of buckskin, beautifully trimmed and beaded. He saluted us, and
father invited him to sit down, which he did. After a few moments
conversation, he turned to me and said:

"Little one, I see you are working with your ponies. They are wild yet."

I had been petting Dolly and trying to break her, when my father called
me to come and look at the Californian.

"Yes," I replied, "and one of them never has been ridden."

"Well, I'll ride him for you;" and springing lightly to his feet, he
continued: "come on. Where is the animal?"

Accordingly we all went to the place where Prince was lariated. The
stranger untied the rope from the picket pin, and taking a half-loop
around the pony's nose, he jumped on his back.

In a moment he was flying over the prairie, the untamed steed rearing and
pitching every once in a while in his efforts to throw his rider; but the
man was not unseated. He was evidently an experienced horseman. I watched
his every movement. I was unconsciously taking another lesson in the
practical education which has served me so well through my life.

The Californian rode the pony until it was completely mastered, then
coming up to me, jumped to the ground, handed me the rope, and said:

"Here's your pony. He's all right now."

I led Prince away, while father and the stranger sat down in the shade of
a tent, and began talking about the latter's horsemanship, which father
considered very remarkable.

"Oh, that's nothing; I was raised on horseback," said the Californian; "I
ran away from home when a boy, went to sea, and finally landed in the
Sandwich Islands, where I fell in with a circus, with which I remained
two years. During that time I became a celebrated bare-back rider. I then
went to California, being attracted there by the gold excitement, the
news of which had reached the Islands. I did not go to mining, however,
but went to work as a _bocarro_-catching and breaking wild horses, great
numbers of which were roaming through California. Last summer we caught
this herd that we have brought with us across the plains, and are taking
it to the States to sell. I came with the outfit, as it gave me a good
opportunity to visit my relatives, who live at Cleveland, Ohio. I also
had an uncle over at Weston, across the river, when I ran away, and
to-morrow I am going to visit the town to see if he is there yet."

[Illustration: BILLINGS AS A BOCARRO]

"I am acquainted in Weston," said father, "and perhaps I can tell you
about your uncle. What is his name?"

"Elijah Cody," said the Californian.

"Elijah Cody!" exclaimed father, in great surprise; "why Elijah Cody is
my brother. I am Isaac Cody. Who are you?"

"My name is Horace Billings," was the reply.

"And you are my nephew. You are the son of my sister Sophia."

Both men sprang to their feet and began shaking hands in the heartiest
manner possible.

The next moment father called me, and said: "Come here, my son. Here is
some one you want to know."

As I approached he introduced us. "Horace, this is my only son. We call
him little Billy;" and turning to me said: "Billy, my boy, this is a
cousin of yours, Horace Billings, whom you've often heard me speak of."

Horace Billings had never been heard of from the day he ran away from
home, and his relatives had frequently wondered what had become of him.
His appearance, therefore, in our camp in the guise of a Californian was
somewhat of a mystery to me, and I could hardly comprehend it until I had
heard his adventurous story and learned the accidental manner in which he
and father had made themselves known to each other.

Neither father nor myself would be satisfied until he had given us a full
account of his wanderings and adventures, which were very exciting to me.

Late in the afternoon and just before the sun sank to rest, the
conversation again turned upon horses and horsemanship. Father told
Billings all about Little Gray, and his great fault of running away.
Billings laughed and said Little Gray could not run away with him.

After supper he went out to look at the horse, which was picketed in the
grass. Surveying the animal carefully, he untied the lariat and slipped a
running noose over his nose; then giving a light bound, he was on his
back in a second, and away went the horse and his rider, circling round
and round on the prairie. Billings managed him by the rope alone, and
convinced him that he was his master. When half a mile away, the horse
started for camp at the top of his speed. Billings stood straight up on
his back, and thus rode him into camp. As he passed us he jumped to the
ground, allowed the horse to run to the full length of the lariat, when
he threw him a complete somersault.

[Illustration: BILLINGS RIDING LITTLE GRAY.]

"That's a pretty good horse," said Billings.

"Yes, he's a California horse; he was captured there wild," replied
father. The exhibition of horsemanship given by Billings on this
occasion was really wonderful, and was the most skillful and daring feat
of the kind that I ever witnessed. The remainder of the evening was spent
around the camp, and Horace, who remained there, entertained us with
several interesting chapters of his experiences.

Next morning he walked over to his own camp, but soon returned, mounted
on a beautiful horse, with a handsome saddle, bridle and lariat. I
thought he was a magnificent looking man. I envied his appearance, and my
ambition just then was to become as skillful a horseman as he was. He had
rigged himself out in his best style in order to make a good impression
on his uncle at Weston, whither father and I accompanied him on
horseback.

He was cordially received by Uncle Elijah, who paid him every possible
attention, and gave me a handsome saddle and bridle for my pony, and in
the evening when we rode out to the farm to see my mother and sisters, I
started ahead to show them my present, as well as to tell them who was
coming. They were delighted to see the long-lost Horace, and invited him
to remain with us. When we returned to camp next day, Horace settled up
with the proprietor of the horses, having concluded to make his home with
us for that summer at least.

Father employed him in cutting house logs and building houses, but this
work not being adapted to his tastes, he soon gave it up, and obtained
government employment in catching United States horses. During the
previous spring the government herd had stampeded from Fort Leavenworth,
and between two and three hundred of the horses were running at large
over the Kansas prairies, and had become quite wild. A reward of ten
dollars was offered for every one of the horses that was captured and
delivered to the quartermaster at Fort Leavenworth. This kind of work of
course just suited the roaming disposition of Billings, especially as it
was similar to that in which he had been engaged in California. The
horses had to be caught with a lasso, with which he was very expert. He
borrowed Little Gray, who was fleet enough for the wildest of the
runaways, and then he at once began his horse hunting.

[Illustration: EXCITING SPORT.]

Everything that he did, I wanted to do. He was a sort of hero in my eyes,
and I wished to follow in his footsteps. At my request and with father's
consent, he took me with him, and many a wild and perilous chase he led
me over the prairie. I made rapid advances in the art of horsemanship,
for I could have had no better teacher than Horace Billings. He also
taught me how to throw the lasso, which, though it was a difficult thing
to learn, I finally became, quite skillful in.

Whenever Horace caught one of the horses which acted obstinately, and
would not be led, he immediately threw him to the ground, put a saddle
and bridle on him, and gave me Little Gray to take care of. He would then
mount the captive horse and ride him into Fort Leavenworth. I spent two
months with Horace in this way, until at last no more of the horses were
to be found. By this time I had become a remarkably good rider for a
youth, and had brought both of my ponies under easy control.

Horace returned to assist father in hauling logs, which were being used
in building a dwelling for the family who had moved over from Missouri.
One day a team did not work to suit him, and he gave the horses a cruel
beating. This greatly displeased father, who took him to task for it.
Horace's anger flew up in a moment; throwing down the lines he hurried to
the house, and began packing up his traps. That same day he hired out to
a Mormon train, and bidding us all good-bye started for Salt Lake,
driving six yokes of oxen.




CHAPTER III.

BOY DAYS IN KANSAS.


During the summer of 1853 we lived in our little log house, and father
continued to trade with the Indians, who became very friendly; hardly a
day passed without a social visit from them. I spent a great deal of time
with the Indian boys, who taught me how to shoot with the bow and arrow,
at which I became quite expert. I also took part in all their sports, and
learned to talk the Kickapoo language to some extent.

Father desired to express his friendship for these Indians, and
accordingly arranged a grand barbecue for them. He invited them all to be
present on a certain day, which they were; he then presented them with
two fat beeves, to be killed and cooked in the various Indian styles.
Mother made several large boilers full of coffee, which she gave to them,
together with sugar and bread. There were about two hundred Indians in
attendance at the feast, and they all enjoyed and appreciated it. In the
evening they had one of their grand fantastic war dances, which greatly
amused me, it being the first sight of the kind I had ever witnessed.

My Uncle Elijah and quite a large number of gentlemen and ladies came
over from Weston to attend the entertainment. The Indians returned to
their homes well satisfied.

My uncle at that time owned a trading post at Silver Lake, in the
Pottawattamie country, on the Kansas river, and he arranged an excursion
to that place. Among the party were several ladies from Weston, and
father, mother and myself. Mr. McMeekan, my uncle's superintendent, who
had come to Weston for supplies, conducted the party to the post.

The trip across the prairies was a delightful one, and we remained at the
post several days. Father and one or two of the men went on to Fort Riley
to view the country, and upon their return my uncle entertained the
Pottawattamie Indians with a barbecue similar to the one given by father
to the Kickapoos.

During the latter part of the summer father filled a hay contract at Fort
Leavenworth. I passed much of my time among the campers, and spent days
and days in riding over the country with Mr. William Russell, who was
engaged in the freighting business and who seemed to take a considerable
interest in me. In this way I became acquainted with many wagon-masters,
hunters and teamsters, and learned a great deal about the business of
handling cattle and mules.

It was an excellent school for me, and I acquired a great deal of
practical knowledge, which afterwards I found to be of invaluable
service, for it was not long before I became employed by Majors &
Russell, remaining with them in different capacities, for several years.

The winter of 1853-54 was spent by father at our little prairie home in
cutting house logs and fence rails, which he intended to use on his farm,
as soon as the bill for the opening of the territory for settlement
should pass. This bill, which was called the "Enabling act of Kansas
territory," was passed in April, 1854, and father immediately pre-empted
the claim on which we were living.

The summer of that year was an exciting period in the history of the new
territory. Thousands and thousands of people, seeking new homes, flocked
thither, a large number of the emigrants coming over from adjoining
states. The Missourians, some of them, would come laden with bottles of
whisky, and after drinking the liquor would drive the bottles into the
ground to mark their land claims, not waiting to put up any buildings.

The Missourians, mostly, were pro-slavery men, and held enthusiastic
meetings at which they expressed their desire that Kansas should be a
slave state and did not hesitate to declare their determination to make
it so. Rively's store was the headquarters for these men, and there they
held their meetings.

[Illustration: STAKING OUT LOTS.]

At first they thought father would coincide with them on account of his
brother Elijah being a Missourian, but in this they were greatly
mistaken. At one of their gatherings, when there were about one hundred
of the reckless men present, my father, who happened also to be there,
was called upon for a speech. After considerable urging, he mounted the
box and began speaking, as nearly as I can recollect, as follows:

"Gentlemen and Fellow-citizens: You have called upon me for a speech, and
I have accepted your invitation rather against my will, as my views may
not accord with the sentiments of the rest of this assembly. My remarks,
at this time, will be brief and to the point. The question before us
to-day is, shall the territory of Kansas be a free or a slave state. The
question of slavery in itself is a broad one, and one which I do not care
at this time and place to discuss at length. I apprehend that your motive
in calling upon me is to have me express my sentiments in regard to the
introduction of slavery into Kansas. I shall gratify your wishes in that
respect. I was one of the pioneers of the State of Iowa, and aided in its
settlement when it was a territory, and helped to organize it as a state.

"Gentlemen, I voted that it should be a _white_ state--that negroes,
whether free or slave, should never be allowed to locate within its
limits; and, gentlemen, I say to you now, and I say it boldly, that I
propose to exert all my power in making Kansas the same kind of a state
as Iowa. I believe in letting slavery remain as it now exists, and I
shall always oppose its further extension. These are my sentiments,
gentlemen and let me tell you--"

He never finished this sentence, or his speech. His expressions were
anything but acceptable to the rough-looking crowd, whose ire had been
gradually rising to fever heat, and at this point they hooted and hissed
him, and shouted, "You black abolitionist, shut up!" "Get down from that
box!" "Kill him!" "Shoot him!" and so on. Father, however, maintained his
position on the dry-goods box, notwithstanding the excitement and the
numerous invitations to step down, until a hot-headed pro-slavery man,
who was in the employ of my Uncle Elijah, crowded up and said: "Get off
that box, you black abolitionist, or I'll pull you off."

Father paid but little attention to him, and attempted to resume his
speech, intending doubtless to explain his position and endeavor to
somewhat pacify the angry crowd. But the fellow jumped up on the box, and
pulling out a huge bowie knife, stabbed father twice, who reeled and fell
to the ground. The man sprang after him, and would have ended his life
then and there, had not some of the better men in the crowd interfered in
time to prevent him from carrying out his murderous intention.

The excitement was intense, and another assault would probably have been
made on my father, had not Rively hurriedly carried him to his home.
There was no doctor within any reasonable distance, and father at once
requested that he be conveyed in the carriage to his brother Elijah's
house in Weston. My mother and a driver accordingly went there with him,
where his wounds were dressed. He remained in Weston several weeks before
he was able to stir about again, but he never fully recovered from the
wounds, which eventually proved the cause of his death.

[Illustration: MY FATHER STABBED]

My uncle of course at once discharged the ruffian from his employ. The
man afterwards became a noted desperado, and was quite conspicuous in the
Kansas war.

My father's indiscreet speech at Rively's brought upon our family all of
the misfortunes and difficulties which from that time on befell us. As
soon as he was able to attend to his business again, the Missourians
began to harass him in every possible way, and kept it up with hardly a
moment's cessation. Kickapoo City, as it was called, a small town that
had sprung into existence seven miles up the river from Fort
Leavenworth, became the hot-bed of the pro-slavery doctrine and the
headquarters of its advocates. Here was really the beginning of the
Kansas troubles. My father, who had shed the first blood in the cause of
the freedom of Kansas, was notified, upon his return to his trading post,
to leave the territory, and he was threatened with death by hanging or
shooting, if he dared to remain.

[Illustration: MY FATHER'S ESCAPE]

One night a body of armed men, mounted on horses, rode up to our house
and surrounded it. Knowing what they had come for, and seeing that there
would be but little chance for him in an encounter with them, father
determined to make his escape by a little stratagem. Hastily disguising
himself in mother's bonnet and shawl, he boldly walked out of the house
and proceeded towards the corn-field. The darkness proved a great
protection, as the horsemen, between whom he passed, were unable to
detect him in his disguise; supposing him to be a woman, they neither
halted him nor followed him, and he passed safely on into the
corn-field, where he concealed himself.

The horsemen soon dismounted and inquired for father; mother very
truthfully told them that he was away. They were not satisfied with her
statement, however, and they at once made a thorough search of the house.
They raved and swore when they could not find him, and threatened him
with death whenever they should catch him. I am sure if they had captured
him that night, they would have killed him. They carried off nearly
everything of value in the house and about the premises; then going to
the pasture, they drove off all the horses; my pony Prince afterward
succeeding in breaking away from them and came back home. Father lay
secreted in the corn-field for three days, as there were men in the
vicinity who were watching for him all the time; he finally made his
escape, and reached Fort Leavenworth in safety, whither the pro-slavery
men did not dare to follow him.

While he was staying at Fort Leavenworth, he heard that Jim Lane, Captain
Cleveland and Captain Chandler were on their way from Indiana to Kansas
with a body of Free State men, between two and three hundred strong. They
were to cross the Missouri river near Doniphan, between Leavenworth and
Nebraska City; their destination being Lawrence. Father determined to
join them, and took passage on a steamboat which was going up the river.
Having reached the place of crossing, he made himself known to the
leaders of the party, by whom he was most cordially received.

The pro-slavery men, hearing of the approach of the Free State party,
resolved to drive them out of the territory. The two parties met at
Hickory Point, where a severe battle was fought, several being killed;
the victory resulted in favor of the Free State men, who passed on to
Lawrence without much further opposition. My father finally left them,
and seeing that he could no longer live at home, went to Grasshopper
Falls, thirty-five miles west of Leavenworth; there he began the
erection of a saw-mill.

While he was thus engaged we learned from one of our hired workmen at
home, that the pro-slavery men had laid another plan to kill him, and
were on their way to Grasshopper Falls to carry out their intention.
Mother at once started me off on Prince to warn father of the coming
danger. When I had gone about seven miles I suddenly came upon a party of
men, who were camped at the crossing of Stranger Creek. As I passed along
I heard one of them, who recognized me, say, "That's the son of the old
abolitionist we are after;" and the next moment I was commanded to halt.

[Illustration: LIFE OR DEATH.]

Instead of stopping I instantly started my pony on a run, and on looking
back I saw that I was being pursued by three or four of the party, who
had mounted their horses, no doubt supposing that they could easily
capture me. It was very fortunate that I had heard the remark about my
being "the son of the abolitionist," for then I knew in an instant that
they were _en route_ to Grasshopper Falls to murder my father. I at once
saw the importance of my escaping and warning father in time. It was a
matter of life or death to him. So I urged Prince to his utmost speed,
feeling that upon him and myself depended a human life--a life that was
dearer to me than that of any other man in the world. I led my pursuers a
lively chase for four or five miles; finally, when they saw they could
not catch me, they returned to their camp. I kept straight on to
Grasshopper Falls, arriving there in ample time to inform him of the
approach of his old enemies.

That same night father and I rode to Lawrence, which had become the
headquarters of the Free State men. There he met Jim Lane and several
other leading characters, who were then organizing what was known as the
Lecompton Legislature.

Father was elected as a member of that body, and took an active part in
organizing the first legislature of Kansas, under Governor Reeder, who,
by the way, was a Free State man and a great friend of father's.

About this time agents were being sent to the East to induce emigrants to
locate in Kansas, and father was sent as one of these agents to Ohio.
After the legislature had been organized at Lawrence, he departed for
Ohio and was absent several months.

A few days after he had gone, I started for home by the way of Fort
Leavenworth, accompanied by two men, who were going to the fort on
business. As we were crossing a stream called Little Stranger, we were
fired upon by some unknown party; one of my companions, whose name has
escaped my memory, was killed. The other man and myself put spurs to our
horses and made a dash for our lives. We succeeded in making our escape,
though a farewell shot or two was sent after us. At Fort Leavenworth I
parted company with my companion, and reached home without any further
adventure.

My mother and sisters, who had not heard of my father or myself since I
had been sent to warn him of his danger, had become very anxious and
uneasy about us, and were uncertain as to whether we were dead or alive.
I received a warm welcome home, and as I entered the house, mother seemed
to read from the expression of my countenance that father was safe; of
course the very first question she asked was as to his whereabouts, and
in reply I handed her a long letter from him which explained everything.
Mother blessed me again and again for having saved his life.

While father was absent in Ohio, we were almost daily visited by some of
the pro-slavery men, who helped themselves to anything they saw fit, and
frequently compelled my mother and sisters to cook for them, and to
otherwise submit to a great deal of bad treatment. Hardly a day passed
without some of them inquiring "where the old man was," saying they would
kill him on sight. Thus we passed the summer of 1854, remaining at our
home notwithstanding the unpleasant surroundings, as mother had made up
her mind not to be driven out of the country. My uncle and other friends
advised her to leave Kansas and move to Missouri, because they did not
consider our lives safe, as we lived so near the headquarters of the
pro-slavery men, who had sworn vengeance upon father.

Nothing, however, could persuade mother to change her determination. She
said that the pro-slavery men had taken everything except the land and
the little home, and she proposed to remain there as long as she lived,
happen what might. Our only friends in Salt Creek valley were two
families; one named Lawrence, the other Hathaway, and the peaceable
Indians, who occasionally visited us. My uncle, living in Missouri and
being somewhat in fear of the pro-slavery men, could not assist us much,
beyond expressing his sympathy and sending us provisions.

In the winter of 1854-55 father returned from Ohio, but as soon as his
old enemies learned that he was with us, they again compelled him to
leave. He proceeded to Lawrence, and there spent the winter in attending
the Lecompton Legislature. The remainder of the year he passed mostly at
Grasshopper Falls, where he completed his saw-mill. He occasionally
visited home under cover of the night, and in the most secret manner;
virtually carrying his life in his hand.

In the spring of this year (1855) a pro-slavery party came to our house
to search for father; not finding him, they departed, taking with them my
pony, Prince. I shall never forget the man who stole that pony. He
afterwards rose from the low level of a horse thief to the high dignity
of a justice of the peace, and I think still lives at Kickapoo. The loss
of my faithful pony nearly broke my heart and bankrupted me in business,
as I had nothing to ride.

One day, soon afterwards, I met my old friend, Mr. Russell, to whom I
related all my troubles, and his generous heart was touched by my story.
"Billy, my boy," said he, "cheer up, and come to Leavenworth, and I'll
employ you. I'll give you twenty-five dollars a month to herd cattle."

I accepted the offer, and heartily thanking him, hurried home to obtain
mother's consent. She refused to let me go, and all my pleading was in
vain. Young as I was--being then only in my tenth year, my ideas and
knowledge of the world, however, being far in advance of my age--I
determined to run away from home. Mr. Russell's offer of twenty-five
dollars a month was a temptation which I could not resist. The
remuneration for my services seemed very large to me, and I accordingly
stole away and walked to Leavenworth.

Mr. Badger, one of Mr. Russell's superintendents, immediately sent me
out, mounted on a little gray mule, to herd cattle. I worked at this for
two months, and then came into Leavenworth. I had not been home during
all this time, but mother had learned from Mr. Russell where I was, and
she no longer felt uneasy, as he had advised her to let me remain in his
employ. He assured her that I was all right, and said that when the herd
came in he would allow me to make a visit home.

Upon my arrival in Leavenworth with the herd of cattle, Mr. Russell
instructed his book-keeper, Mr. Byers, to pay me my wages, amounting to
fifty dollars. Byers gave me the sum all in half-dollar pieces. I put the
bright silver coins into a sack, which I tied to my mule, and started
home, thinking myself a _millionaire_. This money I gave to mother, who
had already forgiven me for running away.

Thus began my service for the firm of Russell & Majors, afterwards
Russell, Majors & Waddell, with whom I spent seven years of my life in
different capacities--such as cavallard-driver, wagon-master, pony
express rider and driver. I continued to work for Mr. Russell during
the rest of the summer of 1855, and in the winter of 1855-56 I
attended school.

Father, who still continued to secretly visit home, was anxious to have
his children receive as much of an education as possible, under the
adverse circumstances surrounding us, and he employed a teacher, Miss
Jennie Lyons, to come to our house and teach. My mother was well
educated--more so than my father--and it used to worry her a great deal
because her children could not receive better educational advantages.
However, the little school at home got along exceedingly well, and we all
made rapid advances in our studies, as Miss Lyons was an excellent
teacher. She afterwards married a gentleman named Hook, who became the
first mayor of Cheyenne, where she now lives.

The Kansas troubles reached their highest pitch in the spring of 1856,
and our family continued to be harassed as much as ever by our old
enemies. I cannot now recollect one-half of the serious difficulties that
we had to encounter; but I very distinctly remember one incident well
worth relating. I came home one night on a visit from Leavenworth, being
accompanied by a fellow-herder--a young man. During the night we heard a
noise outside of the house, and soon the dogs began barking loudly. We
looked out to ascertain the cause of the disturbance, and saw that the
house was surrounded by a party of men. Mother had become accustomed to
such occurrences, and on this occasion she seemed to be master of the
situation from the start. Opening a window, she coolly sang out, in a
firm tone of voice: "Who are you? What do you want here?"

"We are after that old abolition husband of yours," was the answer from
one of the crowd.

"He is not in this house, and has not been here for a long time," said
my mother.

"That's a lie! We know he is in the house, and we are bound to have him,"
said the spokesman of the party.

I afterwards learned they had mistaken the herder, who had ridden home
with me, for my father for whom they had been watching.

"My husband is not at home," emphatically repeated my heroic mother--for
if there ever was a heroine she certainly was one--"but the house is full
of armed men," continued she, "and I'll give you just two minutes to get
out of the yard; if you are not out by the end of that time I shall order
them to fire on you."

She withdrew from the window for a few moments and hurriedly instructed
the herder to call aloud certain names--any that he might think of--just
as if the house was full of men to whom he was giving orders. He followed
her directions to the very letter. He could not have done it any better
had he rehearsed the act a dozen times.

The party outside heard him, as it was intended they should, and they
supposed that my mother really had quite a force at her command. While
this little by play was being enacted, she stepped to the open window
again and said:

"John Green, you and your friends had better go away or the men will
surely fire on you."

At this, point the herder, myself and my sisters commenced stamping on
the floor in imitation of a squad of soldiers, and the herder issued his
orders in a loud voice to his imaginary troops, who were apparently
approaching the window preparatory to firing a volley at the enemy. This
little stratagem proved eminently successful. The cowardly villains began
retreating, and then my mother fired an old gun into the air which
greatly accelerated their speed, causing them to break and run. They soon
disappeared from view in the darkness.

The next morning we accidentally discovered that they had intended to
blow up the house. Upon going into the cellar which had been left open on
one side, we found two kegs of powder together with a fuse secreted
there. It only required a lighted match to have sent us into eternity. My
mother's presence of mind, which had never yet deserted her in any trying
situation, had saved our lives.

Shortly after this affair, I came home again on a visit and found father
there sick with fever, and confined to his bed. One day my old enemy rode
up to the house on my pony Prince, which he had stolen from me.

"What is your business here to-day?" asked mother.

"I am looking for the old man," he replied. "I am going to search the
house, and if I find him I am going to kill him. Here, you girls," said
he, addressing my sisters, "get me some dinner, and get it quick, too,
for I am as hungry as a wolf."

"Very well; pray be seated, and we'll get you something to eat," said one
of my sisters, without exhibiting the least sign of fear.

He sat down, and while they were preparing a dinner for him, he took out
a big knife and sharpened it on a whetstone, repeating his threat of
searching the house and killing my father.

I had witnessed the whole proceeding, and heard the threats, and I
determined that the man should never go up stairs where father was lying
in bed, unable to rise. Taking a double-barreled pistol which I had
recently bought, I went to the head of the stairs, cocked the weapon, and
waited for the ruffian to come up, determined, that the moment he set
foot on the steps I would kill him. I was relieved, however, from the
stern necessity, as he did not make his appearance.

The brute was considerably intoxicated when he came to the house, and the
longer he sat still the more his brain became muddled with liquor, and he
actually forgot what he had come there for. After he had eaten his
dinner, he mounted his horse and rode off, and it was a fortunate thing
for him that he did.

Father soon recovered and returned to Grasshopper Falls, while I resumed
my cattle herding.




CHAPTER IV.

YOUTHFUL EXPERIENCES.


In July, 1856, the people living in the vicinity of our home--feeling the
necessity of more extensive educational facilities for their children
than they had yet had--started a subscription school in a little log
cabin on the bank of the creek, which for a while proved quite a success.
My mother being very anxious to have me attend this school, I acceded to
her oft-repeated wishes, and returning home, I became a pupil of the
institution. I made considerable progress in my studies--such as they
were--and was getting along very well in every other respect, until I
became involved in my first love affair.

Like all school-boys, I had a sweetheart with whom I was "dead in
love"--in a juvenile way. Her name was Mary Hyatt. Of course I had a
rival, Stephen Gobel, a boy about three years my senior--the "bully"
of the school. He was terribly jealous, and sought in every way to
revenge himself upon me for having won the childish affections of
sweet little Mary.

The boys of the school used to build play-houses or arbors among the
trees and bushes for their sweethearts. I had built a play-house for
Mary, when Steve, as we called him, leveled it to the ground. We
immediately had a very lively fight, in which I got badly beaten. The
teacher heard of our quarrel and whipped us both. This made matters worse
than ever, as I had received two thrashings to Steve's one; I smothered
my angry feelings as much as possible under the humiliating
circumstances, and during the afternoon recess built another play-house,
thinking that Gobel would not dare to destroy a second one; but I was
mistaken, for he pushed the whole structure over at the first
opportunity. I came up to him just as he finished the job, and said:

"Steve Gobel, the next time you do that, I'll hurt you." And I meant it,
too; but he laughed and called me names.

[Illustration: TWO TO ONE.]

At recess, next morning, I began the construction of still another
playhouse, and when I had it about two-thirds finished, Steve slyly
sneaked up to the spot and tipped the whole thing over. I jumped for him
with the quickness of a cat, and clutching him by the throat for a moment
I had the advantage of him. But he was too strong for me, and soon had me
on the ground and was beating me severely. While away from home I had
someway come into possession of a very small pocket dagger, which I had
carried about with me in its sheath, using it in place of a knife. During
the struggle this fell from my pocket, and my hand by accident rested
upon it as it lay upon the ground. Exasperated beyond measure at Steve's
persistence in destroying my play-houses, and smarting under his blows, I
forgot myself for the moment, grasped the dagger and unthinkingly thrust
it into Steve's thigh. Had it been larger it would probably have injured
him severely; as it was, it made a small wound, sufficient to cause the
blood to flow freely and Steve to cry out in affright:

"I am killed! O, I am killed!"

The school children all rushed to the spot and were terrified at
the scene.

"What's the matter?" asked one.

"Bill Cody has killed Steve Gobel," replied another.

The uproar reached the teacher's ear, and I now saw him approaching, with
vengeance in his eye and a big club in his hand. I knew that he was
coming to interview _me_. I was dreadfully frightened at what I had done,
and undecided whether to run away or to remain and take the consequences;
but the sight of that flag-staff in the school teacher's hand was too
much for me. I no longer hesitated, but started off like a deer. The
teacher followed in hot pursuit, but soon became convinced that he could
not catch me, and gave up the chase. I kept on running, until I reached
one of Russell, Major & Waddell's freight trains which I had noticed
going over the hill for the west. Fortunately for me I knew the
wagon-master, John Willis, and as soon as I recovered my breath I told
him what had happened.

"Served him right, Billy," said he, "and what's more, we'll go over and
clean out the teacher."

"Oh, no; don't do that," said I, for I was afraid that I might fall
into the hands of the wounded boy's friends, who I knew would soon be
looking for me.

"Well, Billy, come along with me; I am bound for Fort Kearney; the trip
will take me forty days. I want you for a cavallard driver."

"All right," I replied, "but I must go home and tell mother about it, and
get some clothes."

"Well then, to-night after we make our camp, I'll go back with you."

The affray broke up the school for the rest of the day as the excitement
was too much for the children. Late in the afternoon, after the train had
moved on some considerable distance, I saw Steve's father, his brother
Frank, and one of the neighbors rapidly approaching.

"Mr. Willis, there comes old Gobel, with Frank and somebody else, and
they are after me--what am I going to do?" I asked.

"Let 'em come," said he, "they can't take you if I've got anything to say
about it, and I rather think I have. Get into one of the wagons--keep
quiet and lay low. I'll manage this little job. Don't you fret a bit
about it."

I obeyed his orders and felt much easier.

Old Gobel, Frank and the neighbor soon came up and inquired for me.

"He's around here somewhere," said Mr. Willis.

"We want him," said Gobel; "he stabbed my son a little while ago, and I
want to arrest him."

"Well, you can't get him; that settles it; so you needn't waste any of
your time around here," said Willis.

Gobel continued to talk for a few minutes, but getting no greater
satisfaction, the trio returned home.

When night came, Willis accompanied me on horseback to my home. Mother,
who had anxiously searched for me everywhere--being afraid that something
had befallen me at the hands of the Gobels--was delighted to see me,
notwithstanding the difficulty in which I had become involved. I at once
told her that at present I was afraid to remain at home, and had
accordingly made up my mind to absent myself for a few weeks or
months--at least until the excitement should die out. Mr. Willis said to
her that he would take me to Fort Kearney with him, and see that I was
properly cared for, and would bring me back safely in forty days.

Mother at first seriously objected to my going on this trip fearing I
would fall into the hands of Indians. Her fears, however, were soon
overcome, and she concluded to let me go. She fixed me up a big bundle of
clothing and gave me a quilt. Kissing her and my sisters a fond farewell,
I started off on my first trip across the plains, and with a light heart
too, notwithstanding my trouble of a few hours before.

The trip proved a most enjoyable one to me, although no incidents
worthy of note occurred on the way. On my return from Fort Kearney I
was paid off the same as the rest of the employees. The remainder of
the summer and fall I spent in herding cattle and working for Russell,
Majors & Waddell.

I finally ventured home--not without some fear, however, of the Gobel
family--and was delighted to learn that during my absence mother had had
an interview with Mr. Gobel, and having settled the difficulty with him,
the two families had become friends again, and I may state, incidentally,
that they ever after remained so. I have since often met Stephen Gobel,
and we have had many a laugh together over our love affair and the affray
at the school-house. Mary Hyatt, the innocent cause of the whole
difficulty, is now married and living in Chicago. Thus ended my first
love scrape.

In the winter of 1856-57 my father, in company with a man named J.C.
Boles, went to Cleveland, Ohio, and organized a colony of about thirty
families, whom they brought to Kansas and located on the Grasshopper.
Several of these families still reside there.

It was during this winter that father, after his return from Cleveland,
caught a severe cold. This, in connection with the wound he had received
at Rively's--from which he had never entirely recovered--affected him
seriously, and in April, 1857, he died at home from kidney disease.

This sad event left my mother and the family in poor circumstances, and I
determined to follow the plains for a livelihood for them and myself. I
had no difficulty in obtaining work under my old employers, and in May,
1857, I started for Salt Lake City with a herd of beef cattle, in charge
of Frank and Bill McCarthy, for General Albert Sidney Johnson's army,
which was then being sent across the plains to fight the Mormons.

Nothing occurred to interrupt our journey until we reached Plum Creek, on
the South Platte river, thirty-five miles west of Old Fort Kearney. We
had made a morning drive and had camped for dinner. The wagon-masters and
a majority of the men had gone to sleep under the mess wagons; the cattle
were being guarded by three men, and the cook was preparing dinner. No
one had any idea that Indians were anywhere near us. The first warning we
had that they were infesting that part of the country was the firing of
shots and the whoops and yells from a party of them, who, catching us
napping, gave us a most unwelcome surprise. All the men jumped to their
feet and seized their guns. They saw with astonishment the cattle running
in every direction, they having been stampeded by the Indians, who had
shot and killed the three men who were on day-herd duty, and the red
devils were now charging down upon the rest of us.

I then thought of mother's fears of my falling into the hands of the
Indians, and I had about made up my mind that such was to be my fate; but
when I saw how coolly and determinedly the McCarthy brothers were
conducting themselves and giving orders to the little band, I became
convinced that we would "stand the Indians off," as the saying is. Our
men were all well armed with Colt's revolvers and Mississippi yagers,
which last, carried a bullet, and two buckshots.

The McCarthy boys, at the proper moment, gave orders to fire upon the
advancing enemy. The volley checked them, although they returned the
compliment, and shot one of our party through the leg. Frank McCarthy
then sang out, "Boys, make a break for the slough yonder, and we can then
have the bank for a breast-work."

[Illustration: KILLING MY FIRST INDIAN.]

We made a run for the slough which was only a short distance off,
and succeeded in safely reaching it, bringing with us the wounded
man. The bank proved to be a very effective breast-work, affording
us good protection. We had been there but a short time when Frank
McCarthy, seeing that the longer we were corraled the worse it would
be for us, said:

"Well, boys, we'll try to make our way back to Fort Kearney by wading in
the river and keeping the bank for a breast-work."

We all agreed that this was the best plan, and we accordingly proceeded
down the river several miles in this way, managing to keep the Indians at
a safe distance with our guns, until the slough made a junction with the
main Platte river. From there down we found the river at times quite
deep, and in order to carry the wounded man along with us we constructed
a raft of poles for his accommodation, and in this way he was
transported.

Occasionally the water would be too deep for us to wade, and we were
obliged to put our weapons on the raft and swim. The Indians followed us
pretty close, and were continually watching for an opportunity to get a
good range and give us a raking fire. Covering ourselves by keeping well
under the bank, we pushed ahead as rapidly as possible, and made pretty
good progress, the night finding us still on the way and our enemies
still on our track.

I being the youngest and smallest of the party, became somewhat tired,
and without noticing it I had fallen behind the others for some little
distance. It was about ten o'clock and we were keeping very quiet and
hugging close to the bank, when I happened to look up to the moon-lit sky
and saw the plumed head of an Indian peeping over the bank. Instead of
hurrying ahead and alarming the men in a quiet way, I instantly aimed my
gun at the head and fired. The report rang out sharp and loud on the
night air, and was immediately followed by an Indian whoop, and the next
moment about six feet of dead Indian came tumbling into the river. I was
not only overcome with astonishment, but was badly scared, as I could
hardly realize what I had done. I expected to see the whole force of
Indians come down upon us. While I was standing thus bewildered, the men,
who had heard the shot and the war-whoop and had seen the Indian take a
tumble, came rushing back.

"Who fired that shot?" cried Frank McCarthy.

"I did," replied I, rather proudly, as my confidence returned and I saw
the men coming up.

"Yes, and little Billy has killed an Indian stone-dead--too dead to
skin," said one of the men, who had approached nearer than the rest, and
had almost stumbled upon the corpse. From that time forward I became a
hero and an Indian killer. This was, of course, the first Indian I had
ever shot, and as I was not then more than eleven years of age, my
exploit created quite a sensation.

The other Indians, upon learning what had happened to their "advance
guard," set up a terrible howling, and fired several volleys at us, but
without doing any injury, as we were so well protected by the bank. We
resumed our journey down the river, and traveled all night long. Just
before daylight, Frank McCarthy crawled out over the bank and discovered
that we were only five miles from Fort Kearney, which post we reached in
safety in about two hours,--shortly after _reveille_--bringing the
wounded man with us. It was indeed a relief to us all to feel that once
more we were safe.

Frank McCarthy immediately reported to the commanding officer and
informed him of all that had happened. The commandant at once ordered a
company of cavalry and one of infantry to proceed to Plum Creek on a
forced march--taking a howitzer with them--to endeavor to recapture the
cattle from the Indians.

The firm of Russell, Majors & Waddell had a division agent at Kearney,
and this agent mounted us on mules so that we could accompany the troops.
On reaching the place where the Indians had surprised us, we found the
bodies of the three men whom they had killed and scalped, and literally
cut into pieces. We of course buried the remains. We caught but few of
the cattle; the most of them having been driven off and stampeded with
the buffaloes, there being numerous immense herds of the latter in that
section of the country at that time. The Indian's trail was discovered
running south towards the Republican river, and the troops followed it to
the head of Plum Creek, and there abandoned it, returning to Fort Kearney
without having seen a single red-skin.

The company's agent, seeing that there was no further use for us in that
vicinity--as we had lost our cattle and mules--sent us back to Fort
Leavenworth. The company, it is proper to state, did not have to stand
the loss of the expedition, as the government held itself responsible for
such depredations by the Indians.

On the day that I got into Leavenworth, sometime in July, I was
interviewed for the first time in my life by a newspaper reporter, and
the next morning I found my name in print as "the youngest Indian slayer
on the plains." I am candid enough to admit that I felt very much elated
over this notoriety. Again and again I read with eager interest the long
and sensational account of our adventure. My exploit was related in a
very graphic manner, and for a long time afterwards I was considerable of
a hero. The reporter who had thus set me up, as I then thought, on the
highest pinnacle of fame, was John Hutchinson, and I felt very grateful
to him. He now lives in Wichita, Kansas.




CHAPTER V.

IN BUSINESS.


In the summer of 1857, Russell, Majors & Waddell were sending a great
many trains across the plains to Salt Lake with supplies for General
Johnston's army. Men were in great demand, and the company was paying
teamsters forty dollars per month in gold. An old and reliable
wagon-master, named Lewis Simpson--who had taken a great fancy to me, and
who, by the way, was one of the best wagon-masters that ever ran a bull
train--was loading a train for the company, and was about to start out
with it for Salt Lake. He asked me to go along as an "extra hand." The
high wages that were being paid were a great inducement to me, and the
position of an "extra hand" was a pleasant one. All that I would have to
do would be to take the place of any man who became sick, and drive his
wagon until he recovered. I would have my own mule to ride, and to a
certain extent I would be a minor boss.

My mother was very much opposed to my taking this long trip, as I would
be absent nearly a year, and there was a possibility that something
might arise to prevent me from ever coming back, as we could not often
tell how the Mormon difficulty would terminate. Then again, owing to the
Indians, a journey over the plains in those days was a perilous
undertaking. She said that as I had recently returned from the plains,
and had had a narrow escape from death at the hands of the Indians, she
did not want me to risk my life a second time. I told her that inasmuch
as I had determined to follow the plains for an occupation, nothing
could now stop me from going on this trip, and if it became necessary I
would run away.

Seeing that it was impossible to keep me at home, she reluctantly gave
her consent, but not until she had called upon Mr. Russell and Mr.
Simpson in regard to the matter, and had obtained from the latter
gentleman his promise that I should be well taken care of, if we had to
winter in the mountains. She did not like the appearance of Simpson, and
upon inquiry she learned, to her dismay, that he was a desperate
character, and that on nearly every trip he had made across the plains he
had killed some one. Such a man, she thought, was not a fit master or
companion for her son, and she was very anxious to have me go with some
other wagon-master; but I still insisted upon remaining with Simpson.

"Madam, I can assure you that Lew. Simpson is one of the most reliable
wagon-masters on the plains," said Mr. Russell, "and he has taken a great
fancy to Billy. If your boy is bound to go, he can go with no better man.
No one will dare to impose on him while he is with Lew. Simpson, whom I
will instruct to take good care of the boy. Upon reaching Fort Laramie,
Billy can, if he wishes, exchange places with some fresh man coming back
on a returning train, and thus come home without making the whole trip."

This seemed to satisfy mother, and then she had a long talk with Simpson
himself, imploring him not to forget his promise to take good care of her
precious boy. He promised everything that she asked. Thus, after much
trouble, I became one of the members of Simpson's train. Before taking
our departure, I arranged with Russell, Majors & Waddell that when my pay
should fall due it should be paid over to mother.

As a matter of interest to the general reader, it may be well in this
connection to give a brief description of a freight train. The wagons
used in those days by Russell, Majors & Waddell were known as the "J.
Murphy wagons," made at St. Louis specially for the plains business. They
were very large and were strongly built, being capable of carrying seven
thousand pounds of freight each. The wagon-boxes were very
commodious--being as large as the rooms of an ordinary house--and were
covered with two heavy canvas sheets to protect the merchandise from the
rain. These wagons were generally sent out from Leavenworth, each loaded
with six thousand pounds of freight, and each drawn by several yokes of
oxen in charge of one driver. A train consisted of twenty-five wagons,
all in charge of one man, who was known as the wagon-master. The second
man in command was the assistant wagon-master; then came the "extra
hand," next the night herder; and lastly, the cavallard driver, whose
duty it was to drive the lame and loose cattle. There were thirty-one men
all told in a train. The men did their own cooking, being divided into
messes of seven. One man cooked, another brought wood and water, another
stood guard, and so on, each having some duty to perform while getting
meals. All were heavily armed with Colt's pistols and Mississippi yagers,
and every one always had his weapons handy so as to be prepared for any
emergency.

The wagon-master, in the language of the plains, was called the
"bull-wagon boss"; the teamsters were known as "bull-whackers"; and the
whole train was denominated a "bull-outfit." Everything at that time was
called an "outfit." The men of the plains were always full of droll
humor and exciting stories of their own experiences, and many an hour I
spent in listening to the recitals of thrilling adventures and
hair-breadth escapes.

Russell, Majors & Waddell had in their employ two hundred and fifty
trains, composed of 6,250 wagons, 75,000 oxen, and about eight thousand
men; their business reaching to all the government frontier posts in the
north and west, to which they transported supplies, and they also carried
freight as far south as New Mexico.

[Illustration: A PRAIRIE SCHOONER.]

The trail to Salt Lake ran through Kansas to the northwest, crossing the
Big Blue river, then over the Big and Little Sandy, coming into Nebraska
near the Big Sandy. The next stream of any importance was the Little
Blue, along which the trail ran for sixty miles; then crossed a range of
sand-hills and struck the Platte river ten miles below Old Fort Kearney;
thence the course lay up the South Platte to the old Ash Hollow Crossing,
thence eighteen miles across to the North Platte--near the mouth of the
Blue Water, where General Harney had his great battle in 1855 with the
Sioux and Cheyenne Indians. From this point the North Platte was
followed, passing Court House Rock, Chimney Rock and Scott's Bluffs, and
then on to Fort Laramie, where the Laramie River was crossed. Still
following the North Platte for some considerable distance, the trail
crossed this river at old Richard's Bridge, and followed it up to the
celebrated Red Buttes--crossing the Willow creeks to the Sweet Water,
passing the great Independence Rock and the Devil's gate, up to the Three
Crossings of the Sweet Water, thence past the Cold Springs, where, three
feet under the sod, on the hottest day of summer, ice can be found;
thence to the Hot Springs and the Rocky Ridge, and through the Rocky
Mountains and Echo Canon, and thence on to the Great Salt Lake valley.

We had started on our trip with everything in good shape, following
the above described trail. During the first week or two out, I became
well acquainted with most of the train men, and with one in
particular, who became a life-long and intimate friend of mine. His
real name was James B. Hickok; he afterwards became famous as "Wild
Bill, the Scout of the Plains"--though why he was so called I never
could ascertain--and from this time forward I shall refer to him by
his popular nickname. He was ten years my senior--a tall, handsome,
magnificently built and powerful young fellow, who could out-run,
out-jump and out-fight any man in the train. He was generally admitted
to be the best man physically, in the employ of Russell, Majors &
Waddell; and of his bravery there was not a doubt. General Custer, in
his "Life on the Plains," thus speaks of Wild Bill:

       *       *       *       *       *

"Among the white scouts were numbered some of the most noted of their
class. The most prominent man among them was 'Wild Bill,' whose highly
varied career was made the subject of an illustrated sketch in one of the
popular monthly periodicals a few years ago. 'Wild Bill' was a strange
character, just the one which a novelist might gloat over. He was a
plains-man in every sense of the word, yet unlike any other of his class.
In person he was about six feet and one inch in height, straight as the
straightest of the warriors whose implacable foe he was. He had broad
shoulders, well-formed chest and limbs, and a face strikingly handsome; a
sharp, clear blue eye, which stared you straight in the face when in
conversation; a finely shaped nose, inclined to be aquiline; a
well-turned mouth, with lips only partially concealed by a handsome
moustache. His hair and complexion were those of the perfect blonde. The
former was worn in uncut ringlets, falling carelessly over his powerfully
formed shoulders. Add to this figure a costume blending the immaculate
neatness of the dandy with the extravagant taste and style of the
frontiersman, and you have Wild Bill.... Whether on foot or on horseback,
he was one of the most perfect types of physical manhood I ever saw.

"Of his courage there could be no question; it had been brought to the
test on too many occasions to admit of a doubt. His skill in the use of
the pistol and rifle was unerring; while his deportment was exactly the
opposite of what might be expected from a man of his surroundings. It was
entirely free from all bluster or bravado. He seldom spoke himself unless
requested to do so. His conversation, strange to say, never bordered
either on the vulgar or blasphemous. His influence among the frontiersmen
was unbounded, his word was law; and many are the personal quarrels and
disturbances which he has checked among his comrades by his simple
announcement that 'This has gone far enough,'--if need be followed by the
ominous warning that when persisted in or renewed the quarreler 'must
settle it with me.'

"Wild Bill was anything but a quarrelsome man; yet no one but him could
enumerate the many conflicts in which he had been engaged, and which had
almost always resulted in the death of his adversary. I have a personal
knowledge of at least half a dozen men whom he had at various times
killed, one of these being at the time a member of my command. Others had
been severely wounded, yet he always escaped unhurt.

"On the plains every man openly carries his belt with its invariable
appendages, knife and revolver--often two of the latter. Wild Bill always
carried two handsome ivory-handled revolvers of the large size; he was
never seen without them.... Yet in all the many affairs of this kind in
which Wild Bill has performed a part, and which have come to my
knowledge, there was not a single instance in which the verdict of twelve
fair-minded men would not have been pronounced in his favor."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: WILD BILL.]

Such is the faithful picture of Wild Bill as drawn by General Custer, who
was a close observer and student of personal character, and under whom
Wild Bill served as a scout.

The circumstances under which I first made his acquaintance and learned
to know him well and to appreciate his manly character and
kind-heartedness, were these. One of the teamsters in Lew. Simpson's
train was a surly, overbearing fellow, and took particular delight in
bullying and tyrannizing over me, and one day while we were at dinner he
asked me to do something for him. I did not start at once, and he gave me
a slap in the face with the back of his hand,--knocking me off an
ox-yoke on which I was sitting, and sending me sprawling on the ground.
Jumping to my feet I picked up a camp kettle full of boiling coffee which
was setting on the fire, and threw it at him. I hit him in the face, and
the hot coffee gave him a severe scalding. He sprang for me with the
ferocity of a tiger, and would undoubtedly have torn me to pieces, had it
not been for the timely interference of my new-found friend, Wild Bill,
who knocked the man down. As soon as he recovered himself, he demanded of
Wild Bill what business it was of his that he should "put in his oar."
"It's my business to protect that boy, or anybody else, from being
unmercifully abused, kicked and cuffed, and I'll whip any man who tries
it on," said Wild Bill; "and if you ever again lay a hand on that
boy--little Billy there--I'll give you such a pounding that you won't get
over it for a month of Sundays." From that time forward Wild Bill was my
protector and intimate friend, and the friendship thus begun continued
until his death.

Nothing transpired on the trip to delay or give us any trouble whatever,
until the train struck the South Platte river. One day we camped on the
same ground where the Indians had surprised the cattle herd, in charge of
the McCarty brothers. It was with difficulty that we discovered any
traces of anybody ever having camped there before, the only landmark
being the single grave, now covered with grass, in which we had buried
the three men who had been killed. The country was alive with buffaloes.
Vast herds of these monarchs of the plains were roaming all around us,
and we laid over one day for a grand hunt. Besides killing quite a
number of buffaloes, and having a day of rare sport, we captured ten or
twelve head of cattle, they being a portion of the herd which had been
stampeded by the Indians, two months before. The next day we pulled out
of camp, and the train was strung out to a considerable length along the
road which ran near the foot of the sand-hills, two miles from the river.
Between the road and the river we saw a large herd of buffaloes grazing
quietly, they having been down to the stream for a drink.

Just at this time we observed a party of returning Californians coming
from the West. They, too, noticed the buffalo herd, and in another moment
they were dashing down upon them, urging their steeds to the greatest
speed. The buffalo herd stampeded at once, and broke for the hills; so
hotly were they pursued by the hunters that about five hundred of them
rushed through our train pell-mell, frightening both men and oxen. Some
of the wagons were turned clear round, and many of the terrified oxen
attempted to run to the hills, with the heavy wagons attached to them.
Others turned around so short that they broke the wagon tongues off.
Nearly all the teams got entangled in their gearing, and became wild and
unruly, so that the perplexed drivers were unable to manage them.

The buffaloes, the cattle, and the drivers, were soon running in every
direction, and the excitement upset nearly everybody and everything. Many
of the cattle broke their yokes and stampeded. One big buffalo bull
became entangled in one of the heavy wagon-chains, and it is a fact that
in his desperate efforts to free himself, he not only actually snapped
the strong chain in two, but broke the ox-yoke to which it was attached,
and the last seen of him he was running towards the hills with it hanging
from his horns. A dozen other equally remarkable incidents happened
during the short time that the frantic buffaloes were playing havoc with
our train, and when they had got through and left us, our outfit was very
badly crippled and scattered. This caused us to go into camp and spend a
day in replacing the broken tongues, and repairing other damages, and
gathering up our scattered ox-teams.

The next day we rolled out of camp, and proceeded on our way towards the
setting sun. Everything ran along smoothly with us from that point until
we came within about eighteen miles of Green river, in the Rocky
mountains--where we camped at noon. At this place we had to drive our
cattle about a mile and a half to a creek to water them. Simpson, his
assistant, George Woods and myself, accompanied by the usual number of
guards, drove the cattle over to the creek, and while on our way back to
camp, we suddenly observed a party of twenty horsemen rapidly approaching
us. We were not yet in view of our wagons, as a rise of ground
intervened, and therefore we could not signal the train-men in case of
any unexpected danger befalling us. We had no suspicion, however, that we
were about to be trapped, as the strangers were white men. When they had
come up to us, one of the party, who evidently was the leader, rode out
in front and said:

"How are you, Mr. Simpson?"

"You've got the best of me, sir," said Simpson, who did not know him.

"Well, I rather think I have," coolly replied the stranger, whose words
conveyed a double meaning, as we soon learned. We had all come to a halt
by this time, and the strange horsemen had surrounded us. They were all
armed with double-barreled shot guns, rifles and revolvers. We also were
armed with revolvers, but we had had no idea of danger, and these men,
much to our surprise, had "got the drop" on us, and had covered us with
their weapons, so that we were completely at their mercy. The whole
movement of corraling us was done so quietly and quickly that it was
accomplished before we knew it.

"I'll trouble you for your six shooters, gentlemen," now said the
leader.

"I'll give 'em to you in a way you don't want," replied Simpson.

The next moment three guns were leveled at Simpson. "If you make a move
you're a dead man," said the leader.

Simpson saw that he was taken at a great disadvantage, and thinking it
advisable not to risk the lives of the party by any rash act on his
part, he said: "I see now that you have the best of me, but who are
you, anyhow?"

"I am Joe Smith," was the reply.

"What! the leader of the Danites?" asked Simpson.

"You are correct," said Smith, for he it was.

"Yes," said Simpson, "I know you now; you are a spying scoundrel."

Simpson had good reason for calling him this and applying to him a much
more opprobrious epithet, for only a short time before this, Joe Smith
had visited our train in the disguise of a teamster, and had remained
with us two days. He suddenly disappeared, no one knowing where he had
gone or why he had come among us. But it was all explained to us now that
he had returned with his Mormon Danites. After they had disarmed us,
Simpson asked, "Well, Smith, what are you going to do with us?"

"Ride back with us and I'll soon show you," said Smith.

We had no idea of the surprise which awaited us. As we came upon the top
of the ridge, from which we could view our camp, we were astonished to
see the remainder of the train men disarmed and stationed in a group and
surrounded by another squad of Danites, while other Mormons were
searching our wagons for such articles as they wanted.

"How is this?" inquired Simpson. "How did you surprise my camp without a
struggle? I can't understand it."

"Easily enough," said Smith; "your men were all asleep under the
wagons, except the cooks, who saw us coming and took us for returning
Californians or emigrants, and paid no attention to us until we rode up
and surrounded your train. With our arms covering the men, we woke
them up, and told them that all they had to do was to walk out and drop
their pistols--which they saw was the best thing they could do under
circumstances over which they had no control--and you can just bet
they did it."

"And what do you propose to do with us now?" asked Simpson.

"I intend to burn your train," said he; "you are loaded with supplies
and ammunition for Sidney Johnson, and as I have no way to convey the
stuff to my own people, I'll see that it does not reach the United
States troops."

"Are you going to turn us adrift here?" asked Simpson, who was anxious to
learn what was to become of himself and his men.

"No; I hardly am as bad as that. I'll give you enough provisions to last
you until you can reach Fort Bridger," replied Smith; "and as soon as
your cooks can get the stuff out of the wagons, you can start."

"On foot?" was the laconic inquiry of Simpson.

"Yes sir," was the equally short reply.

"Smith, that's too rough on us men. Put yourself in our place and see how
you would like it," said Simpson; "you can well afford to give us at
least one wagon and six yokes of oxen to convey us and our clothing and
provisions to Fort Bridger. You're a brute if you don't do this."

"Well," said Smith, after consulting a minute or two with some of his
company, "I'll do that much for you."

The cattle and the wagon were brought up according to his orders, and the
clothing and provisions were loaded on.

"Now you can go," said Smith, after everything had been arranged.

"Joe Smith, I think you are a mean coward to set us afloat in a hostile
country, without giving us our arms," said Simpson, who had once before
asked for the weapons, and had had his request denied.

Smith, after further consultation with his comrades, said: "Simpson,
you are too brave a man to be turned adrift here without any means of
defense. You shall have your revolvers and guns." Our weapons were
accordingly handed over to Simpson, and we at once started for Fort
Bridger, knowing that it would be useless to attempt the recapture of
our train.

When we had traveled about two miles we saw the smoke arising from our
old camp. The Mormons after taking what goods they wanted and could carry
off, had set fire to the wagons, many of which were loaded with bacon,
lard, hard-tack, and other provisions, which made a very hot, fierce
fire, and the smoke to roll up in dense clouds. Some of the wagons were
loaded with ammunition, and it was not long before loud explosions
followed in rapid succession. We waited and witnessed the burning of the
train, and then pushed on to Fort Bridger. Arriving at this post, we
learned that two other trains had been captured and destroyed in the same
way, by the Mormons. This made seventy-five wagon loads, or 450,000
pounds of supplies, mostly provisions, which never reached General
Johnson's command, to which they had been consigned.




CHAPTER VI.

HARD TIMES.


As it was getting very late in the fall, we were compelled to winter at
Fort Bridger; and a long, tedious winter it was. There were a great many
troops there, and about four hundred of Russell, Majors & Waddell's
employees. These men were all organized into militia companies, which
were officered by the wagon-masters. Some lived in tents, others in
cabins. It was known that our supplies would run short during the winter,
and so all the men at the post were put on three-quarter rations to begin
with; before long they were reduced to one-half rations, and finally to
one-quarter rations. We were forced to kill our poor worn-out cattle for
beef. They were actually so poor that we had to prop them up to shoot
them down. At last we fell back on the mules, which were killed and
served up in good style. Many a poor, unsuspecting government mule passed
in his chips that winter in order to keep the soldiers and bull-whackers
from starvation.

It was really a serious state of affairs. The wood for the post was
obtained from the mountains, but having no longer any cattle or mules to
transport it, the men were obliged to haul it themselves. Long lariats
were tied to the wagons, and twenty men manning each, they were pulled to
and from the mountains. Notwithstanding all these hardships, the men
seemed to be contented and to enjoy themselves.

The winter finally passed away, and early in the spring, as soon as we
could travel, the civil employees of the government, with the teamsters
and freighters, started for the Missouri river; the Johnson expedition
having been abandoned. On the way down we stopped at Fort Laramie, and
there met a supply train bound westward. Of course we all had a square
meal once more, consisting of hard tack, bacon, coffee and beans. I can
honestly say that I thought it was the best meal I had ever eaten; at
least I relished it more than any other, and I think the rest of the
party did the same.

On leaving Fort Laramie, Simpson was made brigade wagon-master, and was
put in charge of two large trains, with about four hundred extra men, who
were bound for Fort Leavenworth. When we came to Ash Hollow, instead of
taking the usual trail over to the South Platte, Simpson concluded to
follow the North Platte down to its junction with the South Platte. The
two trains were traveling about fifteen miles apart, when one morning
while Simpson was with the rear train, he told his assistant
wagon-master, George Woods and myself to saddle up our mules, as he
wanted us to go with him and overtake the head train.

We started off at about eleven o'clock, and had ridden about seven miles
when--while we were on a big plateau, back of Cedar Bluffs--we suddenly
discovered a band of Indians coming out of the head of a ravine, half a
mile distant, and charging down upon us at full speed. I thought that our
end had come this time, sure. Simpson, however, took in the situation in
a moment, and knowing that it would be impossible to escape by running
our played-out mules, he adopted a bolder and much better plan. He jumped
from his own mule, and told us to dismount also. He then shot the three
animals, and as they fell to the ground he cut their throats to stop
their kicking. He then jerked them into the shape of a triangle, and
ordered us inside of the barricade.

All this was but the work of a few moments, yet it was not done any too
soon, for the Indians had got within three hundred yards of us, and were
still advancing, and uttering their demoniacal yells or war-whoops. There
were forty of the red-skins and only three of us. We were each armed
with a Mississippi yager and two Colt's revolvers.

"Get ready for them with your guns, and when they come within fifty
yards, aim low, blaze away and bring down your man!"

Such was the quick command of Simpson. The words had hardly escaped from
his mouth, when the three yagers almost simultaneously belched forth
their contents. We then seized our revolvers and opened a lively fire on
the enemy, at short range, which checked their advance. Then we looked
over our little barricade to ascertain what effect our fire had produced,
and were much gratified at seeing three dead Indians and one horse lying
on the ground. Only two or three of the Indians, it seemed, had
fire-arms. It must be remembered that in those days every Indian did not
own a needle gun or a Winchester rifle, as they now do. Their principal
weapons were their bows and arrows.

Seeing that they could not take our little fortification, or drive us
from it, they circled around us several times, shooting their arrows at
us. One of the arrows struck George Wood in the left shoulder, inflicting
only a slight wound, however, and several lodged in the bodies of the
dead mules; otherwise they did us no harm.

The Indians finally galloped off to a safe distance, where our bullets
could not reach them, and seemed to be holding a council. This was a
lucky move for us, for it gave us an opportunity to reload our guns and
pistols, and prepare for the next charge of the enemy. During the brief
cessation of hostilities, Simpson extracted the arrow from Wood's
shoulder, and put an immense quid of tobacco on the wound. Wood was then
ready for business again.

[Illustration: HOLDING THE FORT.]

The Indians did not give us a very long rest, for with, another desperate
charge, as if to ride over us, they came dashing towards the mule
barricade. We gave them a hot reception from our yagers and revolvers.
They could not stand, or understand, the rapidly repeating fire of the
revolvers, and we again checked them. They circled around us once more
and gave us a few parting shots as they rode off, leaving behind them
another dead Indian and a horse.

For two hours afterwards they did not seem to be doing anything but
holding a council. We made good use of this time by digging up the ground
inside the barricade with our knives and throwing the loose earth around
and over the mules, and we soon had a very respectable fortification. We
were not troubled any more that day, but during the night the cunning
rascals tried to burn us out by setting fire to the prairie. The buffalo
grass was so short that the fire did not trouble us much, but the smoke
concealed the Indians from our view, and they thought that they could
approach close to us without being seen. We were aware of this, and kept
a sharp look-out, being prepared all the time to receive them. They
finally abandoned the idea of surprising us.

Next morning, bright and early, they gave us one more grand charge, and
again we "stood them off." They then rode away half a mile or so, and
formed a circle around us. Each man dismounted and sat down, as if to
wait and starve us out. They had evidently seen the advance train pass on
the morning of the previous day, and believed that we belonged to that
outfit and were trying to overtake it; they had no idea that another
train was on its way after us.

Our hopes of escape from this unpleasant and perilous situation now
depended upon the arrival of the rear train, and when we saw that the
Indians were going to besiege us instead of renewing their attacks, we
felt rather confident of receiving timely assistance. We had expected
that the train would be along late in the afternoon of the previous day,
and as the morning wore away we were somewhat anxious and uneasy, at its
non-arrival.

At last, about ten o'clock, we began to hear in the distance the loud and
sharp reports of the big bull-whips, which were handled with great
dexterity by the teamsters, and cracked like rifle shots. These were as
welcome sounds to us as were the notes of the bag-pipes to the beseiged
garrison at Lucknow, when the reinforcements were coming up and the
pipers were heard playing, "The Campbells are Coming." In a few moments
we saw the lead or head wagon coming slowly over the ridge, which had
concealed the train from our view, and soon the whole outfit made its
appearance. The Indians observed the approaching train, and assembling in
a group they held a short consultation. They then charged upon us once
more, for the last time, and as they turned and dashed away over the
prairie, we sent our farewell shots rattling after them. The teamsters,
seeing the Indians and hearing the shots, came rushing forward to our
assistance, but by the time they reached us the red-skins had almost
disappeared from view. The teamsters eagerly asked us a hundred questions
concerning our fight, admired our fort and praised our pluck. Simpson's
remarkable presence of mind in planning the defense was the general topic
of conversation among all the men.

When the teams came up we obtained some water and bandages with which to
dress Wood's wound, which had become quite inflamed and painful, and we
then put him into one of the wagons. Simpson and myself obtained a
remount, bade good-bye to our dead mules which had served us so well, and
after collecting the ornaments and other plunder from the dead Indians,
we left their bodies and bones to bleach on the prairie. The train moved
on again and we had no other adventures, except several exciting buffalo
hunts on the South Platte, near Plum Creek.

We arrived at Fort Leavenworth about the middle of July, 1858, when I
immediately visited home. I found mother in very poor health, as she was
suffering from asthma. My oldest sister, Martha, had, during my absence,
been married to John Crane, and was living at Leavenworth.

During the winter at Fort Bridger I had frequently talked with Wild Bill
about my family, and as I had become greatly attached to him I asked him
to come and make a visit at our house, which he promised to do. So one
day, shortly after our return from Fort Bridger, he accompanied me home
from Leavenworth. My mother and sisters, who had heard so much about him
from me, were delighted to see him and he spent several weeks at our
place. They did everything possible to repay him for his kindness to me.
Ever afterwards, when he was at or near Leavenworth, Wild Bill came out
to our house to see the family, whether I was at home or not, and he
always received a most cordial reception. His mother and sisters lived in
Illinois, and he used to call our house his home, as he did not have one
of his own.

I had been home only about a month, after returning from Fort Bridger,
when I again started out with another train, going this time as
assistant wagon-master under Buck Bomer. We went safely through to Fort
Laramie, which was our destination, and from there we were ordered to
take a load of supplies to a new post called Fort Wallach, which was
being established at Cheyenne Pass. We made this trip and got back to
Fort Laramie about November 1st. I then quit the employ of Russell,
Majors & Waddell, and joined a party of trappers who were sent out by
the post trader, Mr. Ward, to trap on the streams of the Chugwater and
Laramie for beaver, otter, and other fur animals, and also to poison
wolves for their pelts. We were out two months, but as the expedition
did not prove very profitable, and was rather dangerous on account of
the Indians, we abandoned the enterprise and came into Fort Laramie in
the latter part of December.

Being anxious to return to the Missouri river, I joined with two others,
named Scott and Charley, who were also desirous of going East on a visit,
bought three ponies and a pack-mule, and we started out together. We made
rapid progress on our journey, and nothing worthy of note happened until
one afternoon, along the banks of the Little Blue River, we spied a band
of Indians hunting on the opposite side of the stream, three miles away.
We did not escape their notice, and they gave us a lively chase for two
hours, but they could find no good crossing, and as evening came on we
finally got away from them.

We traveled until late in the night; when upon discovering a low, deep
ravine which we thought would make a comfortable and safe camping-place,
we stopped for a rest. In searching for a good place to make our beds, I
found a hole, and I called to my companions that I had found a fine place
for a nest. One of the party was to stand guard while the others slept.
Scott took the first watch, while Charley and I made a bed in the hole.

While clearing out the place we felt something rough, but as it was dark
we could not make out what it was. At any rate we concluded that it was
bones or sticks of wood; we thought perhaps it might be the bones of some
animal which had fallen in there and died. These bones, for such they
really proved to be, we pushed one side and then we lay down. But
Charley, being an inveterate smoker, could not resist the temptation of
indulging in a smoke before going to sleep. So he sat up and struck a
match to light his old pipe. Our subterranean bed-chamber was thus
illuminated for a moment or two; I sprang to my feet in an instant for a
ghastly and horrifying sight was revealed to us. Eight or ten human
skeletons lay scattered upon the ground.

The light of the match died out, but we had seen enough to convince us
that we were in a large grave, into which, perhaps, some unfortunate
emigrants, who had been killed by the Indians, had been thrown; or,
perhaps, seeking refuge there, they had been corraled and then killed on
the spot. If such was the case, they had met the fate of thousands of
others, whose friends have never heard of them since they left their
eastern homes to seek their fortunes in the Far West. However, we did not
care to investigate this mystery any further, but we hustled out of that
chamber of death and informed Scott of our discovery. Most of the
plains-men are very superstitious, and we were no exception to the
general rule. We surely thought that this incident was an evil omen, and
that we would be killed if we remained there any longer.

[Illustration: CAMPING IN A SEPULCHRE.]

"Let us dig out of here quicker than we can say Jack Robinson," said
Scott; and we began to "dig out" at once. We saddled our animals and
hurriedly pushed forward through the darkness, traveling several miles
before we again went into camp. Next morning it was snowing fiercely,
but we proceeded as best we could, and that night we succeeded in
reaching Oak Grove ranch, which had been built during the summer. We
here obtained comfortable accommodations and plenty to eat and
drink--especially the latter.

Scott and Charley were great lovers and consumers of "tanglefoot," and
they soon got gloriously drunk, keeping it up for three days, during
which time they gambled with the ranchmen, who got away with all their
money; but little they cared for that, as they had their spree. They
finally sobered up, and we resumed our journey, urging our jaded animals
as much as they could stand, until we struck Marysville, on the Big Blue.
From this place to Leavenworth we secured first-rate accommodations along
the road, as the country had become pretty well settled.

It was in February, 1859, that I got home. As there was now a good school
in the neighborhood, taught by Mr. Divinny, my mother wished me to attend
it, and I did so for two months and a half--the longest period of
schooling that I ever received at any one time in my life. As soon as the
spring came and the grass began growing, I became uneasy and
discontented, and again longed for the free and open life of the plains.

The Pike's Peak gold excitement was then at its height, and everybody was
rushing to the new gold diggings. I caught the gold-fever myself, and
joined a party bound for the new town of Auraria, on Cherry Creek,
afterwards called Denver, in honor of the then governor of Kansas. On
arriving at Auraria we pushed on to the gold streams in the mountains,
passing up through Golden Gate, and over Guy Hill, and thence on to
Black Hawk. We prospected for two months, but as none of us knew anything
about mining we met with very poor success, and we finally concluded that
prospecting for gold was not our forte. We accordingly abandoned the
enterprise and turned our faces eastward once more.

[Illustration: RAFTING ON THE PLATTE.]

When we struck the Platte River, the happy thought of constructing a
small raft--which would float us clear to the Missouri and thence down to
Leavenworth--entered our heads, and we accordingly carried out the plan.
Upon the completion of the raft we stocked it with provisions, and "set
sail" down the stream. It was a light craft and a jolly crew, and all was
smooth sailing for four or five days.

When we got near old Julesburg, we met with a serious mishap. Our raft
ran into an eddy, and quick as lightning went to pieces, throwing us all
into the stream, which was so deep that we had to swim ashore. We lost
everything we had, which greatly discouraged us, and we thereupon
abandoned the idea of rafting it any farther. We then walked over to
Julesburg, which was only a few miles distant. This ranch, which became a
somewhat famous spot, had been established by "Old Jules," a Frenchman,
who was afterwards killed by the notorious Alf. Slade.

The great pony express, about which so much has been said and written,
was at that time just being started. The line was being stocked with
horses and put into good running condition. At Julesburg I met Mr. George
Chrisman, the leading wagon-master of Russell, Majors & Waddell, who had
always been a good friend to me. He had bought out "Old Jules," and was
then the owner of Julesburg ranch, and the agent of the pony express
line. He hired me at once as a pony express rider, but as I was so young
he thought I would not be able to stand the fierce riding which was
required of the messengers. He knew, however, that I had been raised in
the saddle--that I felt more at home there than in any other place--and
as he saw that I was confident that I could stand the racket, and could
ride as far and endure it as well as some of the older riders, he gave me
a short route of forty-five miles, with the stations fifteen miles apart,
and three changes of horses. I was required to make fifteen miles an
hour, including the changes of horses. I was fortunate in getting
well-broken animals, and being so light, I easily made my forty-five
miles on time on my first trip out, and ever afterwards.

I wrote to mother and told her how well I liked the exciting life of a
pony express rider. She replied, and begged of me to give it up, as it
would surely kill me. She was right about this, as fifteen miles an hour
on horseback would, in a short time, shake any man "all to pieces"; and
there were but very few, if any, riders who could stand it for any great
length of time. Nevertheless, I stuck to it for two months, and then,
upon receiving a letter informing me that my mother was very sick, I gave
it up and went back to the old home in Salt Creek Valley.




CHAPTER VII.

ACCIDENTS AND ESCAPES.


My restless, roaming spirit would not allow me to remain at home very
long, and in November, after the recovery of my mother, I went up the
Republican River and its tributaries on a trapping expedition in company
with Dave Harrington. Our outfit consisted of one wagon and a yoke of
oxen for the transportation of provisions, traps, and other necessaries.
We began trapping near Junction City, Kansas, and then proceeded up the
Republican River to the mouth of Prairie Dog Creek, where we found plenty
of beavers.

Having seen no signs of Indians thus far, we felt comparatively safe. We
were catching a large number of beavers and were prospering finely, when
one of our oxen, having become rather poor, slipped and fell upon the
ice, dislocating his hip, so that we had to shoot him to end his misery.
This left us without a team; but we cared little for that, however, as we
had made up our minds to remain there till spring, when, and it was
decided, that one of us should go to the nearest settlement and get a
yoke of oxen with which to haul our wagon into some place of safety where
we could leave it.

We would probably have pulled through the winter all right had it not
been for a very serious accident which befell me just at that time.
Spying a herd of elk, we started in pursuit of them, and creeping up
towards them as slyly as possible, while going around the bend of a sharp
bluff or bank of the creek I slipped and broke my leg just above the
ankle. Notwithstanding the great pain I was suffering, Harrington could
not help laughing when I urged him to shoot me, as he had the ox, and
thus end my misery. He told me to "brace up," and that he would bring me
out "all right." "I am not much of a surgeon," said he, "but I can fix
that leg of yours, even if I haven't got a diploma."

He succeeded in getting me back to camp, which was only a few yards from
the creek, and then he set the fracture as well as he knew how, and made
me as comfortable as was possible under the circumstances. We then
discussed the situation, which to say the least, looked pretty blue.
Knowing that, owing to our mishaps, we could not do anything more that
winter, and as I dreaded the idea of lying there on my back with a broken
leg for weeks, and perhaps months, I prevailed upon Harrington to go the
nearest settlement--about 125 miles distant--to obtain a yoke of cattle,
and then come back for me.

This he consented to do; but before leaving he gathered plenty of wood,
and as the ground was covered with snow, I would have no difficulty in
getting water if I had a fire. There was plenty of fresh meat and other
provisions in the "dug-out," so that I had no fears of starvation. The
"dugout," which we had built immediately after we had determined to
remain there all winter, was a very cosy hole in the ground, covered with
poles, grass and sod, with a fireplace in one end.

Harrington thought it would take him twenty days or more to make the
round trip; but being well provided for--for this length of time--I
urged him to go at once. Bidding me good-bye he started on foot. After
his departure, each day, as it came and went, seemed to grow longer to me
as I lay there helpless and alone. I made a note of each day, so as to
know the time when I might expect him back.

[Illustration: SAVED BY CHIEF RAIN-IN-THE-FACE.]

On the twelfth day after Harrington left me, I was awakened from a sound
sleep by some one touching me upon the shoulder. I looked up and was
astonished to see an Indian warrior standing at my side. His face was
hideously daubed with paint, which told me more forcibly than words could
have done that he was on the war-path. He spoke to me in broken English
and Sioux mixed, and I understood him to ask what I was doing there, and
how many there were with me.

By this time the little dug-out was nearly filled with other Indians, who
had been peeping in at the door, and I could hear voices of still more
outside as well as the stamping of horses. I began to think that my time
had come, as the saying is, when into the cabin stepped an elderly
Indian, whom I readily recognized as old Rain-in-the-Face, a Sioux chief
from the vicinity of Fort Laramie. I rose up as well as I could and
showed him my broken leg. I told him where I had seen him, and asked him
if he remembered me. He replied that he knew me well, and that I used to
come to his lodge at Fort Laramie to visit him. I then managed to make
him understand that I was there alone and having broken my leg, I had
sent my partner off for a team to take me away. I asked him if his young
men intended to kill me, and he answered, that was what they had proposed
to do, but he would see what they had to say.

The Indians then talked among themselves for a few minutes, and upon the
conclusion of the consultation, old Rain-in-the-Face turned to me and
gave me to understand that as I was yet a "papoose," or a very young man,
they would not take my life. But one of his men, who had no fire-arms,
wanted my gun and pistol. I implored old Rain-in-the-Face to be allowed
to keep the weapons, or at least one of them, as I needed something with
which to keep the wolves away. He replied that as his young men were out
on the war path, he had induced them to spare my life; but he could not
prevent them from taking what ever else they wanted.

They unsaddled their horses as if to remain there for some time, and sure
enough they stayed the remainder of the day and all night. They built a
fire in the dug-out and cooked a lot of my provisions, helping themselves
to everything as if they owned it. However, they were polite enough to
give me some of the food after they had cooked it. It was a sumptuous
feast that they had, and they seemed to relish it as if it was the best
lay-out they had had for many a long day. They took all my sugar and
coffee, and left me only some meat and a small quantity of flour, a
little salt and some baking powder. They also robbed me of such cooking
utensils as they wished; then bidding me good-bye, early in the morning,
they mounted their ponies and rode off to the south, evidently bent on
some murdering and thieving expedition.

I was glad enough to see them leave, as my life had undoubtedly hung by a
thread during their presence. I am confident that had it not been for my
youth and the timely recognition and interference of old Rain-in-the-Face
they would have killed me without any hesitation or ceremony.

The second day after they had gone it began snowing, and for three long
and weary days the snow continued to fall thick and fast. It blocked the
door-way and covered the dug-out to the depth of several feet, so that I
became a snowbound prisoner. My wood was mostly under the snow, and it
was with great difficulty that I could get enough to start a fire with.
My prospects were gloomy indeed. I had just faced death at the hands of
the Indians, and now I was in danger of losing my life from starvation
and cold. I knew that the heavy snow would surely delay Harrington on his
return; and I feared that he might have perished in the storm, or that
some other accident might have befallen him. Perhaps some wandering band
of Indians had run across him and killed him.

I was continually thinking of all these possibilities, and I must say
that my outlook seemed desperate. At last the twentieth day
arrived--the day on which Harrington was to return--and I counted the
hours from morning till night, but the day passed away with no signs of
Harrington. The wolves made the night hideous with their howls; they
gathered around the dug-out; ran over the roof; and pawed and scratched
as if trying to get in.

Several days and nights thus wore away, the monotony all the time
becoming greater, until at last it became almost unendurable. Some days I
would go without any fire at all, and eat raw frozen meat and melt snow
in my mouth for water. I became almost convinced that Harrington had been
caught in the storm and had been buried under the snow, or was lost. Many
a time during that dreary period of uncertainty, I made up my mind that
if I ever got out of that place alive, I would abandon the plains and the
life of a trapper forever. I had nearly given up all hopes of leaving the
dug-out alive.

It was on the twenty-ninth day, while I was lying thus despondently
thinking and wondering, that I heard the cheerful sound of Harrington's
voice as he came slowly up the creek, yelling, "whoa! haw!" to his
cattle. A criminal on the scaffold, with the noose around his neck, the
trap about to be sprung, and receiving a pardon just at the last moment,
thus giving him a new lease of life, could not have been more grateful
than I was at that time. It was useless for me to try to force the door
open, as the snow had completely blockaded it, and I therefore anxiously
awaited Harrington's arrival.

"Hello! Billy!" he sang out in a loud voice as he came up, he evidently
being uncertain as to my being alive.

"All right, Dave," was my reply.

"Well, old boy, you're alive, are you?" said he.

"Yes; and that's about all. I've had a tough siege of it since you've
been away, and I came pretty nearly passing in my chips. I began to
think you never would get here, as I was afraid you had been snowed
under," said I.

He soon cleared away the snow from the entrance, and opening the door he
came in. I don't think there ever was a more welcome visitor than he was.
I remember that I was so glad to see him that I put my arms around his
neck and hugged him for five minutes; never shall I forget faithful Dave
Harrington.

"Well, Billy, my boy, I hardly expected to see you alive again," said
Harrington, as soon as I had given him an opportunity to draw his breath;
"I had a terrible trip of it, and I didn't think I ever would get
through. I was caught in the snow-storm, and was laid up for three days.
The cattle wandered away, and I came within an ace of losing them
altogether. When I got started again the snow was so deep that it
prevented me from making much headway. But as I had left you here I was
bound to come through, or die in the attempt."

Again I flung my arms around Dave's neck and gave him a hug that would
have done honor to a grizzly bear. My gratitude was thus much more
forcibly expressed than it could have been by words. Harrington
understood this, and seemed to appreciate it. The tears of joy rolled
down my cheeks, and it was impossible for me to restrain them. When my
life had been threatened by the Indians I had not felt half so miserable
as when I lay in the dug-out thinking I was destined to die a slow death
by starvation and cold. The Indians would have made short work of it, and
would have given me little or no time to think of my fate.

I questioned Harrington as to his trip, and learned all the details. He
had passed through hardships which but few men could have endured. Noble
fellow, that he was. He had risked his own life to save mine.

After he had finished his story, every word of which I had listened to
with eager interest, I related to him my own experiences, in which he
became no less interested. He expressed great astonishment that the
Indians had not killed me, and he considered it one of the luckiest and
most remarkable escapes he had ever heard of. It amused me, however, to
see him get very angry when I told him that they had taken my gun and
pistol and had used up our provisions. "But never mind, Billy," said he,
"we can stand it till the snow goes off, which will not be long, and then
we will pull our wagon back to the settlements."

A few days afterwards Harrington gathered up our traps, and cleaned the
snow out of the wagon. Covering it with the sheet which we had used in
the dug-out, he made a comfortable bed inside, and helped me into it. We
had been quite successful in trapping, having caught three hundred
beavers and one hundred otters, the skins of which Harrington loaded on
the wagon. We then pulled out for the settlements, making good headway,
as the snow had nearly disappeared, having been blown or melted away, so
that we had no difficulty in finding a road. On the eighth day out we
came to a farmer's house, or ranch, on the Republican River, where we
stopped and rested for two days, and then went on to the ranch where
Harrington had obtained the yoke of cattle. We gave the owner of the team
twenty-five beaver skins, equal to $60, for the use of the cattle, and he
let us have them until we reached Junction City, sending his boy with us
to bring them back.

At Junction City we sold our wagon and furs and went with a government
mule train to Leavenworth--arriving there in March, 1860. I was just able
to get around on crutches when I got into Leavenworth, and it was several
months after that before I entirely recovered the use of my leg.

During the winter I had often talked to Harrington about my mother and
sisters, and had invited him to go home with me in the spring. I now
renewed the invitation, which he accepted, and accompanied me home. When
I related to mother my adventures and told her how Harrington had saved
my life, she thanked him again and again. I never saw a more grateful
woman than she was. She asked him to always make his home with us, as she
never could reward him sufficiently for what he had done for her darling
boy, as she called me. Harrington concluded to remain with us through the
summer and farm mother's land. But alas! the uncertainty of life. The
coming of death when least expected was strikingly illustrated in his
case. During the latter part of April he went to a nursery for some
trees, and while coming home late at night he caught a severe cold and
was taken seriously sick, with lung fever. Mother did everything in her
power for him. She could not have done more had he been her own son, but
notwithstanding her motherly care and attention, and the skill of a
physician from Leavenworth, he rapidly grew worse. It seemed hard,
indeed, to think that a great strong man like Harrington, who had braved
the storms, and endured the other hardships of the plains all winter
long, should, during the warm and beautiful days of spring, when
surrounded by friends and the comforts of a good home, be fatally
stricken down. But such was his fate. He died one week from the day on
which he was taken sick. We all mourned his loss as we would that of a
loved son or brother, as he was one of the truest, bravest, and best of
friends. Amid sorrow and tears we laid him away to rest in a picturesque
spot on Pilot Knob. His death cast a gloom over our household, and it was
a long time before it was entirely dispelled. I felt very lonely without
Harrington, and I soon wished for a change of scene again.




CHAPTER VIII.

ADVENTURES ON THE OVERLAND ROAD.


As the warm days of summer approached I longed for the cool air of the
mountains; and to the mountains I determined to go. After engaging a man
to take care of the farm, I proceeded to Leavenworth and there met my old
wagon-master and friend, Lewis Simpson, who was fitting out a train at
Atchison and loading it with supplies for the Overland Stage Company, of
which Mr. Russell, my old employer, was one of the proprietors. Simpson
was going with this train to Fort Laramie and points further west.

"Come along with me, Billy," said he, "I'll give you a good lay-out. I
want you with me."

"I don't know that I would like to go as far west as that again,"
replied I, "but I do want to ride the pony express once more; there's
some life in that."

"Yes, that's so; but it will soon shake the life out of you," said he.
"However, if that's what you've got your mind set on, you had better come
to Atchison with me and see Mr. Russell, who I'm pretty certain, will
give you a situation."

I replied that I would do that. I then went home and informed mother of
my intention, and as her health was very poor I had great difficulty in
obtaining her consent. I finally convinced her that as I was of no use on
the farm, it would be better and more profitable for me to return to the
plains. So after giving her all the money I had earned by trapping, I
bade her good-bye and set out for Atchison.

I met Mr. Russell there and asked him for employment as a pony
express-rider; he gave me a letter to Mr. Slade, who was then the stage
agent for the division extending from Julesburg to Rocky Ridge. Slade
had his headquarters at Horseshoe Station, thirty-six miles west of
Fort Laramie and I made the trip thither in company with Simpson and
his train.

Almost the very first person I saw after dismounting from my horse was
Slade. I walked up to him and presented Mr. Russell's letter, which he
hastily opened and read. With a sweeping glance of his eye he took my
measure from head to foot, and then said:

"My boy, you are too young for a pony express-rider. It takes men for
that business."

"I rode two months last year on Bill Trotter's division, sir, and filled
the bill then; and I think I am better able to ride now," said I.

"What! are you the boy that was riding there, and was called the youngest
rider on the road?"

"I am the same boy," I replied, confident that everything was now all
right for me.

"I have heard of you before. You are a year or so older now, and I think
you can stand it. I'll give you a trial anyhow and if you weaken you can
come back to Horseshoe Station and tend stock."

That ended our first interview. The next day he assigned me to duty on
the road from Red Buttes on the North Platte, to the Three Crossings of
the Sweetwater--a distance of seventy-six miles--and I began riding at
once. It was a long piece of road, but I was equal to the undertaking;
and soon afterwards had an opportunity to exhibit my power of endurance
as a pony express rider.

One day when I galloped into Three Crossings, my home station, I found
that the rider who was expected to take the trip out on my arrival, had
got into a drunken row the night before and had been killed; and that
there was no one to fill his place. I did not hesitate for a moment to
undertake an extra ride of eighty-five miles to Rocky Ridge, and I
arrived at the latter place on time. I then turned back and rode to Red
Buttes, my starting place, accomplishing on the round trip a distance of
322 miles.

[Illustration: I IMMEDIATELY CHANGED HORSES]

Slade heard of this feat of mine, and one day as he was passing on a
coach he sang out to me, "My boy, you're a brick, and no mistake. That
was a good run you made when you rode your own and Miller's routes, and
I'll see that you get extra pay for it."

Slade, although rough at times and always a dangerous character--having
killed many a man--was always kind to me. During the two years that I
worked for him as pony express-rider and stage-driver, he never spoke an
angry word to me.

As I was leaving Horse Creek one day, a party of fifteen Indians "jumped
me" in a sand ravine about a mile west of the station. They fired at me
repeatedly, but missed their mark. I was mounted on a roan California
horse--the fleetest steed I had. Putting spurs and whip to him, and lying
flat on his back, I kept straight on for Sweetwater Bridge--eleven miles
distant--instead of trying to turn back to Horse Creek. The Indians came
on in hot pursuit, but my horse soon got away from them, and ran into the
station two miles ahead of them. The stock-tender had been killed there
that morning, and all the stock had been driven off by the Indians, and
as I was therefore unable to change horses, I continued on to Ploutz's
Station--twelve miles further--thus making twenty-four miles straight run
with one horse. I told the people at Ploutz's what had happened at
Sweetwater Bridge, and with a fresh horse went on and finished the trip
without any further adventure.

[Illustration: ATTACK ON STAGE COACH.]

About the middle of September the Indians became very troublesome on the
line of the stage road along the Sweetwater. Between Split Rock and Three
Crossings they robbed a stage, killed the driver and two passengers, and
badly wounded Lieut. Flowers, the assistant division agent. The
red-skinned thieves also drove off the stock from the different stations,
and were continually lying in wait for the passing stages and pony
express-riders, so that we had to take many desperate chances in running
the gauntlet.

The Indians had now become so bad and had stolen so much stock that it
was decided to stop the pony express for at least six weeks, and to run
the stages but occasionally during that period; in fact, it would have
been almost impossible to have run the enterprise much longer without
restocking the line.

While we were thus nearly all lying idle, a party was organized to go
out and search for stolen stock. This party was composed of
stage-drivers, express-riders, stock-tenders, and ranchmen--forty of them
altogether--and they were well-armed and well-mounted. They were mostly
men who had undergone all kinds of hardships and braved every danger, and
they were ready and anxious to "tackle" any number of Indians. Wild Bill
(who had been driving stage on the road and had recently come down to our
division) was elected captain of the company.

It was supposed that the stolen stock had been taken to the head of
Powder River and vicinity, and the party, of which I was a member,
started out for that section in high hopes of success.

Twenty miles out from Sweetwater Bridge, at the head of Horse Creek, we
found an Indian trail running north towards Powder River, and we could
see by the tracks that most of the horses had been recently shod and were
undoubtedly our stolen stage stock. Pushing rapidly forward, we followed
this trail to Powder River; thence down this stream to within about forty
miles of the spot where old Fort Reno now stands. Here the trail took a
more westerly course along the foot of the mountains, leading eventually
to Crazy Woman's Fork--a tributary of Powder River. At this point we
discovered that the party whom we were trailing had been joined by
another band of Indians, and, judging from the fresh appearance of the
trail, the united body could not have left this spot more than
twenty-four hours before.

Being aware that we were now in the heart of the hostile country and that
we might at any moment find more Indians than we had "lost," we advanced
with more caution than usual, and kept a sharp lookout. As we were
approaching Clear Creek, another tributary of Powder river, we discovered
Indians on the opposite side of the creek, some three miles distant; at
least we saw horses grazing, which was a sure sign that there were
Indians there.

The Indians thinking themselves in comparative safety--never before
having been followed so far into their own country by white men--had
neglected to put out any scouts. They had no idea that there were any
white men in that part of the country. We got the lay of their camp, and
then held a council to consider and mature a plan for capturing it. We
knew full well that the Indians would outnumber us at least three to one,
and perhaps more. Upon the advice and suggestion of Wild Bill, it was
finally decided that we should wait until it was nearly dark, and then,
after creeping as close to them as possible, make a dash through their
camp, open a general fire on them, and stampede the horses.

This plan, at the proper time, was most successfully executed. The dash
upon the enemy was a complete surprise to them. They were so overcome
with astonishment that they did not know what to make of it. We could not
have astonished them any more if we had dropped down into their camp from
the clouds. They did not recover from the surprise of this sudden charge
until after we had ridden pell-mell through their camp and got away with
our own horses as well as theirs. We at once circled the horses around
towards the south, and after getting them on the south side of Clear
Creek, some twenty of our men--just as the darkness was coming on--rode
back and gave the Indians a few parting shots. We then took up our line
of march for Sweetwater Bridge, where we arrived four days afterwards
with all of our own horses and about one hundred captured Indian ponies.

The expedition had proved a grand success, and the event was celebrated
in the usual manner--by a grand spree. The only store at Sweetwater
Bridge did a rushing business for several days. The returned
stock-hunters drank, and gambled and fought. The Indian ponies, which had
been distributed among the captors, passed from hand to hand at almost
every deal of the cards. There seemed to be no limit to the rioting, and
carousing; revelry reigned supreme. On the third day of the orgie, Slade,
who had heard the news, came up to the bridge and took a hand in the
"fun," as it was called. To add some variation and excitement to the
occasion, Slade got in to a quarrel with a stage-driver and shot him,
killing him almost instantly.

[Illustration: ALF. SLADE KILLING THE DRIVER.]

The "boys" became so elated as well as "elevated" over their success
against the Indians, that most of them were in favor of going back and
cleaning out the whole Indian race. One old driver especially, Dan Smith,
was eager to open a war on all the hostile nations, and had the drinking
been continued another week he certainly would have undertaken the job,
single-handed and alone. The spree finally came to an end; the men
sobered down and abandoned the idea of again invading the hostile
country. The recovered horses were replaced on the road, and the stages
and pony express were again running on time.

Slade, having taken a great fancy to me, said: "Billy, I want you to come
down to my headquarters, and I'll make you a sort of supernumerary rider,
and send you out only when it is necessary." I accepted the offer, and
went with him down to Horseshoe, where I had a comparatively easy time of
it. I had always been fond of hunting, and I now had a good opportunity
to gratify my ambition in that direction, as I had plenty of spare time
on my hands. In this connection I will relate one of my bear-hunting
adventures. One day, when I had nothing else to do, I saddled up an extra
pony express horse, and arming myself with a good rifle and pair of
revolvers, struck out for the foot hills of Laramie Peak for a bear-hunt.
Riding carelessly along, and breathing the cool and bracing autumn air
which came down from the mountains, I felt as only a man can feel who is
roaming over the prairies of the far West, well armed, and mounted on a
fleet and gallant steed. The perfect freedom which he enjoys is in itself
a refreshing stimulant to the mind as well as to the body. Such indeed
were my feelings on this beautiful day, as I rode up the valley of the
Horseshoe. Occasionally I scared up a flock of sage-hens or a
jack-rabbit. Antelopes and deer were almost always in sight in any
direction, but as they were not the kind of game I was after, on that
day, I passed them by, and kept on towards the higher mountains. The
further I rode the rougher and wilder became the country, and I knew that
I was approaching the haunts of the bear. I did not discover any,
however, although I saw plenty of tracks in the snow.

About two o'clock in the afternoon, my horse having become tired, and
myself being rather weary, I shot a sage-hen, and dismounting, I
unsaddled my horse and tied him to a small tree, where he could easily
feed on the mountain grass. I then built a little fire, and broiling the
chicken and seasoning it with salt and pepper, which I had obtained from
my saddle-bags, I soon sat down to a "genuine square meal," which I
greatly relished.

After resting for a couple of hours, I remounted and resumed my upward
trip to the mountains, having made up my mind to camp out that night
rather than go back without a bear, which my friends knew I had gone out
for. As the days were growing short, night soon came on, and I looked
around for a suitable camping place. While thus engaged, I scared up a
flock of sage-hens, two of which I shot, intending to have one for supper
and the other for breakfast.

By this time it was becoming quite dark, and I rode down to one of the
little mountain streams, where I found an open place in the timber
suitable for a camp. I dismounted, and after unsaddling my horse and
hitching him to a tree, I prepared to start a fire. Just then I was
startled by hearing a horse whinnying further up the stream. It was
quite a surprise to me, and I immediately ran to my animal to keep him
from answering, as horses usually do in such cases. I thought that the
strange horse might belong to some roaming band of Indians, as I knew of
no white men being in that portion of the country at that time. I was
certain that the owner of the strange horse could not be far distant,
and I was very anxious to find out who my neighbor was, before letting
him know that I was in his vicinity. I therefore re-saddled my horse,
and leaving him tied so that I could easily reach him I took my gun and
started out on a scouting expedition up the stream. I had gone about
four hundred yards when, in a bend of the stream, I discovered ten or
fifteen horses grazing.

On the opposite side of the creek a light was shining high up the
mountain bank. Approaching the mysterious spot as cautiously as possible,
and when within a few yards of the light--which I discovered came from a
dug-out in the mountain side--I heard voices, and soon I was able
distinguish the words, as they proved to be in my own language. Then I
knew that the occupants of the dug-out, whence the voices proceeded, were
white men. Thinking that they might be a party of trappers, I boldly
walked up to the door and knocked for admission. The voices instantly
ceased, and for a moment a deathlike silence reigned inside. Then there
seemed to follow a kind of hurried whispering--a sort of
consultation--and then some one called out: "Who's there?"

"A friend and a white man," I replied.

The door opened, and a big, ugly-looking fellow stepped, forth and said:

"Come in."

I accepted the invitation with some degree of fear and hesitation, which
I endeavored to conceal, as I saw that it was too late to back out, and
that it would never do to weaken at that point, whether they were friends
or foes. Upon entering the dug-out my eyes fell upon eight as rough and
villainous looking men as I ever saw in my life. Two of them I instantly
recognized as teamsters who had been driving in Lew Simpson's train, a
few months before, and had been discharged.

They were charged with the murdering and robbing of a ranchman; and
having stolen his horses it was supposed that they had left the country.
I gave them no signs of recognition however, deeming it advisable to let
them remain in ignorance as to who I was. It was a hard crowd, and I
concluded that the sooner I could get away from them the better it would
be for me. I felt confident that they were a band of horse-thieves.

"Where are you going, young man; and who's with you?" asked one of the
men who appeared to be the leader of the gang.

"I am entirely alone. I left Horseshoe station this morning for a bear
hunt, and not finding any bears, I had determined to camp out for the
night and wait till morning," said I; "and just as I was going into camp,
a few hundred yards down the creek, I heard one of your horses whinnying,
and then I came up to your camp."

[Illustration: THE HORSE THIEVES' DEN.]

I was thus explicit in my statement in order, if possible to satisfy the
cut-throats that I was not spying upon them, but that my intrusion was
entirely accidental.

"Where's your horse?" demanded the boss thief.

"I left him down the creek," I answered.

They proposed going after the horse, but I thought that that would never
do, as it would leave me without any means of escape, and I accordingly
said, in hopes to throw them off the track, "Captain, I'll leave my gun
here and go down and get my horse, and come back and stay all night."

I said this in as cheerful and as careless a manner as possible, so as
not to arouse their suspicions in any way, or lead them to think that I
was aware of their true character. I hated to part with my gun, but my
suggestion of leaving it was a part of the plan of escape which I had
arranged. If they have the gun, thought I, they would surely believe that
I intended to come back. But this little game did not work at all, as one
of the desperadoes spoke up and said:

"Jim and I will go down with you after your horse, and you can leave your
gun here all the same, as you'll not need it."

"All right," I replied, for I could certainly have said nothing else.
It became evident to me that it would be better to trust myself with
two men than with the whole party. It was apparent that from this time
on, I would have to be on the alert for some good opportunity to give
them the slip.

"Come along," said one of them, and together we went down the creek, and
soon came to the spot where my horse was tied. One of the men unhitched
the animal and said: "I'll lead the horse."

"Very well," said I, "I've got a couple of sage-hens here. Lead on."

I picked up the sage-hens, which I had killed a few hours before, and
followed the man who was leading the horse, while his companion brought
up the rear. The nearer we approached the dug-out the more I dreaded the
idea of going back among the villainous cut-throats.

My first plan of escape having failed, I now determined upon another.

[Illustration: MY ESCAPE FROM THE HORSE THIEVES.]

I had both of my revolvers with me, the thieves not having thought it
necessary to search me. It was now quite dark, and I purposely dropped
one of the sage-hens, and asked the man behind me to pick it up. While he
was hunting for it on the ground, I quickly pulled out one of my Colt's
revolvers and struck him a tremendous blow on the back of the head,
knocking him senseless to the ground. I then instantly wheeled around,
and saw that the man ahead who was only a few feet distant, had heard the
blow and had turned to see what was the matter, his hand upon his
revolver. We faced each other at about the same instant, but before he
could fire, as he tried to do, I shot him dead in his tracks. Then
jumping on my horse, I rode down the creek as fast as possible, through
the darkness and over the rough ground and rocks.

The other outlaws in the dug-out, having heard the shot which I had
fired, knew there was trouble, and they all came rushing down the creek.
I suppose, by the time they reached the man whom I had knocked down,
that he had recovered and hurriedly told them of what had happened. They
did not stay with the man whom I had shot, but came on in hot pursuit of
me. They were not mounted, and were making better time down the rough
canon than I was on horseback. From time to time I heard them gradually
gaining on me.

At last they had come so near that I saw that I must abandon my horse. So
I jumped to the ground, and gave him a hard slap with the butt of one of
my revolvers, which started him on down the valley, while I scrambled up
the mountain side. I had not ascended more than forty feet when I heard
my pursuers coming closer and closer; I quickly hid behind a large pine
tree, and in a few moments they all rushed by me, being led on by the
rattling footsteps of my horse, which they heard ahead of them. Soon I
heard them firing at random at the horse, as they no doubt supposed I was
still seated on his back. As soon as they had passed me I climbed further
up the steep mountain, and knowing that I had given them the slip, and
feeling certain that I could keep out of their way, I at once struck out
for Horseshoe station, which was twenty-five miles distant. I had hard
traveling at first, but upon reaching lower and better ground, I made
good headway, walking all night and getting into the station just before
daylight,--foot-sore, weary, and generally played out.

I immediately waked up the men of the station and told them of my
adventure. Slade himself happened to be there, and he at once organized
a party to go out and hunt up the horse-thieves. Shortly after daylight
twenty well-armed stage-drivers, stock-tenders and ranchmen were
galloping in the direction of the dug-out. Of course I went along with
the party, notwithstanding I was very tired and had had hardly any rest
at all. We had a brisk ride, and arrived in the immediate vicinity of
the thieves' rendezvous at about ten o'clock in the morning. We
approached the dug-out cautiously, but upon getting in close proximity
to it we could discover no horses in sight. We could see the door of the
dug-out standing wide open, and we then marched up to the place. No one
was inside, and the general appearance of everything indicated that the
place had been deserted--that the birds had flown. Such, indeed, proved
to be the case.

We found a new-made grave, where they had evidently buried the man whom I
had shot. We made a thorough search of the whole vicinity, and finally
found their trail going southeast in the direction of Denver. As it would
have been useless to follow them, we rode back to the station; and thus
ended my eventful bear-hunt. We had no more trouble for some time from
horse-thieves after that.

During the winter of 1860 and the spring of 1861 I remained at Horseshoe,
occasionally riding pony express and taking care of stock.




CHAPTER IX.

FAST DRIVING.


It was in the spring of 1861, while I was at Horseshoe, that the
eastern-bound coach came in one day loaded down with passengers and
baggage, and stopped for dinner; Horseshoe being a regular dinner
station as well as a home station. The passengers consisted of six
Englishmen, and they had been continually grumbling about the slow time
that was being made by the stages, saying that the farther they got East
the slower they went.

"These blarsted 'eathens don't know hanything habout staging, hany-'ow,"
remarked one of them.

"Blarst me bloody heyes! they cawn't stage in this country as we do in
Hingland, you know," said another.

Their remarks were overheard by Bob Scott, who was to drive the coach
from Horseshoe to Fort Laramie, and he determined to give them
satisfaction before they got over his route. Scott was known to be the
best reinsman and the most expert driver on the whole line of the road.
He was a very gentlemanly fellow in his general appearance and conduct,
but at times he would become a reckless dare-devil, and would take more
desperate chances than any other driver. He delighted in driving wild
teams on the darkest nights, over a mountain road, and had thus become
the hero of many a thrilling adventure.

It happened on this day he was to drive a team of six pony express
horses, which had been only partially broken in as a stage team. As the
stock-tenders were hitching them up, Bob, who was standing by, said,
"I'll show them Englishmen that we 'blarsted heathens' do know something
about staging in this country." We all knew from Bob's looks that
something was up.

It required several men to hitch up this frisky team, as a man had to
hold on to each one of the horses by the bits, while they were stringing
them out. The Englishmen came out from dinner, and were delighted to see
the horses prancing and pawing as if anxious to start.

"Ha! my deah fellah, now we will 'ave a fine ride this hafternoon," said
one of them.

"By Jove! those are the kind of 'orses they hought to 'ave on hall the
teams," remarked another.

"Are you the lad who is going to drive to-day?" asked another of Bob.

"Yes, gentlemen," answered Bob, "I'll show you how we stage it in
this country."

Bob mounted the box, gathered the lines, and pulling the horses strongly
by the bits, he sang out to the Englishmen, "All aboard!" Bob's companion
on the box was Capt. Cricket; a little fellow who was the messenger of
the coach. After everybody was seated, Bob told the stock-tenders to
"turn 'em loose."

We, who were standing around to see the stage start out, expected it
would go off at a lively rate. We were considerably surprised, therefore,
when, after the horses had made a few lively jumps, Bob put on the big
California brakes and brought them down to a walk. The road, for a
distance of four miles, gradually rose to the top of a hill, and all the
way up this ascent, Bob held the impatient team in check.

"Blarst your heyes, driver, why don't you let them go?" exclaimed one of
the passengers, who had all along been expecting a very brisk ride. Every
once in a while they would ask him some such question, but he paid no
attention to them. At last he reached the top of the hill, and then he
suddenly flung three of the lines on the left side of the team, and the
other three on the right side. He then began "playing the silk to
them,"--that is to say, he began to lash them unmercifully. The team
started off like a streak of lightning, so to speak, without a single
rein being held by the driver. Bob cried out to the Englishmen, saying,
"Hold on, gentlemen, and I'll give you a lively ride, and show you how
to stage it in the Rocky Mountains."

[Illustration: BOB SCOTT'S FAMOUS COACH RIDE.]

His next movement was to pull the lamps out of the sockets and throw them
at the leaders. The glass broke upon their backs and nearly set them
wild, but being so accustomed to running the road, they never once left
the track, and went flying on down the grade towards the next station,
eight miles distant, the coach bouncing over the loose stones and small
obstacles, and surging from side to side, as an eggshell would in the
rapids of Niagara. Not satisfied with the break-neck rate at which they
were traveling, Bob pulled out his revolver and fired in rapid
succession, at the same time yelling in a demoniacal manner.

By this time the Englishmen had become thoroughly frightened, as they saw
the lines flying wildly in every direction and the team running away.
They did not know whether to jump out or remain in the coach. Bob would
occasionally look down from his seat, and, seeing their frightened faces,
would ask, "Well, how do you like staging in this country now?" The
Englishmen stuck to the coach, probably thinking it would be better to do
so than to take the chances of breaking their necks by jumping.

As the flying team was nearing the station, the stock tender saw that
they were running away and that the driver had no control over them
whatever. Being aware that the pony express horses were accustomed to
running right into the stable on arriving at the station, he threw open
the large folding doors, which would just allow the passage of the team
and coach into the stable. The horses, sure enough, made for the open
doorway. Capt. Cricket, the messenger, and Scott got down in the boot of
the coach to save themselves from colliding with the top of the stable
door. The coach would probably have passed through into the stable
without any serious damage had it not been for the bar or threshold that
was stretched across the ground to fasten the doors to. This bar was a
small log, and the front wheels struck it with such force that the coach
was thrown up high enough to strike the upper portion of the door frame.
The top of the coach was completely torn off, and one of the passenger's
arms was broken. This was the only serious injury that was done; though
it was a matter of surprise to all, that any of the travelers escaped.

The coach was backed out, when the running gear was found to be as good
as ever. The top was soon patched up, a change of team was made, and Bob
Scott, mounting the box as if nothing had happened, took the reins in
hand, and shouted, "All aboard!" The Englishmen, however, had had enough
of Bob Scott, and not one of the party was willing to risk his life with
him again. They said that he was drunk, or crazy or both, and that they
would report him and have him discharged for what he had already done.

Bob waited a few minutes to give them an opportunity to take their seats
in the coach, but they told him most emphatically that he could drive on
without them, as they intended to wait there for the next stage. Their
traps were taken off, and Bob drove away without a single passenger. He
made his usual time into Fort Laramie, which was the end of his run. The
Englishmen came through on the next day's coach, and proceeded on to
Atchison, where they reported Bob to the superintendent of the line, who,
however, paid little or no attention to the matter, as Bob remained on
the road. Such is the story of the liveliest and most reckless piece of
stage-driving that ever occurred on the Overland stage road.




CHAPTER X.

QUESTIONABLE PROCEEDINGS.


Having been away from home nearly a year, and having occasionally heard
of my mother's poor health, I determined to make her a visit; so
procuring a pass over the road, I went to Leavenworth, arriving there
about June 1st, 1861, going from there home. The civil war had broken
out, and excitement ran high in that part of the country. My mother, of
course, was a strong Union woman, and had such great confidence in the
government that she believed the war would not last over six months.

Leavenworth at that time was quite an important outfitting post for the
West and Southwest, and the fort there was garrisoned by a large number
of troops. While in the city one day I met several of the old, as well as
the young men, who had been members of the Free State party all through
the Kansas troubles, and who had, like our family, lost everything at the
hands of the Missourians. They now thought a good opportunity offered to
retaliate and get even with their persecutors, as they were all
considered to be secessionists. That they were all secessionists,
however, was not true, as all of them did not sympathize with the South.
But the Free State men, myself among them, took it for granted that as
Missouri was a slave state the inhabitants must all be secessionists, and
therefore our enemies. A man by the name of Chandler proposed that we
organize an independent company for the purpose of invading Missouri and
making war on its people on our own responsibility. He at once went about
it in a very quiet way, and succeeded in inducing twenty-five men to join
him in the hazardous enterprise. Having a longing and revengeful desire
to retaliate upon the Missourians for the brutal manner in which they had
treated and robbed my family, I became a member of Chandler's company.
His plan was that we should leave our homes in parties of not more than
two or three together, and meet at a certain point near Westport,
Missouri, on a fixed day. His instructions were carried out to the
letter, and we met at the rendezvous at the appointed time. Chandler had
been there some days before us, and, thoroughly disguised, had been
looking around the country for the whereabouts of all the best horses. He
directed us to secretly visit certain farms and collect all the horses
possible, and bring them together the next night. This we did, and upon
reassembling it was found that nearly every man had two horses. We
immediately struck out for the Kansas line, which we crossed at an Indian
ferry on the Kansas river, above Wyandotte, and as soon as we had set
foot upon Kansas soil we separated with the understanding; that we were
to meet one week from that day at Leavenworth.

[Illustration: NEARLY EVERY MAN HAD TWO HORSES.]

Some of the parties boldly took their confiscated horses into
Leavenworth, while others rode them to their homes. This action may look
to the reader like horse-stealing, and some people might not hesitate to
call it by that name; but Chandler plausibly maintained that we were only
getting back our own, or the equivalent, from the Missourians, and as the
government was waging war against the South, it was perfectly square and
honest, and we had a good right to do it. So we didn't let our
consciences trouble us very much.

We continued to make similar raids upon the Missourians off and on during
the summer, and occasionally we had running fights with them; none of the
skirmishes, however, amounting to much.

The government officials hearing of our operations, put detectives upon
our track, and several of the party were arrested. My mother, upon
learning that I was engaged in this business, told me it was neither
honorable nor right, and she would not for a moment countenance any such
proceedings. Consequently I abandoned the jay-hawking enterprise, for
such it really was.

About this time the government bought from Jones and Cartwright several
ox-trains, which were sent to Rolla, Missouri, all being put in charge of
my old and gallant friend, Wild Bill, who had just become the hero of the
day, on account of a terrible fight which he had had with a gang of
desperadoes and outlaws, who infested the border under the leadership of
the then notorious Jake McCandless. In this fight he had killed
McCandless and three of his men.

The affair occurred while Wild Bill was riding the pony express in
western Kansas.

The custom with the express riders, when within half a mile of a
station, was either to begin shouting or blowing a horn in order to
notify the stock tender of his approach, and to have a fresh horse
already saddled for him on his arrival, so that he could go right on
without a moment's delay.

One day, as Wild Bill neared Rock Creek station, where he was to change
horses, he began shouting as usual at the proper distance; but the
stock-tender, who had been married only a short time and had his wife
living with him at the station, did not make his accustomed appearance.
Wild Bill galloped up and instead of finding the stock-tender ready for
him with a fresh horse, he discovered him lying across the stable door
with the blood oozing from a bullet-hole in his head. The man was dead,
and it was evident that he had been killed only a few moments before.

In a second Wild Bill jumped from his horse, and looking in the direction
of the house he saw a man coming towards him. The approaching man fired
on him at once, but missed his aim. Quick as lightning Wild Bill pulled
his revolver and returned the fire. The stranger fell dead, shot through
the brain.

"Bill, Bill! Help! Help! save me!" Such was the cry that Bill now heard.
It was the shrill and pitiful voice of the dead stock-tender's wife, and
it came from a window of the house. She had heard the exchange of shots,
and knew that Wild Bill had arrived.

He dashed over the dead body of the villain whom he had killed, and just
as he sprang into the door of the house, he saw two powerful men
assaulting the woman. One of the desperadoes was in the act of striking
her with the butt end of a revolver, and while his arm was still raised,
Bill sent a ball crashing through his skull, killing him instantly. Two
other men now came rushing from an adjoining room, and Bill, seeing that
the odds were three to one against him, jumped into a corner, and then
firing, he killed another of the villains. Before he could shoot again
the remaining two men closed in upon him, one of whom had drawn a large
bowie knife. Bill wrenched the knife from his grasp and drove it through
the heart of the outlaw.

[Illustration: WILD BILL AND THE OUTLAWS.]

The fifth and last man now grabbed Bill by the throat, and held him at
arm's length, but it was only for a moment, as Bill raised his own
powerful right arm and struck his antagonist's left arm such a terrible
blow that he broke it. The disabled desperado, seeing that he was no
longer a match for Bill, jumped through the door, and mounting a horse he
succeeded in making his escape--being the sole survivor of the Jake
McCandless gang.

Wild Bill remained at the station with the terrified woman until the
stage came along, and he then consigned her to the care of the driver.
Mounting his horse he at once galloped off, and soon disappeared in the
distance, making up for lost time.

This was the exploit that was on everybody's tongue and in every
newspaper. It was one of the most remarkable and desperate hand to hand
encounters that has ever taken place on the border.

I happened to meet Wild Bill at Leavenworth as he was about to depart for
Rolla; he wished me to take charge of the government trains as a sort of
assistant under him, and I gladly accepted the offer. Arriving at Rolla,
we loaded the trains with freight and took them to Springfield, Missouri.

On our return to Rolla we heard a great deal of talk about the
approaching fall races at St. Louis, and Wild Bill having brought a fast
running horse from the mountains, determined to take him to that city and
match him against some of the high-flyers there; and down to St. Louis we
went with this running horse, placing our hopes very high on him.

Wild Bill had no difficulty in making up a race for him. All the money
that he and I had we put up on the mountain runner, and as we thought we
had a sure thing, we also bet the horse against $250. I rode the horse
myself, but nevertheless, our sure thing, like many another sure thing,
proved a total failure, and we came out of that race minus the horse and
every dollar we had in the world.

Before the race it had been "make or break" with us, and we got "broke."
We were "busted" in the largest city we had ever been in, and it is no
exaggeration to say that we felt mighty blue.

On the morning after the race we went to the military headquarters, where
Bill succeeded in securing an engagement for himself as a government
scout, but I being so young failed in obtaining similar employment. Wild
Bill, however, raised some money, by borrowing it from a friend, and then
buying me a steamboat ticket he sent me back to Leavenworth, while he
went to Springfield, which place he made his headquarters while scouting
in southeastern Missouri.

One night, after he had returned from a scouting expedition, he took a
hand in a game of poker, and in the course of the game he became involved
in a quarrel with Dave Tutt, a professional gambler, about a watch which
he had won from Tutt, who would not give it up.

Bill told him he had won it fairly, and that he proposed to have it;
furthermore, he declared his intention of carrying the watch across the
street next morning to military headquarters, at which place he had to
report at nine o'clock.

Tutt replied that he would himself carry the watch across the street at
nine o'clock, and no other man would do it.

Bill then said to Tutt that if he attempted anything of the kind, he
would kill him.

A challenge to a duel had virtually been given and accepted, and
everybody knew that the two men meant business. At nine o'clock the next
morning, Tutt started to cross the street. Wild Bill, who was standing on
the opposite side, told him to stop. At that moment Tutt, who was
carrying his revolver in his hand, fired at Bill but missed him. Bill
quickly pulled out his revolver and returned the fire, hitting Tutt
squarely in the forehead and killing him instantly.

Quite a number of Tutt's friends were standing in the vicinity, having
assembled to witness the duel, and Bill, as soon as Tutt fell to the
ground, turned to them and asked if any one of them wanted to take it up
for Tutt; if so, he would accommodate any of them then and there. But
none of them cared to stand in front of Wild Bill to be shot at by him.

Nothing of course was ever done to Bill for the killing of Tutt.




CHAPTER XI.

A SOLDIER.


In the fall of 1861 I made a trip to Fort Larned, Kansas, carrying
military dispatches, and in the winter I accompanied George Long through
the country, and assisted him in buying horses for the government.

The next spring, 1862, an expedition against the Indians was organized,
consisting of a volunteer regiment, the Ninth Kansas, under Colonel
Clark. This expedition, which I had joined in the capacity of guide and
scout, proceeded to the Kiowa and Comanche country, on the Arkansas
river, along which stream we scouted all summer between Fort Lyon and
Fort Larned, on the old Santa Fe trail. We had several engagements with
the Indians, but they were of no great importance.

In the winter of 1862, I became one of the "Red Legged Scouts,"--a
company of scouts commanded by Captain Tuff. Among its members were some
of the most noted Kansas Rangers, such as Red Clark, the St. Clair
brothers, Jack Harvey, an old pony express-rider named Johnny Fry, and
many other well known frontiersmen. Our field of operations was confined
mostly to the Arkansas country and southwestern Missouri. We had many a
lively skirmish with the bushwhackers and Younger brothers, and when we
were not hunting them, we were generally employed in carrying dispatches
between Forts Dodge, Gibson, Leavenworth, and other posts. Whenever we
were in Leavenworth we had a very festive time. We usually attended all
the balls in full force, and "ran things" to suit ourselves. Thus I
passed the winter of 1862 and the spring of 1863.

Subsequently I engaged to conduct a small train to Denver for some
merchants, and on reaching that place in September, I received a letter
stating that my mother was not expected to live. I hastened home, and
found her dangerously ill. She grew gradually worse, and at last, on the
22d of November, 1863, she died. Thus passed away a loving and
affectionate mother and a noble, brave, good and loyal woman. That I
loved her above all other persons, no one who has read these
reminiscences can for a moment doubt.

Previous to this said event my sister Julia had been married to a
gentleman named J.A. Goodman, and they now came to reside at our
house and take charge of the children, as my mother had desired that
they should not be separated. Mr. Goodman became the guardian of the
minor children.

I soon left the home now rendered gloomy by the absence of her whom I had
so tenderly loved, and going to Leavenworth I entered upon a dissolute
and reckless life--to my shame be it said--and associated with gamblers,
drunkards, and bad characters generally. I continued my dissipation about
two months, and was becoming a very "hard case." About this time the
Seventh Kansas regiment, known as "Jennison's Jay-hawkers," returned from
the war, and re-enlisted and re-organized as veterans. Among them I met
quite a number of my old comrades and neighbors, who tried to induce me
to enlist and go south with them. I had no idea of doing anything of the
kind; but one day, after having been under the influence of bad whisky, I
awoke to find myself a soldier in the Seventh Kansas. I did not remember
how or when I had enlisted, but I saw I was in for it, and that it would
not do for me to endeavor to back out.

In the spring of 1864 the regiment was ordered to Tennessee, and we got
into Memphis just about the time that General Sturgis was so badly
whipped by General Forrest. General A. J. Smith re-organized the army to
operate against Forrest, and after marching to Tupalo, Mississippi, we
had an engagement with him and defeated him. This kind of fighting was
all new to me, being entirely different from any in which I had ever
before engaged. I soon became a non-commissioned officer, and was put on
detached service as a scout.

After skirmishing around the country with the rest of the army for some
little time, our regiment returned to Memphis, but was immediately
ordered to Cape Girardeau, in Missouri, as a confederate force under
General Price was then raiding that state. The command of which my
regiment was a part hurried to the front to intercept Price, and our
first fight with him occurred at Pilot Knob. From that time for nearly
six weeks we fought or skirmished every day.

I was still acting as a scout, when one day I rode ahead of the command,
some considerable distance, to pick up all possible information
concerning Price's movements. I was dressed in gray clothes, or Missouri
jeans, and on riding up to a farm-house and entering, I saw a man, also
dressed in gray costume, sitting at a table eating bread and milk. He
looked up as I entered, and startled me by saying:

"You little rascal, what are you doing in those 'secesh' clothes?" Judge
of my surprise when I recognized in the stranger my old friend and
partner, Wild Bill, disguised as a Confederate officer.

"I ask you the same question, sir," said I without the least hesitation.

"Hush! sit down and have some bread and milk, and we'll talk it all over
afterwards," said he.

I accepted the invitation and partook of the refreshments. Wild Bill
paid the woman of the house, and we went out to the gate where my horse
was standing.

"Billy, my boy," said he, "I am mighty glad to see you. I haven't seen or
heard of you since we got busted on that St. Louis' horse-race."

"What are you doing out here?" I asked.

"I am a scout under General McNiel. For the last few days I have been
with General Marmaduke's division of Price's army, in disguise as a
southern officer from Texas, as you see me now," said he.

"That's exactly the kind of business that I am out on to-day," said I;
"and I want to get some information concerning Price's movements."

"I'll give you all that I have;" and he then went on and told me all that
he knew regarding Price's intentions, and the number and condition of his
men. He then asked about my mother, and when he learned that she was dead
he was greatly surprised and grieved; he thought a great deal of her, for
she had treated him almost as one of her own children. He finally took
out a package, which he had concealed about his person, and handing it to
me he said:

"Here are some letters which I want you to give to General McNiel."

"All right," said I as I took them, "but where will I meet you again?"

"Never mind that," he replied; "I am getting so much valuable information
that I propose to stay a little while longer in this disguise." Thereupon
we shook hands and parted.

It is not necessary to say much concerning Price's raid in general, as
that event is a matter of recorded history. I am only relating the
incidents in which I was personally interested either as one of the
actors or as an observer.

Another interesting and I may say exciting episode happened to me a day
or two after my unexpected meeting with Wild Bill. I was riding with the
advance guard of our army, and wishing a drink of water, I stopped at a
farmhouse. There were no men about the premises, and no one excepting a
very fine and intellectual looking lady and her two daughters. They
seemed to be almost frightened to death at seeing me--a "yank"--appear
before them. I quieted their fears somewhat, and the mother then asked me
how far back the army was. When I told her it would be along shortly, she
expressed her fears that they would take everything on the premises. They
set me out a lunch and treated me rather kindly, so that I really began
to sympathize with them; for I knew that the soldiers would ransack their
house and confiscate everything they could lay their hands on. At last I
resolved to do what I could to protect them. After the generals and the
staff officers had passed by, I took it upon myself to be a sentry over
the house. When the command came along some of the men rushed up with the
intention of entering the place and carrying off all the desirable
plunder possible, and then tearing and breaking everything to pieces, as
they usually did along the line of march.

"Halt!" I shouted; "I have been placed here by the commanding officer as
a guard over this house, and no man must enter it."

This stopped the first squad; and seeing that my plan was a success, I
remained at my post during the passage of the entire command and kept out
all intruders.

It seemed as if the ladies could not thank me sufficiently for the
protection I had afforded them. They were perfectly aware of the fact
that I had acted without orders and entirely on my own responsibility,
and therefore they felt the more grateful. They urgently invited me to
remain a little while longer and partake of an excellent dinner which
they said they were preparing for me. I was pretty hungry about that
time, as our rations had been rather slim of late, and a good dinner was
a temptation I could not withstand, especially as it was to be served up
by such elegant ladies. While I was eating the meal, I was most agreeably
entertained by the young ladies, and before I had finished it the last of
the rear-guard must have been at least two miles from the house.

Suddenly three men entered the room, and I looked up and saw three
double-barreled shot-guns leveled straight at me. Before I could speak,
however, the mother and her daughters sprang between the men and me.

"Father! Boys! Lower your guns! You must not shoot this man," and similar
exclamations, were the cry of all three.

The guns were lowered, and then the men, who were the father and
brothers of the young ladies, were informed of what I had done for them.
It appeared that they had been concealed in the woods near by while the
army was passing, and on coming into the house and finding a Yankee
there, they determined to shoot him. Upon learning the facts, the old man
extended his hand to me, saying:

"I would not harm a hair of your head for the world; but it is best that
you stay here no longer, as your command is some distance from here now,
and you might be cut off by bushwhackers before reaching it."

Bidding them all good-bye, and with many thanks from the mother and
daughters, I mounted my horse and soon overtook the column, happy in the
thought that I had done a good deed, and with no regrets that I had saved
from pillage and destruction the home and property of a confederate and
his family.

Our command kept crowding against Price and his army until they were
pushed into the vicinity of Kansas City, where their further advance was
checked by United States troops from Kansas; and then was begun their
memorable and extraordinary retreat back into Kansas.

While both armies were drawn up in skirmish line near Fort Scott, Kansas,
two men on horseback were seen rapidly leaving the Confederate lines, and
suddenly they made a dash towards us. Instantly quick volleys were
discharged from the Confederates, who also began a pursuit, and some five
hundred shots were fired at the flying men. It was evident that they were
trying to reach our lines, but when within about a quarter of a mile of
us, one of them fell from his horse to rise no more. He had been fatally
shot. His companion galloped on unhurt, and seven companies of our
regiment charged out and met him, and checked his pursuers. The fugitive
was dressed in Confederate uniform, and as he rode into our lines I
recognized him as Wild Bill, the Union scout. He immediately sought
Generals Pleasanton and McNiel, with whom he held a consultation. He told
them that although Price made a bold showing on the front, by bringing
all his men into view, yet he was really a great deal weaker than the
appearance of his lines would indicate; and that he was then trying to
cross a difficult stream four miles from Fort Scott.

It was late in the afternoon, but General Pleasanton immediately ordered
an advance, and we charged in full force upon the rear of Price's army,
and drove it before us for two hours.

If Wild Bill could have made his successful dash into our lines earlier
in the day, the attack would have been made sooner, and greater results
might have been expected. The Confederates had suspected him of being a
spy for two or three days, and had watched him too closely to allow an
opportunity to get away from them sooner. His unfortunate companion who
had been shot, was a scout from Springfield, Missouri, whose name I
cannot now remember.

From this time on, Wild Bill and myself continued to scout together until
Price's army was driven south of the Arkansas River and the pursuit
abandoned. We then returned to Springfield, Missouri, for a rest and for
supplies, and Wild Bill and myself spent two weeks there in "having a
jolly good time," as some people would express it.




CHAPTER XII.

A WEDDING.


It was during the winter of 1864-65, while I was on detached service at
military headquarters, at St. Louis, that I became acquainted with a
young lady named Louisa Frederici, whom I greatly admired and in whose
charming society I spent many a pleasant hour. The war closing in
1865, I was discharged, and after a brief visit at Leavenworth I
returned to St. Louis, having made up my mind to capture the heart of
Miss Frederici, whom I now adored above any other young lady I had ever
seen. Her lovely face, her gentle disposition and her graceful manners
won my admiration and love; and I was not slow in declaring my
sentiments to her. The result was that I obtained her consent to marry
me in the near future, and when I bade her good-bye I considered myself
one of the happiest of men.

Meantime I drove a string of horses from Leavenworth to Fort Kearney,
where I met my old friend Bill Trotter, who was then division stage
agent. He employed me at once to drive stage between Kearney and Plum
Creek, the road running near the spot where I had my first Indian fight
with the McCarthy brothers, and where I killed my first Indian, nearly
nine years before. I drove stage over this route until February, 1866,
and while bounding over the cold, dreary road day after day, my thoughts
turned continually towards my promised bride, until I at last determined
to abandon staging forever, and marry and settle down. Immediately after
coming to this conclusion, I went to St. Louis, where I was most
cordially received by my sweetheart; it was arranged between us that our
wedding should take place on the 6th day of March, following.

At last the day arrived, and the wedding ceremony was performed at the
residence of the bride's parents, in the presence of a large number of
invited friends, whose hearty congratulations we received. I was
certainly to be congratulated, for I had become possessed of a lovely
and noble woman, and as I gazed upon her as she stood beside me arrayed
in her wedding costume, I indeed felt proud of her; and from that time
to this I have always thought that I made a most fortunate choice for a
life partner.

An hour after the ceremony we--my bride and myself--were on board of a
Missouri river steamboat, bound for our new home in Kansas. My wife's
parents had accompanied us to the boat, and had bidden us a fond farewell
and a God-speed on our journey.

During the trip up the river several very amusing, yet awkward
incidents occurred, some of which I cannot resist relating. There
happened to be on board the boat an excursion party from Lexington,
Missouri, and those comprising it seemed to shun me, for some reason
which I could not then account for. They would point at me, and quietly
talk among themselves, and eye me very closely. Their actions seemed
very strange to me. After the boat had proceeded some little distance,
I made the acquaintance of several families from Indiana, who were _en
route_ to Kansas. A gentleman, who seemed to be the leader of these
colonists, said to me, "The people of this excursion party don't seem
to have any great love for you."

"What does it mean?" I asked; "What are they saying? It's all a
mystery to me."

"They say that you are one of the Kansas jay-hawkers, and one of
Jennison's house burners," replied the gentleman.

"I am from Kansas--that's true; and was a soldier and a scout in the
Union army," said I; "and I was in Kansas during the border ruffian war
of 1856. Perhaps these people know who I am, and that explains their
hard looks." I had a lengthy conversation with this gentleman--for such
he seemed to be--and entertained him with several chapters of the
history of the early Kansas troubles, and told him the experiences of
my own family.

In the evening the Lexington folks got up a dance, but neither the
Indiana people, my wife or myself were invited to join them. My
new-found friend thereupon came to me and said: "Mr. Cody, let us have a
dance of our own."

"Very well," was my reply.

"We have some musicians along with us, so we can have plenty of music,"
remarked the gentleman.

"Good enough!" said I, "and I will hire the negro barber to play the
violin for us. He is a good fiddler, as I heard him playing only a
little while ago." The result was that we soon organized a good string
band and had a splendid dance, keeping it up as long as the Lexington
party did theirs.

The second day out from St. Louis, the boat stopped to wood up, at a
wild-looking landing. Suddenly twenty horsemen were seen galloping up
through the timber, and as they came nearer the boat they fired on the
negro deckhands, against whom they seemed to have a special grudge, and
who were engaged in throwing wood on board. The negroes all quickly
jumped on the boat and pulled in the gang plank, and the captain had only
just time to get the steamer out into the stream before the
bushwhackers--for such they proved to be--appeared on the bank.

"Where is the black abolition jay-hawker?" shouted the leader.

"Show him to us, and we'll shoot him," yelled another.

But as the boat had got well out in the river by this time, they could
not board us, and the captain ordering a full head of steam, pulled out
and left them.

I afterwards ascertained that some of the Missourians, who were with the
excursion party, were bushwhackers themselves, and had telegraphed to
their friends from some previous landing that I was on board, telling
them to come to the landing which we had just left, and take me off. Had
the villains captured me they would have undoubtedly put an end to my
career, and the public would never have had the pleasure of being bored
by this autobiography.

I noticed that my wife felt grieved over the manner in which these
people had treated me. Just married, she was going into a new country,
and seeing how her husband was regarded, how he had been shunned, and
how his life had been threatened, I was afraid she might come to the
conclusion too soon that she had wedded a "hard customer." So when the
boat landed at Kansas City I telegraphed to some of my friends in
Leavenworth that I would arrive there in the evening. My object was to
have my acquaintances give me a reception, so that my wife could see
that I really did have some friends, and was not so bad a man as the
bushwhackers tried to make out.

Just as I expected, when the boat reached Leavenworth, I found a general
round-up of friends at the landing to receive us. There were about sixty
gentlemen and ladies. They had a band of music with them, and we were
given a fine serenade. Taking carriages, we all drove to South
Leavenworth to the home of my sister Eliza, who had married George Myers,
and there we were given a very handsome reception. All this cheered up my
wife, who concluded that I was not a desperado after all.

Having promised my wife that I would abandon the plains, I rented a hotel
in Salt Creek Valley--the same house by the way, which my mother had
formerly kept, but which was then owned by Dr. J.J. Crook, late surgeon
of the 7th Kansas. This hotel I called the Golden Rule House, and I kept
it until the next September. People generally said I made a good
landlord, and knew how to run a hotel--a business qualification which, it
is said, is possessed by comparatively few men. But it proved too tame
employment for me, and again I sighed for the freedom of the plains.
Believing that I could make more money out West on the frontier than I
could at Salt Creek Valley, I sold out the Golden Rule House, and started
alone for Saline, Kansas, which was then the end of the track of the
Kansas Pacific railway, which was at that time being built across the
plains. On my way I stopped at Junction City, where I again met my old
friend Wild Bill, who was scouting for the government; his headquarters
being at Fort Ellsworth, afterwards called Fort Harker. He told me that
they needed more scouts at this post, and I accordingly accompanied him
to that fort, where I had no difficulty in obtaining employment.

During the winter of 1866-67, I scouted between Fort Ellsworth and Fort
Fletcher. In the spring of 1867 I was at Fort Fletcher, when General
Custer came out to go on an Indian expedition with General Hancock. I
remained at this post until it was drowned out by the heavy floods of Big
Creek, on which it was located; the water rose about the fortifications
and rendered the place unfit for occupancy; so the government abandoned
the fort, and moved the troops and supplies to a new post--which had been
named Fort Hays--located further west, on the south fork of Big Creek. It
was while scouting in the vicinity of Fort Hays that I had my first ride
with the dashing and gallant Custer, who had come up to the post from
Fort Ellsworth with an escort of only ten men. He wanted a guide to pilot
him to Fort Larned, a distance of sixty-five miles across the country.

I was ordered by the commanding officer to guide General Custer to his
desired destination, and I soon received word from the General that he
would start out in the morning with the intention of making the trip in
one day. Early in the morning, after a good night's rest, I was on hand,
mounted on my large mouse-colored mule--an animal of great endurance--and
ready for the journey; when the General saw me, he said:

"Cody, I want to travel fast and go through as quickly as possible, and I
don't think that mule of yours is fast enough to suit me."

"General, never mind the mule," said I, "he'll get there as soon as your
horses. That mule is a good one," as I knew that the animal was better
than most horses.

"Very well; go ahead, then," said he, though he looked as if he thought I
would delay the party on the road.

For the first fifteen miles, until we came to the Smoky Hill River,
which we were to cross, I could hardly keep the mule in advance of the
General, who rode a frisky, impatient and ambitious thoroughbred steed;
in fact, the whole party was finely mounted. The General repeatedly told
me that the mule was "no good," and that I ought to have had a good
horse. But after crossing the river and striking the sand-hills, I began
letting my mule out a little, and putting the "persuaders" to him. He
was soon out-traveling the horses, and by the time we had made about
half the distance to Fort Larned, I occasionally had to wait for the
General or some of his party, as their horses were beginning to show
signs of fatigue.

"General, how about this mule, anyhow?" I asked, at last.

"Cody, you have a better vehicle than I thought you had," was his reply.

From that time on to Fort Larned I had no trouble in keeping ahead of the
party. We rode into the fort at four o'clock in the afternoon with about
half the escort only, the rest having lagged far behind.

General Custer thanked me for having brought him straight across the
country without any trail, and said that if I were not engaged as post
scout at Fort Hays he would like to have me accompany him as one of his
scouts during the summer; and he added that whenever I was out of
employment, if I would come to him he would find something for me to do.
This was the beginning of my acquaintance with General Custer, whom I
always admired as a man and as an officer.

[Illustration: GENERAL CUSTER]

A few days after my return to Fort Hays, the Indians made a raid on the
Kansas Pacific Railroad, killing five or six men and running off about
one hundred horses and mules. The news was brought to the commanding
officer, who immediately ordered Major Arms, of the Tenth Cavalry--which,
by the way, was a negro regiment,--with his company and one mountain
howitzer, to go in pursuit of the red-skins, and I was sent along with
the expedition as scout and guide. On the second day out we suddenly
discovered, on the opposite side of the Saline River, about a mile
distant, a large body of Indians, who were charging down upon us. Major
Arms, placing the cannon on a little knoll, limbered it up and left
twenty men to guard it; and then, with the rest of the command, he
crossed the river to meet the Indians.

Just as he had got the men over the stream, we heard a terrific yelling
and shouting in our rear, and looking back to the knoll where the cannon
had been stationed, we saw the negroes, who had been left there to guard
the gun, flying towards us, being pursued by about one hundred Indians;
while another large party of the latter were dancing around the captured
cannon, as if they had got hold of an elephant and did not know what to
do with it.

Major Arms turned his command back and drove the Indians from the gun.
The troops then dismounted and took position there. Quite a severe fight
ensued, lasting about two hours. Five or six of the soldiers, as well as
Major Arms, were wounded, and several of the horses were shot. The
Indians seemed to grow thicker and thicker, as if receiving
reinforcements from some large party. The colored troops, who had been
bragging all the way that if they could only see some Indians "dey would
blow 'em off de farm,"--which was a favorite expression of theirs,--were
now singing a different tune. Every time the Indians would make a charge
at us, the darkeys would cry out:

"Heah dey cum;" "Dey must be ten thousand ob 'em;" "De whole country is
alive wid 'em;" "Massa Bill, does you tink we is eber agoin' to get out
o' heah?" and many other similar expressions.

Major Arms, who was wounded and lying under the cannon--which, by the
way, had become useless,--called me up and asked if I thought there was
any show of getting back to the fort. I replied that there was.

Orders were accordingly given by Major Arms for a retreat, the cannon
being left behind. During the movement several of our men were killed,
but as night came and dense darkness prevailed, we succeeded in making
good headway, and got into Fort Hays just at daylight next morning, in a
very played-out condition.

During our absence the cholera had broken out at the post, and five or
six men were dying daily. It was difficult to tell which was the greater
danger--fighting Indians on the prairie, or facing the cholera in camp;
but the former was decidedly the more inviting.




CHAPTER XIII.

A MILLIONAIRE.


Soon after returning to Fort Hays, I was sent with dispatches to Fort
Harker. After delivering the messages, I visited the town of Ellsworth,
about three miles west of Fort Harker, and there I met a man named
William Rose, a contractor on the Kansas Pacific Railroad, who had a
contract for grading near Fort Hays. He had had his stock stolen by the
Indians, and had come to Ellsworth to buy more.

During the course of our conversation, Mr. Rose incidentally remarked
that he had some idea of laying out a town on the west side of Big Creek,
about one mile from the fort, where the railroad was to cross. He asked
my opinion of the contemplated enterprise, and I told him that I thought
it was "a big thing." He then proposed taking me as a partner in the
scheme, and suggested that after we got the town laid out and thrown open
to the public, we should establish a store and saloon there.

Thinking it would be a grand thing to be half-owner of a town, I at once
accepted his proposition. We bought a stock of such articles as are
usually found in a frontier store, and transported them to the place on
Big Creek, where we were to found our town. We hired a railroad engineer
to survey the site and stake it off into lots; and we gave the new town
the ancient and historical name of Rome. To a "starter," we donated lots
to any one who would build on them, but reserved the corner lots and
others which were best located for ourselves. These reserved lots we
valued at fifty dollars each.

Our modern Rome, like all mushroom towns along the line of a new
railroad, sprang up as if by magic, and in less than one month we had two
hundred frame and log houses, three or four stores, several saloons, and
one good hotel. Rome was looming up, and Rose and I already considered
ourselves millionaires, and thought we "had the world by the tail." But
one day a fine-looking gentleman, calling himself Dr. W.E. Webb, appeared
in town, and dropping into our store introduced himself in a very
pleasant way.

"Gentlemen, you've got a very flourishing little town here. Wouldn't you
like to have a partner in your enterprise?"

"No, thank you," said I, "we have too good a thing here to whack up
with anybody."

My partner agreed with me, but the conversation was continued, and at
last the stranger said:

"Gentlemen, I am the agent or prospector of the Kansas Pacific Railroad,
and my business is to locate towns for the company along the line."

"We think we have the only suitable town-site in this immediate
locality," said Mr. Rose, "and as a town is already started, we have
saved the company considerable expense."

"You know as well as I do," said Dr. Webb, "that the company expects to
make money by selling lands and town lots; and as you are not disposed to
give the company a show, or share with me, I shall probably have to start
another town near you. Competition is the life of trade, you know."

"Start your town, if you want to. We've got the 'bulge' on you, and can
hold it," said I, somewhat provoked at his threat.

But we acted too independently and too indiscreetly for our own good Dr.
Webb, the very next day after his interview with us, began hauling
material to a spot about one mile east of us, where he staked out a new
town, which he called Hays City. He took great pains to circulate in our
town the story that the railroad company would locate their round-houses
and machine shops at Hays City, and that it was to be _the_ town and a
splendid business center. A ruinous stampede from our place was the
result. People who had built in Rome came to the conclusion that they had
built in the wrong place; they began pulling down their buildings and
moving them over to Hays City, and in less than three days our once
flourishing city had dwindled down to the little store which Rose and I
had built.

It was on a bright summer morning that we sat on a pine box in front of
our crib, moodily viewing the demolition of the last building. Three days
before, we had considered ourselves millionaires; on that morning we
looked around and saw that we were reduced to the ragged edge of poverty.
Our sanguine expectations of realizing immense fortunes were dashed to
the ground, and we felt pretty blue. The new town of Hays had swallowed
Rome entirely. Mr. Rose facetiously remarked that he felt like "the last
rose of summer," with all his lovely companions faded and gone, and _he_
left blooming alone. I told him I was still there, staunch and true, but
he replied that that didn't help the matter much. Thus ends the brief
history of the "Rise, Decline and Fall" of Modern Rome.

It having become evident to me that there was very little hope of Rome
ever regaining its former splendor and prosperity, I sent my wife and
daughter Arta--who had been born at Leavenworth in the latter part of
December, 1866--to St. Louis on a visit. They had been living with me
for some little time in the rear part of our "store."

At this time Mr. Rose and myself had a contract under Schumacher, Miller
& Co., constructors of the Kansas Pacific, for grading five miles of
track westward from Big Creek, and running through the site of Rome.
Notwithstanding we had been deserted, we had some small hope that they
would not be able to get water at the new town, and that the people would
all soon move back to Rome, as we really had the best location. We
determined, therefore, to go on with our grading contract, and wait for
something better to turn up. It was indeed hard for us, who had been
millionaires, to come down to the level of common railroad contractors--
but we had to do it, all the same.

We visited the new town of Hays almost daily, to see how it was
progressing, and in a short time we became much better acquainted with
Dr. Webb, who had reduced us from our late independent to our present
dependent position. We found him a perfect gentleman--a whole-souled,
genial-hearted fellow, whom everybody liked and respected. Nearly
every day, "Doc." and I would take a ride over the prairie together
and hunt buffalo.

On one occasion, having ventured about ten miles from the town, we spied
a band of Indians not over two miles distant, who were endeavoring to get
between us and the town, and thus cut us off. I was mounted on my
celebrated horse Brigham, the fleetest steed I ever owned. On several
subsequent occasions he saved my life, and he was the horse that I rode
when I killed sixty-nine buffaloes in one day. Dr. Webb was riding a
beautiful thoroughbred bay, which he had brought with him from the East.
Having such splendid horses, we laughed at the idea of a band of Indians
overtaking us on a square run, no matter how well they might be mounted;
but not caring to be cut off by them, we ran our steeds about three
miles towards home, thus getting between the braves and the town. The
Indians were then about three-quarters of a mile distant, and we stopped
and waved our hats at them, and fired some shots at long range. There
were thirteen in the party, and as they were getting pretty close to us,
we struck out for Hays. They came on in pursuit and sent several
scattering shots after us, but we easily left them behind. They finally
turned and rode off towards the Saline River.

The Doctor thought this glorious sport, and wanted to organize a party to
go in pursuit of them, but I induced him to give up this idea, although
he did so rather reluctantly. The Doctor soon became quite an expert
hunter, and before he had remained on the prairie a year there were but
few men in the country who could kill more buffaloes on a hunt than he.

Being aware that Rose and myself felt rather downhearted over our
deserted village, the Doctor one day said that, as he had made the
proprietors of Rome "howl," he would give us two lots each in Hays, and
did so. We finally came to the conclusion that our old town was dead
beyond redemption or revival, and we thereupon devoted our undivided
attention to our railroad contract. One day we were pushed for horses to
work on our scrapers--so I hitched up Brigham, to see how he would work.
He was not much used to that kind of labor, and I was about giving up the
idea of making a work-horse of him, when one of the men called to me that
there were some buffaloes coming over the hill. As there had been no
buffaloes seen anywhere in the vicinity of the camp for several days, we
had become rather short of meat. I immediately told one of our men to
hitch his horses to a wagon and follow me, as I was going out after the
herd, and we would bring back some fresh meat for supper. I had no
saddle, as mine had been left at the camp a mile distant, so taking the
harness from Brigham, I mounted him bareback and started out after the
game, being armed with my celebrated buffalo-killer, "Lucretia
Borgia,"--a newly-improved breech-loading needle gun, which I had
obtained from the government.

While I was riding toward the buffaloes I observed five horsemen coming
out from the fort, who had evidently seen the buffaloes from the post,
and were going out for a chase. They proved to be some newly-arrived
officers in that part of the country, and when they came up closer, I
could see by the shoulder straps that the senior officer was a captain,
while the others were lieutenants.

"Hello! may friend," sang out the captain, "I see you are after the same
game we are."

"Yes, sir; I saw those buffaloes coming over the hill, and as we were
about out of fresh meat I thought I would go and get some," said I.

They scanned my cheap-looking outfit pretty closely, and as my horse was
not very prepossessing in appearance, having on only a blind bridle, and
otherwise looking like a work-horse they evidently considered me a green
hand at hunting.

"Do you expect to catch those buffaloes on that Gothic steed?" laughingly
asked the captain.

"I hope so, by pushing on the reins hard enough," was my reply.

"You'll never catch them in the world, my fine fellow," said the captain.
"It requires a fast horse to overtake the animals on these prairies."

"Does it?" asked I as if I didn't know it.

"Yes; but come along with us as we are going to kill them more for
pleasure than anything else. All we want are the tongues and a piece of
tender loin, and you may have all that is left," said the generous man.

"I am much obliged to you, Captain, and will follow you," I replied.
There were eleven buffaloes in the herd and they were not more than a
mile from us. The officers dashed ahead as if they had a sure thing on
killing them all before I could come up with them; but I had noticed that
the herd was making towards the creek for water, and as I knew buffalo
nature, I was perfectly aware that it would be difficult to turn them
from their direct course. Thereupon, I started towards the creek to head
them off, while the officers came up in the rear and gave chase.

The buffaloes came rushing past me not a hundred yards distant, with the
officers about three hundred yards in the rear. Now, thought I, is the
time to "get my work in," as they say; and I pulled the blind-bridle from
my horse, who knew as well as I did that we were out for buffaloes--as he
was a trained hunter. The moment the bridle was off, he started at the
top of his speed, running in ahead of the officers, and with a few jumps
he brought me alongside of the rear buffalo. Raising old "Lucretia
Borgia" to my shoulder, I fired, and killed the animal at the first shot.
My horse then carried me alongside the next one, not ten feet away, and I
dropped him at the next fire.

As soon as one buffalo would fall, Brigham would take me so close to the
next, that I could almost touch it with my gun. In this manner I killed
the eleven buffaloes with twelve shots; and, as the last animal dropped,
my horse stopped. I jumped to the ground, knowing that he would not leave
me--it must be remembered that I had been riding him without bridle,
reins or saddle--and turning round as the party of astonished officers
rode up, I said to them:

"Now, gentlemen, allow me to present to you all the tongues and
tender-loins you wish from these buffaloes."

[Illustration: TONGUES AND TENDER LOINS.]

Captain Graham, for such I soon learned was his name, replied: "Well, I
never saw the like before. Who under the sun are you, anyhow?"

"My name is Cody," said I.

One of the lieutenants, Thompson by name, who had met me at Fort Harker,
then recognized me, and said: "Why, that is Bill Cody, our old scout." He
then introduced me to the other officers, who were Captain Graham, of the
Tenth Cavalry, and Lieutenants Reed, Emmick and Ezekiel.

Captain Graham, who was considerable of a horseman, greatly admired
Brigham, and said: "That horse of yours has running points."

"Yes, sir; he has not only got the points, he is a runner and knows how
to use the points," said I.

"So I noticed," said the captain.

They all finally dismounted, and we continued chatting for some little
time upon the different subjects of horses, buffaloes, Indians and
hunting. They felt a little sore at not getting a single shot at the
buffaloes, but the way I had killed them had, they said, amply repaid
them for their disappointment. They had read of such feats in books, but
this was the first time they had ever seen anything of the kind with
their own eyes. It was the first time, also, that they had ever witnessed
or heard of a white man running buffaloes on horseback without a saddle
or a bridle.

I told them that Brigham knew nearly as much about the business as I did,
and if I had had twenty bridles they would have been of no use to me, as
he understood everything, and all that he expected of me was to do the
shooting. It is a fact, that Brigham would stop if a buffalo did not fall
at the first fire, so as to give me a second chance, but if I did not
kill the buffalo then, he would go on, as if to say, "You are no good,
and I will not fool away time by giving you more than two shots." Brigham
was the best horse I ever owned or saw for buffalo chasing.

Our conversation was interrupted in a little while by the arrival of the
wagon which I had ordered out; I loaded the hind-quarters of the youngest
buffaloes on it, and then cut out the tongues and tender loins, and
presented them to the officers, after which I rode towards the fort with
them, while the wagon returned to camp.

Captain Graham told me that he expected to be stationed at Fort Hays
during the summer, and would probably be sent out on a scouting
expedition, and in case he was he would like to have me accompany him as
scout and guide. I replied that notwithstanding I was very busy with my
railroad contract I would go with him if he was ordered out. I then left
the officers and returned to our camp.

That very night the Indians unexpectedly made a raid on the horses, and
ran off five or six of our very best work-teams, leaving us in a very
crippled condition. At daylight I jumped on old Brigham and rode to Fort
Hays, when I reported the affair to the commanding officer; Captain
Graham and Lieutenant Emmick were at once ordered out with their company
of one hundred colored troops, to pursue the Indians and recover our
stock if possible. In an hour we were under way. The darkies had never
been in an Indian fight and were anxious to catch the band we were after
and "Sweep de red debels from off de face ob de earth." Captain Graham
was a brave, dashing officer, eager to make a record for himself, and it
was with difficulty that I could trail fast enough to keep out of the way
of the impatient soldiers. Every few moments Captain Graham would ride up
to see if the trail was freshening and how soon we should be likely to
overtake the thieves.

At last we reached the Saline river, where we found the Indians had only
stopped to feed and water the animals, and had then pushed on towards the
Solomon. After crossing the Saline they made no effort to conceal their
trail, thinking they would not be pursued beyond that point--consequently
we were able to make excellent time. We reached the Soloman before
sunset, and came to a halt; we surmised that if the Indians were camped
on this river, that they had no suspicion of our being in the
neighborhood. I advised Captain Graham to remain with the company where
it was, while I went ahead on a scout to find the Indians, if they were
in the vicinity.

After riding some distance down the ravine that led to the river, I left
my horse at the foot of a hill; then, creeping to the top, I looked
cautiously over the summit upon the Solomon, below. I at once discovered
in plain view, not a mile away, a herd of horses grazing, our lost ones
among them; very shortly I made out the Indian camp, noted its lay, and
how we could best approach it. Reporting to Captain Graham, whose eyes
fairly danced with delight at the prospect of surprising and whipping
the redskins, we concluded to wait until the moon rose, then get into
the timber so as to approach the Indians as closely as possible without
being discovered, and finally to make a sudden dash into their camp, and
clean them out. We had everything "cut and dried," as we thought, but,
alas! just as we were nearing the point where we were to take the open
ground and make our charge, one of the colored gentlemen became so
excited that he fired off his gun. We immediately commenced the charge,
but the firing of the gun and the noise of our rush through the
crackling timber alarmed the Indians, who at once sprang to their
horses and were away from us before we reached their late camp. Captain
Graham called out "Follow me boys!" which we did for awhile, but in the
darkness the Indians made good their escape. The bugle then gave the
re-call, but some of the darkies did not get back until morning, having,
in their fright, allowed their horses to run away with them whithersoever
it suited the animal's pleasure to go.

[Illustration: THE INDIAN HORSE THIEVES.]

We followed the trail the next day for awhile, but as it become evident
that it would be a long chase to overtake the enemy, and as we had
rations only for the day, we commenced the return. Captain Graham was
bitterly disappointed in not being able to get the fight when it seemed
so near at one time. He roundly cursed the "nigger" who fired the gun,
and as a punishment for his carelessness, he was compelled to walk all
the way back to Fort Hays.




CHAPTER XIV.

EARNING A TITLE.


It was about this time that the end of the Kansas Pacific track was in
the heart of the buffalo country, and the company was employing about
twelve hundred men in the construction of the road. As the Indians were
very troublesome, it was difficult to obtain fresh meat for the workmen,
and the company therefore concluded to engage the services of hunters to
kill buffaloes. Having heard of my experience and success as a buffalo
hunter, Messrs. Goddard Brothers, who had the contract for boarding the
employees of the road, met me in Hays City one day and made me a good
offer to become their hunter, and I at once entered into a contract with
them. They said that they would require about twelve buffaloes per day;
that would be twenty-four hams, as we took only the hind-quarters and
hump of each buffalo. As this was to be dangerous work, on account of the
Indians, who were riding all over that section of the country, and as I
would be obliged to go from five to ten miles from the road each day to
hunt the buffaloes, accompanied by only one man with a light wagon for
the transportation of the meat, I of course demanded a large salary. They
could afford to remunerate me well, because the meat would not cost them
anything. They agreed to give me five hundred dollars per month, provided
I furnished them all the fresh meat required.

Leaving my partner, Rose, to complete our grading contract, I immediately
began my career as a buffalo hunter for the Kansas Pacific Railroad, and
it was not long before I acquired considerable notoriety. It was at this
time that the very appropriate name of "Buffalo Bill," was conferred upon
me by the road-hands. It has stuck to me ever since, and I have never
been ashamed of it.

During my engagement as hunter for the company--a period of less than
eighteen mouths--I killed 4,280 buffaloes; and I had many exciting
adventures with the Indians, as well as hair-breadth escapes, some of
which are well worth relating.

One day in the spring of 1868, I mounted Brigham and started for Smoky
Hill River. After galloping about twenty miles I reached the top of a
small hill overlooking the valley of that beautiful stream.

As I was gazing on the landscape, I suddenly saw a band of about thirty
Indians nearly half a mile distant; I knew by the way they jumped on
their horses that they had seen me as soon as I came into sight.

The only chance I had for my life was to make a run for it, and I
immediately wheeled and started back towards the railroad. Brigham seemed
to understand what was up, and he struck out as if he comprehended that
it was to be a run for life. He crossed a ravine in a few jumps, and on
reaching a ridge beyond, I drew rein, looked back and saw the Indians
coming for me at full speed and evidently well-mounted. I would have had
little or no fear of being overtaken if Brigham had been fresh; but as he
was not, I felt uncertain as to how he would stand a long chase.

[Illustration: BUFFALO BILL.]

My pursuers seemed to be gaining on me a little, and I let Brigham shoot
ahead again; when we had run about three miles farther, some eight or
nine of the Indians were not over two hundred yards behind, and five or
six of these seemed to be shortening the gap at every jump. Brigham now
exerted himself more than ever, and for the next three or four miles he
got "right down to business," and did some of the prettiest running I
ever saw. But the Indians were about as well-mounted as I was, and one of
their horses in particular--a spotted animal--was gaining on me all the
time. Nearly all the other horses were strung out behind for a distance
of two miles, but still chasing after me.

[Illustration: DOWN WENT HIS HORSE.]

The Indian who was riding the spotted horse was armed with a rifle, and
would occasionally send a bullet whistling along, sometimes striking the
ground ahead of me. I saw that this fellow must be checked, or a stray
bullet from his gun might hit me or my horse; so, suddenly stopping
Brigham, and quickly wheeling him around, I raised old "Lucretia" to my
shoulder, took deliberate aim at the Indian and his horse, hoping to hit
one or the other, and fired. He was not over eighty yards from me at this
time, and at the crack of my rifle down went his horse. Not waiting to
see if he recovered, I turned Brigham, and in a moment we were again
fairly flying towards our destination; we had urgent business about that
time, and were in a hurry to get there.

The other Indians had gained on us while I was engaged in shooting at
their leader, and they sent several shots whizzing past me, but
fortunately none of them hit the intended mark. To return their
compliment I occasionally wheeled myself in the saddle and fired back at
them, and one of my shots broke the leg of one of their horses, which
left its rider _hors(e) de combat_, as the French would say.

Only seven or eight Indians now remained in dangerous proximity to me,
and as their horses were beginning to lag somewhat, I checked my faithful
old steed a little, to allow him an opportunity to draw an extra breath
or two. I had determined, if it should come to the worst, to drop into a
buffalo wallow, where I could stand the Indians off for a while; but I
was not compelled to do this, as Brigham carried me through most nobly.

The chase was kept up until we came within three miles of the end of the
railroad track, where two companies of soldiers were stationed for the
purpose of protecting the workmen from the Indians. One of the outposts
saw the Indians chasing me across the prairie, and gave the alarm. In a
few minutes I saw, greatly to my delight, men coming on foot, and
cavalrymen, too, came galloping to our rescue as soon as they could mount
their horses. When the Indians observed this, they turned and ran in the
direction from which they had come. In a very few minutes I was met by
some of the infantrymen and trackmen, and jumping to the ground and
pulling the blanket and saddle off of Brigham, I told them what he had
done for me; they at once took him in charge, led him around, and rubbed
him down so vigorously that I thought they would rub him to death.

Captain Nolan, of the Tenth Cavalry, now came up with forty of his men,
and upon learning what had happened he determined to pursue the Indians.
He kindly offered me one of the cavalry horses, and after putting my own
saddle and bridle on the animal, we started out after the flying Indians,
who only a few minutes before had been making it so uncomfortably lively
for me. Our horses were all fresh and of excellent stock, and we soon
began shortening the distance between ourselves and the redskins. Before
they had gone five miles we overtook and killed eight of their number.
The others succeeded in making their escape. On coming up to the place
where I had killed the first horse--the spotted one--on my "home run," I
found that my bullet had struck him in the forehead and killed him
instantly. He was a noble animal, and ought to have been engaged in
better business.

When we got back to camp I found old Brigham grazing quietly and
contentedly on the grass. He looked up at me as if to ask if we had got
away with any of those fellows who had chased us. I believe he read the
answer in my eyes.

Another very exciting hunting adventure of mine which deserves a place in
these reminiscences occurred near Saline river. My companion at the time
was a man called Scotty, a butcher, who generally accompanied me on these
hunting expeditions to cut up the buffaloes and load the meat into a
light wagon which he brought to carry it in. He was a brave little fellow
and a most excellent shot. I had killed some fifteen buffaloes, and we
had started for home with a wagon-load of meat. When within about eight
miles of our destination, we suddenly ran on to a party of at least
thirty Indians who came riding out of the head of a ravine.

On this occasion I was mounted on a most excellent horse belonging to the
railroad company, and could easily have made my escape; but of course I
could not leave Scotty who was driving a pair of mules hitched to the
wagon. To think was to act, in those days; and as Scotty and I had often
talked over a plan of defense in case we were ever surprised by Indians,
we instantly proceeded to carry it out. We jumped to the ground,
unhitched the mules quicker than it had ever been done before, and tied
them and my horse to the wagon. We threw the buffalo hams upon the
ground, and piled them around the wheels in such a shape as to form a
breastwork. All this was done in a shorter time than it takes to tell it;
and then, with our extra box of ammunition and three or four extra
revolvers, which we always carried along with us, we crept under the
wagon and were fully prepared to give our visitors the warmest kind of a
reception.

The Indians came on pell-mell, but when they were within one hundred
yards of us we opened such a sudden and galling fire upon them, that they
held up and began to circle around the wagon instead of riding up to
take tea with us. They however charged back and forth upon us several
times, and their shots killed the two mules and my horse; but we gave it
to them right and left, and had the satisfaction of seeing three of them
fall to the ground not more than fifty yards away. On seeing how well we
were fortified and protected by our breastwork of hams, they probably
came to the conclusion that it would be a difficult undertaking to
dislodge us, for they drew off and gave us a rest, but only a short one.

This was the kind of fighting we had been expecting for a long time, as
we knew that sooner or later we would be "jumped" by Indians while we
were out buffalo hunting. I had an understanding with the officers who
commanded the troops at the end of the track, that in case their pickets
should at any time notice a smoke in the direction of our hunting ground,
they were to give the alarm, so that assistance might be sent to us for
the smoke was to indicate that we were in danger.

I now resolved to signal to the troops in the manner agreed on, and at
the first opportunity set fire to the grass on the windward side of the
wagon. The fire spread over the prairie at a rapid rate, causing a dense
smoke which I knew would be seen at the camp. The Indians did not seem to
understand this strategic movement. They got off from their horses, and
from behind a bank or knoll, again peppered away at us; but we were well
fortified, and whenever they showed their heads we let them know that we
could shoot as well as they.

[Illustration: THE FIRE SIGNAL.]

After we had been cooped up in our little fort, for about an hour, we
discovered cavalry coming toward us at full gallop over the prairie. Our
signal of distress had proved a success. The Indians saw the soldiers at
about the same time that we did, and thinking that it would not be
healthy for them to remain much longer in that vicinity, they mounted
their horses and disappeared down the canons of the creek. When the
soldiers came up we had the satisfaction of showing them five "_good_"
Indians, that is dead ones.

Two hours later we pulled into camp with our load of meat, which was
found to be all right, except that it had a few bullets and arrows
sticking in it.

While I was hunting for the Kansas Pacific railway, I had the pleasure,
in the fall of 1867, of meeting the celebrated Kit Carson, one of, if not
the oldest and most noted scout, guide, and hunter that our western
country has ever produced. He was on his way to Washington. I also met
him on his return from the East, and invited him to be my guest for a few
days at Hays City, which invitation he accepted. He then proceeded to
Fort Lyon, Colorado, near which place his son-in-law, Mr. Boggs, and
family, resided. At this time his health was failing, and shortly
afterwards he died at Mr. Boggs' residence on the Picket Wire Creek.

[Illustration: KIT CARSON]




CHAPTER XV.

CHAMPION BUFFALO KILLER.


Shortly after the adventures mentioned in the preceding chapter, I had my
celebrated buffalo hunt with Billy Comstock, a noted scout, guide and
interpreter, who was then chief of scouts at Fort Wallace, Kansas.
Comstock had the reputation, for a long time, of being a most successful
buffalo hunter, and the officers in particular, who had seen him kill
buffaloes, were very desirous of backing him in a match against me. It
was accordingly arranged that I should shoot him a buffalo-killing match,
and the preliminaries were easily and satisfactorily agreed upon. We were
to hunt one day of eight hours, beginning at eight o'clock in the
morning, and closing at four o'clock in the afternoon. The wager was five
hundred dollars a side, and the man who should kill the greater number of
buffaloes from on horseback was to be declared the winner.

The hunt took place about twenty miles east of Sheridan, and as it had
been pretty well advertised and noised abroad, a large crowd witnessed
the interesting and exciting scene. An excursion party, mostly from St.
Louis, consisting of about a hundred gentlemen and ladies, came out on a
special train to view the sport, and among the number was my wife, with
little baby Arta, who had come to remain with me for a while.

The buffaloes were quite plenty, and it was agreed that we should go into
the same herd at the same time and "make a run," as we called it, each
one killing as many as possible. A referee was to follow each of us on
horseback when we entered the herd, and count the buffaloes killed by
each man. The St. Louis excursionists, as well as the other spectators,
rode out to the vicinity of the hunting grounds in wagons and on
horseback, keeping well out of sight of the buffaloes, so as not to
frighten them, until the time came for us to dash into the herd; when
they were to come up as near as they pleased and witness the chase.

We were fortunate in the first run in getting good ground. Comstock was
mounted on one of his favorite horses, while I rode old Brigham. I felt
confident that I had the advantage of Comstock in two things--first, I
had the best buffalo horse that ever made a track; and second, I was
using what was known at that time as the needle-gun, a breech-loading
Springfield rifle--calibre 50,--it was my favorite old "Lucretia," which
has already been introduced to the notice of the reader; while Comstock
was armed with a Henry rifle, and although he could fire a few shots
quicker than I could, yet I was pretty certain that it did not carry
powder and lead enough to do execution equal to my calibre 50.

At last the time came to begin the match. Comstock and I dashed into a
herd, followed by the referees. The buffaloes separated; Comstock took
the left bunch and I the right. My great _forte_ in killing buffaloes
from horseback was to get them circling by riding my horse at the head of
the herd, shooting the leaders, thus crowding their followers to the
left, till they would finally circle round and round.

On this morning the buffaloes were very accommodating, and I soon had
them running in a beautiful circle, when I dropped them thick and fast,
until I had killed thirty-eight; which finished my run.

Comstock began shooting at the rear of the herd, which he was chasing,
and they kept straight on. He succeeded, however, in killing
twenty-three, but they were scattered over a distance of three miles,
while mine lay close together. I had "nursed" my buffaloes, as a
billiard-player does the balls when he makes a big run.

After the result of the first run had been duly announced, our St. Louis
excursion friends--who had approached to the place where we had
stopped--set out a lot of champagne, which they had brought with them,
and which proved a good drink on a Kansas prairie, and a buffalo hunter
was a good man to get away with it.

While taking a short rest, we suddenly spied another herd of buffaloes
coming toward us. It was only a small drove, and we at once prepared to
give the animals a lively reception. They proved to be a herd of cows and
calves--which, by the way, are quicker in their movements than the bulls.
We charged in among them, and I concluded my run with a score of
eighteen, while Comstock killed fourteen. The score now stood fifty-six
to thirty-seven, in my favor.

Again the excursion party approached, and once more the champagne was
tapped. After we had eaten a lunch which was spread for us, we resumed
the hunt. Striking out for a distance of three miles, we came up close to
another herd. As I was so far ahead of my competitor in the number
killed, I thought I could afford to give an extra exhibition of my skill.
I had told the ladies that I would, on the next run, ride my horse
without saddle or bridle. This had raised the excitement to fever heat
among the excursionists, and I remember one fair lady who endeavored to
prevail upon me not to attempt it.

"That's nothing at all," said I; "I have done it many a time, and old
Brigham knows as well as I what I am doing, and sometimes a great
deal better."

So, leaving my saddle and bridle with the wagons, we rode to the windward
of the buffaloes, as usual, and when within a few hundred yards of them
we dashed into the herd. I soon had thirteen laid out on the ground, the
last one of which I had driven down close to the wagons, where the ladies
were. It frightened some of the tender creatures to see the buffalo
coming at full speed directly toward them; but when he had got within
fifty yards of one of the wagons, I shot him dead in his tracks. This
made my sixty-ninth buffalo, and finished my third and last run, Comstock
having killed forty-six.

As it was now late in the afternoon, Comstock and his backers gave up
the idea that he could beat me, and thereupon the referees declared me
the winner of the match, as well as the champion buffalo-hunter of the
plains.[A]

[Footnote A: Poor Billy Comstock was afterwards treacherously murdered by
the Indians. He and Sharpe Grover visited a village of Indians, supposed
to be peaceably inclined, near Big Spring Station, in Western Kansas; and
after spending several hours with the redskins in friendly conversation,
they prepared to depart, having declined an invitation to pass the night
there. It appears that Comstock's beautiful white-handled revolver had
attracted the attention of the Indians, who overtook him and his
companion when they had gone about half a mile. After surrounding the two
men they suddenly attacked them. They killed, scalped and robbed
Comstock; but Grover, although severely wounded, made his escape, owing
to the fleetness of the excellent horse which he was riding. This sad
event occurred August 27, 1868.]

On our way back to camp, we took with us some of the choice meat and
finest heads. In this connection it will not be out of place to state
that during the time I was hunting for the Kansas Pacific, I always
brought into camp the best buffalo heads, and turned them over to the
company, who found a very good use for them. They had them mounted in the
best possible manner, and sent them to all the principal cities and
railroad centers in the country, having them placed in prominent
positions at the leading hotels, depots, and other public buildings, as a
sort of trade-mark, or advertisement, of the Kansas Pacific Railroad; and
to-day they attract the attention of the traveler almost everywhere.
Whenever I am traveling over the country and see one of these
trade-marks, I feel pretty certain that I was the cause of the death of
the old fellow whose body it once ornamented, and many a wild and
exciting hunt is thus called to mind.

The end of the track finally reached Sheridan, in the month of May, 1868,
and as the road was not to be built any farther just then, my services as
a hunter were not any longer required. At this time there was a general
Indian war raging all along the western borders. General Sheridan had
taken up his headquarters at Fort Hayes, in order to be in the field to
superintend the campaign in person. As scouts and guides were in great
demand, I concluded once more to take up my old avocation of scouting
and guiding for the army.

Having no suitable place in which to leave my old and faithful
buffalo-hunter Brigham, and not wishing to kill him by scouting, I
determined to dispose of him. I was very reluctant to part with him, but
I consoled myself with the thought that he would not be likely to receive
harder usage in other hands than he had in mine. I had several good
offers to sell him; but at the suggestion of some gentlemen in Sheridan,
all of whom were anxious to obtain possession of the horse, I put him up
at a raffle, in order to give them all an equal chance of becoming the
owner of the famous steed. There were ten chances at thirty dollars each,
and they were all quickly taken.

Old Brigham was won by a gentleman--Mr. Ike Bonham,--who took him to
Wyandotte, Kansas, where he soon added new laurels to his already
brilliant record. Although I am getting ahead of my story, I must now
follow Brigham for a while. A grand tournament came off four miles from
Wyandotte, and Brigham took part in it. As has already been stated, his
appearance was not very prepossessing, and nobody suspected him of being
anything but the most ordinary kind of a plug. The friends of the rider
laughed at him for being mounted on such a dizzy-looking steed. When the
exercises--which were of a very tame character, being more for style than
speed--were over, and just as the crowd were about to return to the city,
a purse of $250 was made up, to be given to the horse that could first
reach Wyandotte, four miles distant. The arrangement was carried out, and
Brigham was entered as one of the contestants for the purse. Everybody
laughed at Mr. Bonham when it became known that he was to ride that
poky-looking plug against the five thoroughbreds which were to take part
in the race.

When all the preliminaries had been arranged, the signal was given, and
off went the horses for Wyandotte. For the first half-mile several of
the horses led Brigham, but on the second mile he began passing them one
after the other, and on the third mile he was in advance of them all, and
was showing them all the road at a lively rate. On the fourth mile his
rider let him out, and arrived at the hotel--the home-station--in
Wyandotte a long way ahead of his fastest competitor.

Everybody was surprised, as well as disgusted, that such a homely
"critter" should be the winner. Brigham, of course, had already acquired
a wide reputation, and his name and exploits had often appeared in the
newspapers, and when it was learned that this "critter" was none other
than the identical buffalo-hunting Brigham, nearly the whole crowd
admitted that they had heard of him before, and had they known him in the
first place they certainly would have ruled him out.

I finally lost track of Brigham, and for several years I did not know
what had become of him. Three years ago, while I was at Memphis,
Tennessee, I met a Mr. Wilcox, who had been one of the superintendents of
construction of the Kansas Pacific Railroad, and he informed me that he
owned Brigham, and that he was at that time on his farm, only a few miles
out of town. The next day I rode out with Mr. Wilcox and took a look at
the gallant old horse. He was comfortably cared for in Mr. Wilcox's
stable, and looked the same clever pony that he always was. It seemed as
if he almost remembered me, and I put my arms around his neck, as though
he had been a long-lost child. Mr. Wilcox bought the horse at Wyandotte,
from the gentleman who had won him at the raffle, and he intends to keep
him as long as he lives. I am grateful that he is in such good hands, and
whenever I again visit Memphis I shall surely go and see Brigham if he is
still alive.

But to return to the thread of my narrative, from which I have wandered.
Having received the appointment of guide and scout, and having been
ordered to report at Fort Larned, then commanded by Captain Dangerfield
Parker, I saw it was necessary to take my family--who had remained with
me at Sheridan, after the buffalo-hunting match--to Leavenworth, and
there leave them. This I did at once, and after providing them with a
comfortable little home, I returned and reported for duty at Fort Larned.




CHAPTER XVI.

A COURIER.


The scouts at Fort Larned, when I arrived there, were commanded by Dick
Curtis--an old guide, frontiersman and Indian interpreter. There were
some three hundred lodges of Kiowa and Comanche Indians camped near the
fort. These Indians had not as yet gone upon the war-path, but were
restless and discontented, and their leading chiefs, Satanta, Lone Wolf,
Kicking Bird, Satank, Sittamore, and other noted warriors, were rather
saucy. The post at the time was garrisoned by only two companies of
infantry and one of cavalry.

General Hazen, who was at the post, was endeavoring to pacify the Indians
and keep them from going on the war-path. I was appointed as his special
scout, and one morning he notified me that he was going to Fort Harker,
and wished me to accompany him as far as Fort Zarah, thirty miles
distant. The General usually traveled in an ambulance, but this trip he
was to make in a six-mule wagon, under the escort of a squad of twenty
infantrymen. So, early one morning in August, we started; arriving safely
at Fort Zarah at twelve o'clock. General Hazen thought it unnecessary
that we should go farther, and he proceeded on his way to Fort Harker
without an escort, leaving instructions that we should return to Fort
Larned the next day.

After the General had gone I went to the sergeant in command of the
squad, and told him that I was going back that very afternoon, instead of
waiting till the next morning; and I accordingly saddled up my mule and
set out for Fort Larned. I proceeded uninterruptedly until I got about
half-way between the two posts, when at Pawnee Rock I was suddenly
"jumped" by about forty Indians, who came dashing up to me, extending
their hands and saying, "How! How!" They were some of the same Indians
who had been hanging around Fort Larned in the morning. I saw that they
had on their war-paint, and were evidently now out on the war-path.

[Illustration: A BIG JOKE.]

My first impulse was to shake hands with them, as they seemed so desirous
of it. I accordingly reached out my hand to one of them, who grasped it
with a tight grip, and jerked me violently forward; another pulled my
mule by the bridle, and in a moment I was completely surrounded. Before I
could do anything at all, they had seized my revolvers from the holsters,
and I received a blow on the head from a tomahawk which nearly rendered
me senseless. My gun, which was lying across the saddle, was snatched
from its place, and finally the Indian, who had hold of the bridle,
started off towards the Arkansas River, leading the mule, which was being
lashed by the other Indians who were following.

The savages were all singing, yelling and whooping, as only Indians can
do, when they are having their little game all their own way. While
looking towards the river I saw, on the opposite side, an immense village
moving down along the bank, and then I became convinced that the Indians
had left the post and were now starting out on the war-path. My captors
crossed the stream with me, and as we waded through the shallow water
they continued to lash the mule and myself. Finally they brought me
before an important looking body of Indians, who proved to be the chiefs
and principal warriors. I soon recognized old Satanta among them, as well
as others whom I knew, and I supposed it was all over with me.

The Indians were jabbering away so rapidly among themselves that I could
not understand what they were saying. Satanta at last asked me where I
had been; and, as good luck would have it, a happy thought struck me. I
told him I had been after a herd of cattle or "whoa-haws," as they called
them. It so happened that the Indians had been out of meat for several
weeks, as the large herd of cattle which had been promised them had not
yet arrived, although expected by them.

The moment that I mentioned that I had been searching for the
"whoa-haws," old Satanta began questioning me in a very eager manner. He
asked me where the cattle were, and I replied that they were back only a
few miles, and that I had been sent by General Hazen to inform him that
the cattle were coming, and that they were intended for his people. This
seemed to please the old rascal, who also wanted to know if there were
any soldiers with the herd, and my reply was that there were. Thereupon
the chiefs held a consultation, and presently Satanta asked me if General
Hazen had really said that they should have the cattle. I replied in the
affirmative, and added that I had been directed to bring the cattle to
them. I followed this up with a very dignified inquiry, asking why his
young men had treated me so. The old wretch intimated that it was only "a
freak of the boys"; that the young men had wanted to see if I was brave;
in fact, they had only meant to test my bravery, and that the whole thing
was a joke.

The veteran liar was now beating me at my own game of lying; but I was
very glad of it, as it was in my favor. I did not let him suspect that I
doubted his veracity, but I remarked that it was a rough way to treat
friends. He immediately ordered his young men to give me back my arms,
and scolded them for what they had done. Of course, the sly old dog was
now playing it very fine, as he was anxious to get possession of the
cattle, with which he believed "there was a heap of soldiers coming." He
had concluded it was not best to fight the soldiers if he could get the
cattle peaceably.

Another council was held by the chiefs, and in a few minutes old Satanta
came and asked me if I would go over and bring the cattle down to the
opposite side of the river, so that they could get them. I replied, "Of
course; that's my instruction from General Hazen."

Satanta said I must not feel angry at his young men, for they had only
been acting in fun. He then inquired if I wished any of his men to
accompany me to the cattle herd. I replied that it would be better for me
to go alone, and then the soldiers could keep right on to Fort Larned,
while I could drive the herd down on the bottom. So, wheeling my mule
around, I was soon re-crossing the river, leaving old Satanta in the
firm belief that I had told him a straight story, and was going for the
cattle, which only existed in my imagination.

I hardly knew what to do, but thought that if I could get the river
between the Indians and myself I would have a good three-quarters of a
mile the start of them, and could then make a run for Fort Larned, as my
mule was a good one.

Thus far my cattle story had panned out all right; but just as I reached
the opposite bank of the river, I looked behind and saw that ten or
fifteen Indians who had begun to suspect something crooked, were
following me. The moment that my mule secured a good foothold on the
bank, I urged him into a gentle lope towards the place where, according
to my statement, the cattle were to be brought. Upon reaching a little
ridge, and riding down the other side out of view, I turned my mule and
headed him westward for Fort Larned. I let him out for all that he was
worth, and when I came out on a little rise of ground, I looked back, and
saw the Indian village in plain sight. My pursuers were now on the ridge
which I had passed over, and were looking for me in every direction.

Presently they spied me, and seeing that I was running away, they struck
out in swift pursuit, and in a few minutes it became painfully evident
that they were gaining on me. They kept up the chase as far as Ash Creek,
six miles from Fort Larned. I still led them half a mile, as their horses
had not gained much during the last half of the race. My mule seemed to
have gotten his second wind, and as I was on the old road I had played
the whip and spurs on him without much cessation. The Indians likewise
had urged their steeds to the utmost.

Finally, upon reaching the dividing ridge between Ash Greek and Pawnee
Fork, I saw Fort Larned only four miles away. It was now sundown, and I
heard the evening gun at the fort. The troops of the garrison little
dreamed that there was a man flying for his life from the Indians and
trying to reach the post. The Indians were once more gaining on me, and
when I crossed the Pawnee Fork, two miles from the post, two or three of
them were only a quarter of a mile behind me. Just as I had gained the
opposite bank of the stream I was overjoyed to see some soldiers in a
government wagon, only a short distance off. I yelled at the top of my
voice, and riding up to them, told them that the Indians were after me.

[Illustration: AMBUSHING THE INDIANS.]

Denver Jim, a well-known scout, asked how many there were, and upon my
informing him that there were about a dozen, he said: "Let's drive the
wagon into the trees, and we'll lay for 'em." The team was hurriedly
driven in among the trees and low box-elder bushes, and there secreted.

We did not have to wait long for the Indians, who came dashing up,
lashing their horses, which were panting and blowing. We let two of them
pass by, but we opened a lively fire on the next three or four, killing
two at the first crack. The others following, discovered that they had
run into an ambush, and whirling off into the brush they turned and ran
back in the direction whence they had come. The two who had passed heard
the firing and made their escape. We scalped the two that we had killed,
and appropriated their arms and equipments; and then catching their
horses, we made our way into the post. The soldiers had heard us firing,
and as we were approaching the fort the drums were being beaten, and the
buglers were sounding the call to fall in. The officers had thought that
Satanta and his Indians were coming in to capture the fort.

It seems that on the morning of that day, two hours after General Hazen
had taken his departure, old Satanta drove into the post in an ambulance,
which he had received some months before as a present from the
government. He appeared to be angry and bent on mischief. In an interview
with Captain Parker, the commanding officer, he asked why General Hazen
had left the post without supplying the beef cattle which had been
promised to him. The Captain told him that the cattle were surely on the
road, but he could not explain why they were detained.

The interview proved to be a stormy one, and Satanta made numerous
threats, saying that if he wished, he could capture the whole post with
his warriors. Captain Parker, who was a brave man, gave Satanta to
understand that he was reckoning beyond his powers, and would find it a
more difficult undertaking than he had any idea of, as they were prepared
for him at any moment. The interview finally terminated, and Satanta
angrily left the officers presence. Going over to the sutler's store he
sold his ambulance to Mr. Tappan the past trader, and with a portion of
the proceeds he secretly managed to secure some whisky from some bad men
around the fort. There are always to be found around every frontier post
some men who will sell whisky to the Indians at any time and under any
circumstances, notwithstanding it is a flagrant violation of both civil
and military regulations.

Satanta mounted his horse, and taking the whisky with him, he rode
rapidly away and proceeded straight to his village. He had not been gone
over an hour, when he returned to the vicinity of the post accompanied
by his warriors who came in from every direction, to the number of seven
or eight hundred. It was evident that the irate old rascal was "on his
ear," so to speak, and it looked as if he intended to carry out his
threat of capturing the fort. The garrison at once turned out and
prepared to receive the red-skins, who, when within half a mile, circled
around the fort and fired numerous shots into it, instead of trying to
take it by assault.

While this circular movement was going on, it was observed that the
Indian village in the distance was packing up, preparatory to leaving,
and it was soon under way. The mounted warriors remained behind some
little time, to give their families an opportunity to get away, as they
feared that the troops might possibly in some manner intercept them.
Finally, they encircled the post several times, fired some farewell
rounds, and then galloped away over the prairie to overtake their fast
departing village. On their way thither, they surprised and killed a
party of wood-choppers down on the Pawnee Fork, as well as some herders
who were guarding beef cattle; some seven or eight men in all, were
killed, and it was evident that the Indians meant business.

The soldiers with the wagon--whom I had met at the crossing of the Pawnee
Fork--had been out for the bodies of the men. Under the circumstances it
was no wonder that the garrison, upon hearing the reports of our guns
when we fired upon the party whom we ambushed, should have thought the
Indians were coming back to give them another "turn."

We found that all was excitement at the post; double guards had been put
on duty, and Captain Parker had all the scouts at his headquarters. He
was endeavoring to get some one to take some important dispatches to
General Sheridan at Fort Hays. I reported to him at once, and stated
where I had met the Indians and how I had escaped from them.

"You was very fortunate, Cody, in thinking of that cattle story; but
for that little game your hair would now be an ornament to a Kiowa's
lodge," said he.

Just then Dick Curtis spoke up and said: "Cody, the Captain is anxious
to send some dispatches to General Sheridan, at Fort Hays, and none of
the scouts here seem to be very willing to undertake the trip. They
say they are not well enough acquainted with the country to find the
way at night."

As a storm was coming up it was quite dark, and the scouts feared that
they would lose the way; besides it was a dangerous ride, as a large
party of Indians were known to be camped on Walnut Creek, on the direct
road to Fort Hays. It was evident that Curtis was trying to induce me to
volunteer. I made some evasive answer to Curtis, for I did not care to
volunteer after my long day's ride. But Curtis did not let the matter
drop. Said he:

"I wish, Bill, that you were not so tired by your chase of to-day, for
you know the country better than the rest of the boys, and I am certain
that you could go through."

"As far as the ride to Fort Hays is concerned, that alone would matter
but little to me," I said, "but it is a risky piece of work just now, as
the country is full of hostile Indians; still if no other scout is
willing to volunteer, I will chance it. I'll go, provided I am furnished
with a good horse. I am tired of being chased on a government mule by
Indians." At this Captain Nolan, who had been listening to our
conversation, said:

"Bill, you may have the best horse in my company. You can take your
choice if you will carry these dispatches. Although it is against
regulations to dismount an enlisted man, I have no hesitancy in such a
case of urgent necessity as this is, in telling you that you may have any
horse you may wish."

"Captain, your first sergeant has a splendid horse, and that's the one I
want. If he'll let me ride that horse, I'll be ready to start in one
hour, storm or no storm," said I.

"Good enough, Bill; you shall have the horse; but are you sure you can
find your way on such a dark night as this?"

"I have hunted on nearly every acre of ground between here and Fort Hays,
and I can almost keep my route by the bones of the dead buffaloes." I
confidently replied.

"Never fear, Captain, about Cody not finding the way; he is as good in
the dark as he is in the daylight," said Curtis.

An orderly was sent for the horse, and the animal was soon brought up,
although the sergeant "kicked" a little against letting him go. After
eating a lunch and filling a canteen with brandy, I went to
headquarters and put my own saddle and bridle on the horse I was to
ride. I then got the dispatches, and by ten o'clock was on the road to
Fort Hays, which was sixty-five miles distant across the country. The
scouts had all bidden me a hearty good-bye, and wished me success, not
knowing when, if ever, they would again gaze upon "my warlike form," as
the poet would say.

It was dark as pitch, but this I rather liked, as there was little
probability of any of the red-skins seeing me unless I stumbled upon them
accidentally. My greatest danger was that my horse might run into a hole
and fall down, and in this way get away from me. To avoid any such
accident, I tied one end of my rawhide lariat to the bridle and the
other end to my belt. I didn't propose to be left on foot, alone out on
the prairie.

[Illustration: WHOA THERE!]

It was, indeed, a wise precaution that I had taken, for within the next
three miles the horse, sure enough, stepped into a prairie-dog's hole,
and down he went, throwing me clear over his head. Springing to his feet,
before I could catch hold of the bridle, he galloped away into the
darkness; but when he reached the full length of the lariat, he found
that he was picketed to Bison William. I brought him up standing, and
after finding my gun, which had dropped to the ground, I went up to him
and in a moment was in the saddle again, and went on my way rejoicing
keeping straight on my course until I came to the ravines leading into
Walnut Creek, twenty-five miles from Fort Larned, where the country
became rougher, requiring me to travel slower and more carefully, as I
feared the horse might fall over the bank, it being difficult to see
anything five feet ahead. As a good horse is not very apt to jump over a
bank, if left to guide himself, I let mine pick his own way. I was now
proceeding as quietly as possible, for I was in the vicinity of a band of
Indians who had recently camped in that locality. I thought that I had
passed somewhat above the spot, having made a little circuit to the west
with that intention; but as bad luck would have it this time, when I came
up near the creek I suddenly rode in among a herd of horses. The animals
became frightened and ran off in every direction.

I knew at once that I was among Indian horses, and had walked into the
wrong pew; so without waiting to apologize, I backed out as quickly as
possible. At this moment a dog, not fifty yards away, set up a howl, and
then I heard some Indians engaged in conversation;--they were guarding
the horses, and had been sleeping. Hearing my horse's retreating
footsteps toward the hills, and thus becoming aware that there had been
an enemy in their camp, they mounted their steeds and started for me.

I urged my horse to his full speed, taking the chances of his falling
into holes, and guided him up the creek bottom. The Indians followed me
as fast as they could by the noise I made, but I soon distanced them; and
then crossed the creek.

When I had traveled several miles in a straight course, as I supposed, I
took out my compass and by the light of a match saw that I was bearing
two points to the east of north. At once changing my course to the direct
route, I pushed rapidly on through the darkness towards Smoky Hill River.
At about three o'clock in the morning I began traveling more cautiously,
as I was afraid of running into another band of Indians. Occasionally I
scared up a herd of buffaloes or antelopes, or coyotes, or deer, which
would frighten my horse for a moment, but with the exception of these
slight alarms I got along all right.

After crossing Smoky Hill River, I felt comparatively safe as this was
the last stream I had to cross. Riding on to the northward I struck the
old Santa Fe trail, ten miles from Fort Hays, just at break of day.

My horse did not seem much fatigued, and being anxious to make good time
and get as near the post as possible before it was fairly daylight as
there might be bands of Indians camped along Big Creek, I urged him
forward as fast as he could go. As I had not "lost" any Indians, I was
not now anxious to make their acquaintance, and shortly after _reveille_
rode into the post. I proceeded directly to General Sheridan's
headquarters, and, was met at the door, by Colonel Moore, _aid-de-camp_
on General Sheridan's staff who asked me on what business I had come.

"I have dispatches for General Sheridan, and my instructions from Captain
Parker, commanding Fort Larned, are that they shall be delivered to the
General as soon as possible," said I.

Colonel Moore invited me into one of the offices, and said he would hand
the dispatches to t h e General as soon as he got up.

[Illustration: DELIVERING DISPATCHES TO SHERIDAN.]

"I prefer to give these dispatches to General Sheridan myself, and at
once," was my reply.

The General, who was sleeping in the same building, hearing our voices,
called out, "Send the man in with the dispatches." I was ushered into the
General's presence, and as we had met before he recognized me and said:

"Hello, Cody, is that you?"

"Yes, sir; I have some dispatches here for you, from Captain Parker,"
said I, as I handed the package over to him.

He hurriedly read them, and said they were important; and then he asked
me all about General Hazen and where he had gone, and about the
breaking out of the Kiowas and Comanches. I gave him all the
information that I possessed, and related the events and adventures of
the previous day and night.

"Bill," said he, "you must have had a pretty lively ride. You certainly
had a close call when you ran into the Indians on Walnut Creek. That was
a good joke that you played on old Satanta. I suppose you're pretty
tired after your long journey?"

"I am rather weary, General, that's a fact, as I have been in the saddle
since yesterday morning;" was my reply, "but my horse is more tired than
I am, and needs attention full as much if not more," I added. Thereupon
the General called an orderly and gave instructions to have my animal
well taken care of, and then he said, "Cody, come in and have some
breakfast with me."

"No, thank you, General," said I, "Hays City is only a mile from here,
and I prefer riding over there, as I know about every one in the town,
and want to see some of my friends."

"Very well; do as you please, and come to the post afterwards as I want
to see you," said he.

Bidding him good-morning, and telling him that I would return in a few
hours, I rode over to Hays City, and at the Perry House I met many of my
old friends who were of course all glad to see me. I took some
refreshments and a two hours nap, and afterward returned to Fort Hays, as
I was requested.

As I rode up to the headquarters I noticed several scouts in a little
group, evidently engaged in conversation on some important matter.
Upon inquiry I learned that General Sheridan had informed them that he
was desirous of sending a dispatch to Fort Dodge, a distance of
ninety-five miles.

The Indians had recently killed two or three men while they were carrying
dispatches between Fort Hays and Fort Dodge, and on this account none of
the scouts seemed at all anxious to volunteer, although a reward of
several hundred dollars was offered to any one who would carry the
dispatches. They had learned of my experiences of the previous day, and
asked me if I did not think it would be a dangerous trip. I gave it as my
opinion that a man might possibly go through without seeing an Indian,
but that the chances were ten to one that he would have an exceedingly
lively run and a hard time before he reached his destination, if he ever
got there at all.

Leaving the scouts to decide among themselves as to who was to go, I
reported to General Sheridan, who also informed me that he wished some
one to carry dispatches to Fort Dodge. While we were talking, his chief
of scouts Dick Parr, entered and stated that none of the scouts had yet
volunteered. Upon hearing this I got my "brave" up a little, and said:

"General, if there is no one ready to volunteer, I'll carry your
dispatches myself."

"I had not thought of asking you to do this duty, Cody, as you are
already pretty hard worked. But it is really important that these
dispatches should go through," said the General.

"Well, if you don't get a courier by four o'clock this afternoon, I'll be
ready for business at that time. All I want is a fresh horse," said I;
"meantime I'll take a little more rest."

It was not much of a rest, however, that I got, for I went over to Hays
City again and had "a time with the boys." I came back to the post at the
appointed hour, and finding that no one had volunteered, I reported to
General Sheridan. He had selected an excellent horse for me, and on
handing me the dispatches he said:

"You can start as soon as you wish--the sooner the better; and good luck
go with you, my boy."

In about an hour afterwards I was on the road, and just before dark I
crossed Smoky Hill River. I had not yet urged my horse much, as I was
saving his strength for the latter end of the route, and for any run that
I might have to make in case the "wild-boys" should "jump" me. So far I
had not seen a sign of Indians, and as evening came on I felt
comparatively safe.

I had no adventures worth relating during the night, and just before
daylight I found myself approaching Saw-log Crossing, on the Pawnee Fork,
having then ridden about seventy miles.

A company of colored cavalry, commanded by Major Cox, was stationed at
this point, and I approached their camp cautiously, for fear that the
pickets might fire upon me--as the darkey soldiers were liable to shoot
first and cry "halt" afterwards. When within hearing distance I yelled
out at the top of my voice, and was answered by one of the pickets. I
told him not to shoot, as I was a scout from Fort Hays; and then, calling
the sergeant of the guard, I went up to the vidette of the post, who
readily recognized me. I entered the camp and proceeded to the tent of
Major Cox, to whom I handed a letter from General Sheridan requesting him
to give me a fresh horse. He at once complied with the request.

After I had slept an hour and had eaten a lunch, I again jumped into the
saddle, and before sunrise I was once more on the road. It was
twenty-five miles to Fort Dodge, and I arrived there between nine and ten
o'clock, without having seen a single Indian.

After delivering the dispatches to the commanding officer, I met Johnny
Austin, chief of scouts at this post, who was an old friend of mine. Upon
his invitation I took a nap at his house, and when I awoke, fresh for
business once more, he informed me that the Indians had been all around
the post for the past two or three days, running off cattle and horses,
and occasionally killing a stray man. It was a wonder to him that I had
met with none of the red-skins on the way there. The Indians, he said,
were also very thick on the Arkansas River, between Fort Dodge and Fort
Larned, and making considerable trouble. Fort Dodge was located
sixty-five miles west of Fort Larned, the latter post being on the Pawnee
Fork, about five miles from its junction with the Arkansas River.

The commanding officer at Fort Dodge was anxious to send some
dispatches to Fort Larned, but the scouts, like those at Fort Hays,
were rather backward about volunteering, as it was considered a very
dangerous undertaking to make the trip. As Fort Larned was my post,
and as I wanted to go there anyhow, I said to Austin that I would carry
the dispatches, and if any of the boys wished to go along, I would like
to have them for company's sake. Austin reported my offer to the
commanding officer, who sent for me and said he would be happy to have
me take his dispatches, if I could stand the trip on top of all that I
had already done.

"All I want is a good fresh horse, sir," said I.

"I am sorry to say that we haven't a decent horse here, but we have
a reliable and honest government mule, if that will do you," said
the officer.

"Trot out your mule," said I, "that's good enough for me. I am ready at
any time, sir."

The mule was forthcoming, and at dark I pulled out for Fort Larned, and
proceeded uninterruptedly to Coon Creek, thirty miles out from Dodge. I
had left the main wagon road some distance to the south, and had traveled
parallel with it, thinking this to be a safer course, as the Indians
might be lying in wait on the main road for dispatch bearers and scouts.

At Coon Creek I dismounted and led the mule by the bridle down to the
water, where I took a drink, using my hat for a dipper. While I was
engaged in getting the water, the mule jerked loose and struck out down
the creek. I followed him in hopes that he would catch his foot in the
bridle rein and stop, but this he seemed to have no idea of doing. He was
making straight for the wagon road, and I did not know what minute he
might run into a band of Indians. He finally got on the road, but instead
of going back toward Fort Dodge, as I naturally expected he would do, he
turned eastward toward Fort Larned, and kept up a little jog trot just
ahead of me, but would not let me come up to him, although I tried it
again and again. I had my gun in my hand, and several times I was
strongly tempted to shoot him, and would probably have done so had it not
been for fear of bringing Indians down upon me, and besides he was
carrying the saddle for me. So I trudged on after the obstinate
"critter," and if there ever was a government mule that deserved and
received a good round cursing it was that one. I had neglected the
precaution of tying one end of my lariat to his bit and the other to my
belt, as I had done a few nights before, and I blamed myself for this
gross piece of negligence.

Mile after mile I kept on after that mule, and every once in a while I
indulged in strong language respecting the whole mule fraternity. From
Coon Creek to Fort Larned it was thirty-five miles, and I finally
concluded that my prospects were good for "hoofing" the whole distance.
We--that is to say, the confounded mule and myself--were making pretty
good time. There was nothing to hold the mule, and I was all the time
trying to catch him--which urged him on. I made every step count, for I
wanted to reach Fort Larned before daylight, in order to avoid if
possible the Indians, to whom it would have been "pie" to have caught me
there on foot.

The mule stuck to the road and kept on for Larned, and I did the
same thing. Just as day was beginning to break, we--that is the mule
and myself--found ourselves on a hill looking down into the valley
of the Pawnee Fork, in which Fort Larned was located, only four
miles away; and when the morning gun belched forth we were within
half a mile of the post.

"Now," said I, "Mr. Mule, it is my turn," and raising my gun to my
shoulder, in "dead earnest" this time, I blazed away, hitting the animal
in the hip. Throwing a second cartridge into the gun, I let him have
another shot, and I continued to pour the lead into him until I had him
completely laid out. Like the great majority of government mules, he was
a tough one to kill, and he clung to life with all the tenaciousness of
his obstinate nature. He was, without doubt, the toughest and meanest
mule I ever saw, and he died hard.

The troops, hearing the reports of the gun, came rushing out to see what
was the matter. They found that the mule had passed in his chips, and
when they learned the cause they all agreed that I had served him just
right. Taking the saddle and bridle from the dead body, I proceeded into
the post and delivered the dispatches to Captain Parker. I then went over
to Dick Curtis' house, which was headquarters for the scouts, and there
put in several hours of solid sleep.

During the day General Hazen returned from Fort Harker, and he also had
some important dispatches to send to General Sheridan. I was feeling
quite elated over my big ride; and seeing that I was getting the best of
the other scouts in regard to making a record, I volunteered to carry
General Hazen's dispatches to Fort Hays. The General accepted my
services, although he thought it was unnecessary for me to kill myself. I
told him that I had business at Fort Hays, and wished to go there
anyway, and it would make no difference to the other scouts, for none of
them appeared willing to undertake the trip.

Accordingly, that night I left Fort Larned on an excellent horse, and
next morning at daylight found myself once more in General Sheridan's
headquarters at Fort Hays. The General was surprised to see me, and still
more so when I told him of the time I had made in riding to Fort Dodge,
and that I had taken dispatches from Fort Dodge to Fort Larned; and when,
in addition to this, I mentioned my journey of the night previous,
General Sheridan thought my ride from post to post, taken as a whole, was
a remarkable one, and he said that he did not know of its equal. I can
safely say that I have never heard of its being beaten in a country
infested with hostile Indians.

To recapitulate: I had ridden from Fort Larned to Fort Zarah (a distance
of sixty-five miles) and back in twelve hours, including the time when I
was taken across the Arkansas by the Indians. In the succeeding twelve
hours I had gone from Fort Larned to Fort Hays, a distance of sixty-five
miles. In the next twenty-four hours I had gone from Fort Hays to Fort
Dodge, a distance of ninety-five miles. The following night I had
traveled from Fort Dodge thirty miles on muleback and thirty-five miles
on foot to Fort Larned; and the next night sixty-five miles more to Fort
Hays. Altogether I had ridden (and walked) 355 miles in fifty-eight
riding hours, or an average of over six miles an hour. Of course, this
may not be regarded as very fast riding, but taking into consideration
the fact that it was mostly done in the night and over a wild country,
with no roads to follow, and that I had to be continually on the look out
for Indians, it was thought at the time to be a big ride, as well as a
most dangerous one.




CHAPTER XVII.

AN APPOINTMENT.


General Sheridan highly complimented me for what I had done, and informed
me that I need not report back to General Hazen, as he had more important
work for me to do. He told me that the Fifth Cavalry--one of the finest
regiments in the army--was on its way to the Department of the Missouri,
and that he was going to send it on an expedition against the Dog Soldier
Indians, who were infesting the Republican River region.

"Cody," continued he, "I have decided to appoint you as guide and chief
of scouts with the command. How does that suit you?"

"First-rate, General, and I thank you for the honor," I replied, as
gracefully as I knew how.

The Dog Soldier Indians were a band of Cheyennes and unruly, turbulent
members of other tribes, who would not enter into any treaty, or keep a
treaty if they made one, and who had always refused to go upon a
reservation. They were a warlike body of well-built, daring and restless
braves, and were determined to hold possession of the country in the
vicinity of the Republican and Solomon Rivers. They were called "Dog
Soldiers" because they were principally Cheyennes--a name derived from
the French _chien_, a dog.

After my conversation with the General, I went over to Hays City, where I
met some of General Forsyth's scouts, who had just returned from one of
the severest battles ever fought with the Indians. As it will not be out
of place in this connection, I will here give a brief history of that
memorable event.

[Illustration: GENERAL PHIL. SHERIDAN.]

The Indians had become quite troublesome, and General Sheridan had
selected General George A. Forsyth to go out on an expedition, and
punish them for their recent depredations. There was a scarcity of troops
at Fort Hays at that time, so General Forsyth recruited a company of
frontiersmen who could move rapidly, as they were to carry no luggage,
and were to travel without the ordinary transportation. Thirty of these
frontiersmen came from Fort Harker, and twenty from Fort Hays. It was
certainly a small body of men, but nearly every one of them was an
experienced hunter, guide, scout and Indian-fighter, and they could fight
the red-skins in their own way.

In four days they were prepared to take the field, and on the morning of
the 29th of August, 1868, they rode out of Fort Hays to meet the Indians.
Lieutenant F.H. Beecher, of the Third Infantry, nephew of Henry Ward
Beecher, was second in command; Brevet Major-General W.H.H. McCall, who
had been in the volunteer army, acted as first sergeant; Dr. John Mowers,
of Hays City, who had been a volunteer army surgeon, was the surgeon of
the expedition; and Sharpe Grover was the chief guide.

Resting at Fort Wallace, they started September 10th, for the town of
Sheridan, thirteen miles distant, where a band of Indians had attacked a
train, killed two teamsters, and stolen some cattle. Arriving at Sheridan
they easily found the Indian trail, and followed it for some distance. On
the eighth day out from Fort Wallace, the command went into camp late in
the afternoon, on the Arickaree, which was then not more than eight or
nine feet wide at that point, and only two or three inches deep. It was
evident to the men that they were not far from the Indians, and it was
decided that the next day they would find them and give them a fight.

Early next morning, September 19th, the cry of "Indians" startled the
command. Every man jumped for his horse. A half-dozen red-skins, yelling
and whooping and making a hideous racket, and firing their guns, rode up
and attempted to stampede the horses, several of which, together with the
four pack-mules, were so frightened that they broke loose and got away.
The Indians then rode off, followed by a few shots. In a minute
afterwards, hundreds of Indian warriors--it was estimated that there were
nearly one thousand--came galloping down upon the command from every
quarter, completely hemming them in.

Acting under the order of General Forsyth, the men retreated to a small
island, tied their horses in a circle to the bushes, and then, throwing
themselves upon the ground, they began the defense by firing at the
approaching enemy, who came pretty close and gave them a raking fire. The
besieged scouts at the first opportunity threw up a small breastwork with
their knives. The firing, however, continued back and forth, and early in
the fight Forsyth was twice seriously wounded--once in the right thigh,
and once in the left leg. Dr. Mowers was also wounded in the head, and
soon died. Two other men had been killed, and several wounded. All the
horses of the command were killed by nine o'clock in the morning.

Shortly afterwards over three hundred Dog-Soldier Indians commanded by
old "Roman Nose," charged down upon the little band of heroes, giving
them volley after volley; but finally the scouts, at a favorable
opportunity, returned their fire with telling effect. "Roman Nose" and
"Medicine Man" were killed, and fell from their horses when within less
than one rod of the scouts, who thereupon sent up a triumphant shout. The
charging braves now weakened, and in a few moments they were driven back.
It was a brilliant charge, and was most nobly and bravely repulsed. The
scouts had again suffered severely, having several men wounded, among the
number being Lieutenant Beecher who died that night. The Indians, too,
had had quite a number killed, several of whom had fallen close to the
earthworks. The dismounted Indian warriors still continued firing, but as
the scouts had thrown up their intrenchments sufficiently to protect
themselves by closely hugging the ground, little or no damage was done.

A second charge was made by the mounted Indians about two o'clock in the
afternoon, and they were again repulsed with a severe loss. Darkness
finally came on, and then ensued a cessation of hostilities. Two of the
scouts had been killed, four fatally wounded, and fourteen others were
wounded more or less severely. There were just twenty-eight able-bodied
men left out of the fifty. The supplies had run out, and as Dr. Mowers
had been mortally wounded and the medical stores captured, the wounded
men could not be properly cared for.

Although they were entirely surrounded, and one hundred and ten miles
from the nearest post, the men did not despair. They had an abundance of
ammunition, plenty of water, under ground only a short distance, and for
food they had their horses and mules. At night two of the scouts, Tradeau
and Stillwell, stole through the lines of the Indians, and started
swiftly for Fort Wallace to obtain relief. It was a dangerous
undertaking, but they were brave and experienced scouts. Stillwell was
only nineteen or twenty years old, but he was, in every sense of the
word, a thoroughbred frontiersman.

During the night the besieged scouts threw up their breastworks
considerably higher and piled the dead animals on top. They dug down to
water, and also stored away a lot of horse and mule meat in the sand to
keep it fresh as long as possible. The Indians renewed their firing next
morning, and kept it up all day, doing but little injury, however, as the
scouts were now well entrenched; but many an Indian was sent to his happy
hunting ground.

[Illustration: BATTLE ON THE ARICKAREE]

Night came again, and the prospects were indeed gloomy. An attempt was
made by two more of the scouts to creep through the Indian lines, but
they were detected by the enemy and had to return to their comrades.
The next morning the Indians renewed hostilities as usual. Their women
and children began to disappear about noon, and then the Indians tried to
draw the scouts out by displaying a white flag for a truce. They appeared
to want to have a talk with General Forsyth, but as their treachery was
well-known, the scouts did not fall into this trap. The Indians had
apparently become tired of fighting, especially as they found that they
had a most stubborn foe to deal with.

Night once more threw its mantle over the scene, and under the cover of
the darkness Donovan and Plyley, two of the best scouts, stealthily made
their way out of the camp, and started for Fort Wallace with a dispatch
from General Forsyth, who gave a brief summary of the situation, and
stated that if necessary he could hold out for six days longer.

When the day dawned again, only a small number of warriors could be
seen, and they probably remained to watch, the scouts and keep them
corraled. The uninjured men attended to the wounded as well as they
could under the adverse circumstances, but from want of proper
treatment, evidences of gangrene appeared in some of the wounds on the
sixth day. The mule and horse meat became totally unfit for use, but
they had nothing else to eat, and had to eat it or starve. Under these
trying circumstances the General told the men that any who wished to go
might do so, and take their chances; but they all resolved to remain,
and die together, if need be.

Relief came at last. Tradeau and Stillwell had safely reached Fort
Wallace, and on the morning of the 25th of September, Colonel Carpenter
and a detachment of cavalry arrived with supplies. This assistance to the
besieged and starving scouts came like a vessel to ship-wrecked men
drifting and starving on a raft in mid-ocean.

It was with the survivors of this terrible fight that I spent the few
days at Hays City, prior to the arrival of the Fifth Cavalry.




CHAPTER XVIII.

SCOUTING.


On the third day of October the Fifth Cavalry arrived at Fort Hays, and I
at once began making the acquaintance of the different officers of the
regiment. I was introduced by General Sheridan to Colonel William Royal,
who was in command of the regiment. He was a gallant officer, and an
agreeable and pleasant gentleman. He is now stationed at Omaha as
Inspector General in the department of the Platte. I also became
acquainted with Major W.H. Brown, Major Walker. Captain Sweetman,
Quartermaster E.M. Hays, and in fact all the officers of the regiment.

General Sheridan, being anxious to punish the Indians who had lately
fought General Forsyth, did not give the regiment much of a rest, and
accordingly on the 5th of October it began its march for the Beaver Creek
country. The first night we camped on the South fork of Big Creek, four
miles west of Hays City. By this time I had become pretty well acquainted
with Major Brown and Captain Sweetman, who invited me to mess with them
on this expedition; and a jolly mess we had. There were other scouts in
the command besides myself, and I particularly remember Tom Renahan, Hank
Fields and a character called "Nosey" on account of his long nose.

On the morning of the 6th we pulled out to the north, and during the day
I was very favorably struck with the appearance of the regiment. It was a
beautiful command, and when strung out on the prairie with a train of
seventy-five six-mule wagons, ambulances and pack mules, I felt very
proud of my position as guide and chief of scouts of such a warlike
expedition.

Just as we were about to go into camp on the Saline river that night, we
ran on to a band of about fifteen Indians, who, seeing us, dashed across
the creek, followed by some bullets which we sent after them; but as the
small band proved to be a scouting party, we pursued them only a mile or
two, when our attention was directed to a herd of buffaloes--they being
very plenty--and we succeeded in killing ten or fifteen for the command.

The next day we marched thirty miles, and late in the afternoon we went
into camp on the South fork of the Solomon. At this encampment Colonel
Royal asked me to go out and kill some buffaloes for the boys.

"All right, Colonel, send along a wagon or two to bring in the
meat," I said.

"I am not in the habit of sending out my wagons until I know that there
is something to be hauled in; kill your buffalo first and then I'll send
out the wagons," was the Colonel's reply. I said no more, but went out on
a hunt, and after a short absence returned and asked the Colonel to send
his wagons over the hill for the half dozen buffaloes I had killed.

The following afternoon he again requested me to go out and get some
fresh buffalo meat. I didn't ask him for any wagons this time, but rode
out some distance, and coming up with a small herd, I managed to get
seven of them headed straight for the encampment, and instead of shooting
them just then, I ran them at full speed right into the camp, and then
killed them all, one after the other in rapid succession. Colonel Royal
witnessed the whole proceeding, which puzzled him somewhat, as he could
see no reason why I had not killed them on the prairie. He came up,
rather angrily, and demanded an explanation. "I can't allow any such
business as this, Cody," said he, "what do you mean by it?"

"I didn't care about asking for any wagons this time, Colonel; so I
thought I would make the buffaloes furnish their own transportation," was
my reply. The Colonel saw the point in a moment, and had no more to say
on the subject.

[Illustration: BRINGING MEAT INTO CAMP.]

No Indians had been seen in the vicinity during the day, and Colonel
Royal having carefully posted his pickets, supposed everything was serene
for the night. But before morning we were roused from our slumbers by
hearing shots fired, and immediately afterwards one of the mounted
pickets came galloping into camp, saying that there were Indians close
at hand. The companies all fell into line, and were soon prepared and
anxious to give the red-skins battle; but as the men were yet new in the
Indian country a great many of them were considerably excited. No
Indians, however, made their appearance, and upon going to the
picket-post where the picket said he had seen them, none could be found
nor could any traces of them be discovered. The sentinel,--who was an
Irishman--insisted that there certainly had been red-skins there.

[Illustration: "INDIANS!"]

"But you must be mistaken," said Colonel Royal.

"Upon me sowl, Colonel, I'm not; as shure ez me name's Pat Maloney, one
of thim rid divils hit me on the head wid a club, so he did," said Pat;
and so, when morning came, the mystery was further investigated and was
easily solved. Elk tracks were found in the vicinity and it was
undoubtedly a herd of elks that had frightened Pat; as he had turned to
run, he had gone under a limb of a tree, against which he hit his head,
and supposed he had been struck by a club in the hands of an Indian. It
was hard to convince Pat however, of the truth.

A three days uninteresting march brought us to Beaver Creek where we
camped and from which point scouting parties were sent out in different
directions. Neither of these parties discovering Indians they all
returned to camp about the same time, finding it in a state of great
excitement, it having been attacked a few hours previous by a party of
Indians, who had succeeded in killing two men and in making off with
sixty horses belonging to Co. H.

That evening the command started on the trail of these Indian
horse-thieves; Major Brown with two companies and three days rations
pushing ahead in advance of the main command. Being unsuccessful,
however, in overtaking the Indians, and getting nearly out of
provisions--it being our eighteenth day out, the entire command marched
towards the nearest railroad point, and camped on the Saline River;
distant three miles from Buffalo Tank.

While waiting for supplies we received a new commanding officer, Brevet
Major-General E.A. Carr, who was the senior major of the regiment, and
who ranked Colonel Royal. He brought with him the now celebrated Forsyth
scouts, who were commanded by Lieutenant Pepoon, a regular army officer.

[Illustration: GEN'L E.A. CARR.]

It was also while waiting in this camp that Major Brown received a new
lieutenant to fill a vacancy in his company. On the day that this officer
was to arrive, Major Brown had his private ambulance brought out, and
invited me to accompany him to the railroad station to meet his
lieutenant, whose name was A.B. Bache. He proved to be a fine gentleman,
and a brave, dashing officer. On the way to the depot Major Brown had
said, "Now, Cody, when we come back we'll give Bache a lively ride and
shake him up a little."

Major Brown was a jolly good fellow, but sometimes he would get "a little
off," and as this was one of his "off days" he was bound to amuse himself
in some original and mischievous way. Reaching the depot just as the
train came in, we easily found the Lieutenant, and giving him the back
seat in the ambulance we were soon headed for camp.

Pretty soon Major Brown took the reins from his driver, and at once began
whipping the mules. After getting them into a lively gallop he pulled out
his revolver and fired several shots. The road was terribly rough and the
night was so dark that we could hardly see where we were going. It Was a
wonderful piece of luck that we were not tipped over and our necks
broken. Finally Bache said, good-humoredly:

"Is this the way you break in all your Lieutenants, Major?"

"Oh, no; I don't do this as a regular thing, but it's the way we
frequently ride in this country," said the Major; "just keep your
seat, Mr. Bache, and we'll take you through on time." The Major
appropriated the reply of the old California stage driver, Hank Monk,
to Horace Greely.

We were now rattling down a steep hill at full speed, and just as we
reached the bottom, the front wheels struck a deep ditch over which the
mules had jumped. We were all brought up standing by the sudden stoppage
of the ambulance. Major Brown and myself were nearly pitched out on the
wheels, while the Lieutenant came flying headlong from the back seat to
the front of the vehicle.

"Take a back seat, Lieutenant," coolly said Major Brown.

"Major, I have just left that seat," said Bache.

We soon lifted the wagon out of the ditch, and then resumed our drive,
running into camp under full headway, and creating considerable
amusement. Every one recognized the ambulance and knew at once that
Major Brown and I were out on a "lark," and therefore there was not much
said about our exploit. Halting with a grand flourish in front of his
tent, Major Brown jumped out in his most gallant style and politely
asked his lieutenant in. A very pleasant evening was spent there, quite
a number of the officers calling to make the acquaintance of the new
officer, who entertained the visitors with an amusing account of the
ride from the depot.

Next morning at an early hour, the command started out on a hunt for
Indians. General Carr having a pretty good idea where he would be most
likely to find them, directed me to guide him by the nearest route to
Elephant Rock on Beaver Creek.

Upon arriving at the south fork of the Beaver on the second day's march,
we discovered a large, fresh Indian trail which we hurriedly followed for
a distance of eight miles, when suddenly we saw on the bluffs ahead of
us, quite a large number of Indians.

General Carr ordered Lieutenant Pepoon's scouts and Company M to the
front. This company was commanded by Lieutenant Schinosky, a Frenchman by
birth and a reckless dare-devil by nature, who was anxious to have a
hair-lifting match. Having advanced his company nearly a mile ahead of
the main command, about four hundred Indians suddenly charged down upon
him and gave him a lively little fight, until he was supported by our
full force.

The Indians kept increasing in numbers all the while until it was
estimated that we were fighting from eight hundred to one thousand of
them. The engagement became quite general, and several were killed and
wounded on each side. The Indians were evidently fighting to give their
families and village, a chance to get away. We had undoubtedly surprised
them with a larger force than they had expected to see in that part of
the country. We fought them until dark, all the time driving them before
us. At night they annoyed us considerably by firing down into our camp
from the higher hills, and several times the command was ordered out to
dislodge them from their position and drive them back.

After having returned from one of these little sallies, Major Brown,
Captain Sweetman, Lieutenant Bache and myself were taking supper
together, when "whang!" came a bullet into Lieutenant Bache's plate,
breaking a hole through it. The bullet came from the gun of one of the
Indians, who had returned to the high bluff over-looking our camp. Major
Brown declared it was a crack shot, because it broke the plate. We
finished our supper without having any more such close calls.

At daylight next morning we struck out on the trail, and soon came to the
spot where the Indians had camped the day before. We could see that
their village was a very large one, consisting of about five hundred
lodges; and we pushed forward rapidly from this point on the trail which
ran back toward Prairie Dog Creek.

About two o'clock we came in sight of the retreating village, and soon
the warriors turned back to give us battle. They set fire to the prairie
grass in front of us, and on all sides, in order to delay us as much as
possible. We kept up a running fight for the remainder of the afternoon,
and the Indians repeatedly attempted to lead us off the track of their
flying village, but their trail was easily followed, as they were
continually dropping tepee poles, camp kettles, robes, furs and all heavy
articles belonging to them. They were evidently scattering, and it
finally became difficult for us to keep on the main trail. When darkness
set in, we went into camp, it being useless to try to follow the Indians
after nightfall.

Next morning we were again on the trail, which led north, and back
towards the Beaver Creek, which stream it crossed within a few miles of
the spot where we had first discovered the Indians, they having made
nearly a complete circle, in hopes of misleading us. Late in the
afternoon, we again saw them going over a hill far ahead of us, and
towards evening the main body of warriors came back and fought us once
more; but we continued to drive them until darkness set in, when we
camped for the night.

The Indians soon scattered in every direction, but we followed the main
trail to the Republican river, where we made a cut-off, and then went
north towards the Platte river. We found, however, that the Indians by
traveling night and day had got a long start, and the General concluded
that it was useless to follow them any further, as we had pushed them so
hard, and given them such a scare that they would leave the Republican
country and go north across the Union Pacific railroad. Most of the
Indians, as he had predicted, did cross the Platte river, near Ogallala,
on the Union Pacific, and thence continued northward.

That night we returned to the Republican river and camped in a grove
of cottonwoods, which I named Carr's Grove, in honor of the
commanding officer.

The General told me that the next day's march would be towards the
head-waters of the Beaver, and he asked me the distance. I replied that
it was about twenty-five miles, and he said we would make it the next
day. Getting an early start in the morning, we struck out across the
prairie, my position as guide being ahead of the advance guard. About two
o'clock General Carr overtook me, and asked how far I supposed it was to
water. I thought it was about eight miles, although we could see no sign
or indication of any stream in our front.

"Pepoon's scouts say that you are going in the wrong direction," said the
General, "and in the way you are bearing it will be fifteen miles before
you can strike any of the branches of the Beaver; and that when you do,
you will find no water, for the Beavers are dry at this time of the year
at that point."

"General, I think the scouts are mistaken," said I, "for the Beaver has
more water near its head than it has below; and at the place where we
will strike the stream we will find immense beaver dams, large enough and
strong enough to cross the whole command, if you wish."

"Well, Cody, go ahead," said he, "I'll leave it to you, but remember
that I don't want a dry camp."

"No danger of that," said I, and then I rode on, leaving him to return to
the command. As I had predicted, we found water seven or eight miles
further on, where we came upon a beautiful little stream--a tributary of
the Beaver--hidden in the hills. We had no difficulty in selecting a
good halting place, and obtaining fresh spring water and excellent grass.
The General, upon learning from me that the stream--which was only eight
or nine miles long--had no name, took out his map and located it, and
named it Cody's Creek, which name it still bears.

We pulled out early next morning for the Beaver, and when we were
approaching the stream I rode on ahead of the advance guard, in order to
find a crossing. Just as I turned a bend of the creek, "bang!" went a
shot, and down went my horse--myself with him. I disentangled myself, and
jumped behind the dead body. Looking in the direction whence the shot had
come, I saw two Indians, and at once turned my gun loose on them, but in
the excitement of the moment I missed my aim. They fired two or three
more shots, and I returned the compliment, wounding one of their horses.

On the opposite side of the creek, going over the hill, I observed a few
lodges moving rapidly away, and also some mounted warriors, who could see
me, and who kept blazing away with their guns. The two Indians who had
fired at me and had killed my horse were retreating across the creek on a
beaver dam. I sent a few shots after them to accelerate their speed, and
also fired at the ones on the other side of the stream. I was undecided
as to whether it was best to run back to the command on foot or hold my
position. I knew that within a few minutes the troops would come up, and
if they heard the firing they would come rapidly.

The Indians, seeing that I was alone, turned and charged down the hill,
and were about to re-cross the creek to corral me, when the advance guard
of the command put in an appearance on the ridge, and dashed forward to
my rescue. The red-skins whirled and made off.

When General Carr came up, he ordered Company I to go in pursuit of the
band. I accompanied Lieutenant Brady, who commanded, and we had a running
fight with the Indians, lasting several hours. We captured several head
of their horses and most of their lodges. At night we returned to the
command, which by this time had crossed the creek on the beaver dam.

We scouted for several days along the river, and had two or three lively
skirmishes. Finally our supplies began to run low, and General Carr gave
orders to return to Fort Wallace, which we reached three days afterwards,
and where we remained several days.

While the regiment was waiting here for orders, I spent most of the time
in hunting buffaloes, and one day while I was out with a small party, we
were "jumped" by about fifty Indians. We had a severe fight of at least
an hour, when we succeeded in driving the enemy. They lost four of their
warriors, and probably concluded that we were a hard crowd. I had some
excellent marksmen with me, and they did some fine work, sending the
bullets thick and fast where they would do the most good. Two or three of
our horses had been hit, and one man had been wounded; we were ready and
willing to stay with the red-skins as long as they wished--but they
finally gave it up however, as a bad job, and rode off. We finished our
hunt, and went back to the post loaded down with plenty of buffalo meat,
and received the compliments of the General for our little fight.

[Illustration: A HARD CROWD.]




CHAPTER XIX.

A TOUGH TIME.


General Carr soon received orders from General Sheridan that he was to
make a winter's campaign in the Canadian river country, and that we were
to proceed to Fort Lyon, on the Arkansas river, in Colorado, and there
fit out for the expedition. Leaving Fort Wallace in November, 1868, we
arrived at Fort Lyon in the latter part of the month, and outfitted for
the coming expedition.

General Penrose had left this post three weeks previously with a command
of some three hundred men. He had taken no wagons with him and his supply
train was composed only of pack mules. General Carr was ordered to follow
with supplies on his trail and overtake him as soon as possible. I was
particularly anxious to catch up with Penrose's command, as my old
friend Wild Bill was among his scouts. We followed the trail very easily
for the first three days, and then we were caught in Freeze-Out canyon by
a fearful snow storm, which compelled us to go into camp for a day. The
ground now being covered with snow, we found that it would be almost
impossible to follow Penrose's trail any further, especially as he had
left no sign to indicate the direction he was going. General Carr sent
for me and said that as it was very important that we should not lose the
trail, he wished that I would take some scouts with me, and while the
command remained in camp, push on as far as possible and see if I could
not discover some traces of Penrose or where he had camped at any time.

[Illustration: CAMPING IN THE SNOW.]

Accompanied by four men I started out in the blinding snow storm, taking
a southerly direction. We rode twenty-four miles, and upon reaching a
tributary of the Cimarron, we scouted up and down the stream for a few
miles and finally found one of Penrose's old camps. It was now late in
the afternoon, and as the command would come up the next day, it was not
necessary for all of us to return with the information to General Carr.
So riding down into a sheltered place in a bend of the creek, we built a
fire and broiled some venison from a deer which we had shot during the
day, and after eating a substantial meal, I left the four men there,
while I returned to bring up the troops.

It was eleven o'clock at night when I got back to the camp. A light was
still burning in the General's tent, he having remained awake, anxiously
awaiting my return. He was glad to see me, and was overjoyed at the
information I brought, for he had great fears concerning the safety of
General Penrose. He roused up his cook and ordered him to get me a good
hot supper, all of which I greatly appreciated. I passed the night in the
General's tent, and next morning rose refreshed and prepared for a big
day's work.

The command took up its march next day for the Cimarron, and had a hard
tramp of it on account of the snow having drifted to a great depth in
many of the ravines, and in some places the teamsters had to shovel their
way through. We arrived at the Cimarron at sundown, and went into a nice
warm camp. Upon looking around next morning, we found that Penrose,
having been unencumbered by wagons, had kept on the west side of the
Cimarron, and the country was so rough that it was impossible for us to
stay on his trail with our wagons; but knowing that he would certainly
follow down the river, General Carr concluded to take the best wagon
route along the stream, which I discovered to be on the east side. Before
we could make any headway with our wagon train we had to leave the river
and get out on the divide. We were very fortunate that day in finding a
splendid road for some distance, until we were all at once brought up
standing on a high table-land, overlooking a beautiful winding creek that
lay far below us in the valley. The question that troubled us, was, how
we were to get the wagons down. We were now in the foot-hills of the
Rattoon Mountains, and the bluff we were on was very steep.

"Cody, we're in a nice fix now," said General Carr.

"Oh, that's nothing," was my reply.

"But you can never take the train down," said he.

"Never you mind the train, General. You say you are looking for a good
camp. How does that beautiful spot down in the valley suit you?" I
asked him.

"That will do. I can easily descend with the cavalry, but how to get the
wagons down there is a puzzler to me," said he.

"By the time you've located your camp, your wagons shall be
there," said I.

"All right, Cody, I'll leave it to you, as you seem to want to be boss,"
replied he pleasantly. He at once ordered the command to dismount and
lead the horses down the mountain-side. The wagon train was a mile in the
rear, and when it came up, one of the drivers asked: "How are we going
down there?"

"Run down, slide down or fall down--any way to get down," said I.

"We never can do it; it's too steep; the wagons will run over the mules,"
said another wagon-master.

"I guess not; the mules have got to keep out of the way," was my reply.

Telling Wilson, the chief wagon-master, to bring on his mess-wagon, which
was at the head of the train, I said I would try the experiment at least.
Wilson drove the team and wagon to the brink of the hill, and following
my directions he brought out some extra chains with which we locked both
wheels on each side, and then rough-locked them. We then started the
wagon down the hill. The wheel-horses--or rather the wheel-mules--were
good on the hold-back, and we got along finely until we nearly reached
the bottom, when the wagon crowded the mules so hard that they started on
a run and galloped down into the valley and to the place where General
Carr had located his camp. Three other wagons immediately followed in the
same way, and in half an hour every wagon was in camp, without the least
accident having occurred. It was indeed an exciting sight to see the
six-mule teams come straight down the mountain and finally break into a
full run. At times it looked as if the wagons would turn a somersault and
land on the mules.

This proved to be a lucky march for us as far as gaining on Penrose was
concerned, for the route he had taken on the west side of the stream
turned out to be a bad one, and we went with our immense wagon train as
far in one day as Penrose had in seven. His command had marched on to a
plateau or high table-land so steep, that not even a pack mule could
descend it, and he was obliged to retrace his steps a long ways, thus
losing three days time as we afterwards learned.

While in this camp we had a lively turkey hunt. The trees along the
banks of the stream were literally alive with wild turkeys, and after
unsaddling the horses between two and three hundred soldiers surrounded a
grove of timber and had a grand turkey round-up, killing four or five
hundred of the birds, with guns, clubs and stones. Of course, we had
turkey in every style after this hunt--roast turkey, boiled turkey, fried
turkey, "turkey on toast," and so on; and we appropriately called this
place Camp Turkey.

From this point on, for several days, we had no trouble in following
Penrose's trail, which led us in a southeasterly direction towards the
Canadian River. No Indians were seen, nor any signs of them found. One
day, while riding in advance of the command, down San Francisco Creek, I
heard some one calling my name from a little bunch of willow brush on the
opposite bank, and, upon looking closely at the spot, I saw a negro.

"Sakes alive! Massa Bill, am dat you?" asked the man, whom I recognized
as one of the colored soldiers of the Tenth Cavalry. I next heard him say
to some one in the brush: "Come out o' heah. Dar's Massa Buffalo Bill."
Then he sang out, "Massa Bill, is you got any hawd tack?"

"Nary a hard tack; but the wagons will be along presently, and then you
can get all you want," said I.

"Dat's de best news I'se heerd foah sixteen long days, Massa Bill," said
he. "Where's your command? Where's General Penrose?" I asked.

"I dunno," said the darkey; "we got lost, and we's been a starvin'
eber since."

By this time two other negroes had emerged from their place of
concealment. They had deserted Penrose's command--which was out of
rations and nearly in a starving condition--and were trying to make their
way back to Fort Lyon. General Carr concluded, from what they could tell
him, that General Penrose was somewhere on Polladora Creek; but we could
not learn anything definite from the starved "mokes," for they knew not
where they were themselves.

Having learned that General Penrose's troops were in such bad shape,
General Carr ordered Major Brown to start out the next morning with two
companies of cavalry and fifty pack-mules loaded with provisions, and to
make all possible speed to reach and relieve the suffering soldiers. I
accompanied this detachment, and on the third day out we found the
half-famished soldiers camped on the Polladora. The camp presented a
pitiful sight, indeed. For over two weeks the men had had only quarter
rations, and were now nearly starved to death. Over two hundred horses
and mules were lying dead, having died from fatigue and starvation.
General Penrose, having feared that General Carr would not find him, had
sent back a company of the Seventh Cavalry to Fort Lyon for supplies; but
no word as yet had been heard from them. The rations which Major Brown
brought to the command came none too soon, and were the means of saving
many a life.

[Illustration: A WELCOME VISITOR]

About the first man I saw after reaching the camp was my old, true and
tried friend, Wild Bill. That night we had a jolly reunion around the
camp-fires.

General Carr, upon arriving with his force, took command of all the
troops, he being the senior officer and ranking General Penrose. After
selecting a good camp, he unloaded the wagons and sent them back to Fort
Lyon for fresh supplies. He then picked out five hundred of the best men
and horses, and, taking his pack-train with him, he started south for the
Canadian River, distant about forty miles, leaving the rest of the troops
at the supply camp.

I was ordered to accompany this expedition. We struck the south fork of
the Canadian River, or Rio Colorado, at a point a few miles above the old
_adobe_ walls, which at one time had composed a fort, and was the place
where Kit Carson once had a big Indian fight. We were now within twelve
miles of a new supply depot, called Camp Evans, which had been
established for the Third Cavalry and Evans's Expedition from New Mexico.
The scouts who had brought in this information also reported that they
expected the arrival at Camp Evans of a bull-train from New Mexico with
a large quantity of beer for the soldiers. This news was "pie" for Wild
Bill and myself, and we determined to lie low for that beer outfit. That
very evening it came along, and the beer that was destined for the
soldiers at Camp Evans never reached its destination. It went straight
down the thirsty throats of General Carr's command. It appears that the
Mexicans living near Fort Union had manufactured the beer, and were
taking it through to Camp Evans to sell to the troops, but it struck a
lively market without going so far. It was sold to our boys in pint cups,
and as the weather was very cold we warmed the beer by putting the ends
of our picket-pins heated red-hot into the cups. The result was one of
the biggest beer jollifications I ever had the misfortune to attend.

One evening General Carr summoned me to his tent, and said he wished to
send some scouts with dispatches to Camp Supply, which were to be
forwarded from there to Sheridan. He ordered me to call the scouts
together at once at his headquarters, and select the men who were to go.
I asked him if I should not go myself, but he replied that he wished me
to remain with the command, as he could not spare me. The distance to
Camp Supply was about two hundred miles, and owing to the very cold
weather it was anything but a pleasant trip. Consequently none of the
scouts were anxious to undertake it. It was finally settled, however,
that Wild Bill, a half-breed called Little Geary, and three other scouts
should carry the dispatches, and they accordingly took their departure
next day, with instructions to return to the command as soon as possible.

For several days we scouted along the Canadian River, but found no signs
of Indians. General Carr then went back to his camp, and soon afterwards
our wagon train came in from Fort Lyon with a fresh load of provisions.
Our animals being in poor condition, we remained in different camps along
San Francisco Creek and the north fork of the Canadian, until Wild Bill
and his scouts returned from Camp Supply.

Among the scouts of Penrose's command were fifteen Mexicans, and between
them and the American scouts there had existed a feud; when General Carr
took command of the expedition--uniting it with his own--and I was made
chief of all the scouts, this feud grew more intense, and the Mexicans
often threatened to clean us out; but they postponed the undertaking from
time to time, until one day, while we were all at the sutler's store, the
long-expected fight took place, and resulted in the Mexicans getting
severely beaten.

General Carr, upon hearing of the row, sent for Wild Bill and myself, he
having concluded, from the various statements which had been made to
him, that we were the instigators of the affair. But after listening to
what we had to say, he thought that the Mexicans were as much to blame
as we were.

It is not to be denied that Wild Bill and myself had been partaking too
freely of "tanglefoot" that evening; and General Carr said to me: "Cody,
there are plenty of antelopes in the country, and you can do some hunting
for the camp while we stay here."

"All right, General, I'll do it."

After that I put in my time hunting, and with splendid success, killing
from fifteen to twenty antelopes a day, which kept the men well supplied
with fresh meat.

At length, our horses and mules having become sufficiently recruited to
travel, we returned to Fort Lyon, arriving there in March, 1869, where
the command was to rest and recruit for thirty days, before proceeding to
the Department of the Platte, whither it had been ordered.




CHAPTER XX.

AN EXCITING CHASE.


General Carr, at my request, kindly granted me one month's leave of
absence to visit my family in St. Louis, and ordered Captain Hays, our
quartermaster, to let me ride my mule and horse to Sheridan, distant 140
miles, where I was to take the cars. I was instructed to leave the
animals in the quartermaster's corral at Fort Wallace until I should come
back, but instead of doing this I put them both in the care of my old
friend Perry, the hotel-keeper at Sheridan. After a twenty days absence
in St. Louis, pleasantly spent with my family, I returned to Sheridan,
and there learned that my mule and horse had been seized by the
government.

It seems that the quartermaster's agent at Sheridan had reported to
General Bankhead, commanding Fort Wallace, and to Captain Laufer, the
quartermaster, that I had left the country and had sold a government
horse and mule to Mr. Perry, and of course Captain Laufer took possession
of the animals and threatened to have Perry arrested for buying
government property. Perry explained to him the facts in the case and
said that I would return in a few days; but the captain would pay no
attention to his statements.

I immediately went over to the office of the quartermaster's agent, and
had Perry point him out to me. I at once laid hold of him, and in a
short time had treated him to just such a thrashing as his contemptible
lie deserved.

He then mounted a horse, rode to Fort Wallace, and reported me to General
Bankhead and Captain Laufer, and obtained a guard to return with and
protect him.

The next morning I secured a horse from Perry, and proceeding to Fort
Wallace demanded my horse and mule from General Bankhead, on the ground
that they were quartermaster Hays' property and belonged to General
Carr's command, and that I had obtained permission to ride them to
Sheridan and back. General Bankhead, in a gruff manner ordered me out of
his office and off the reservation, saying that if I didn't take a
hurried departure he would have me forcibly put out. I told him to do it
and be hanged; I might have used a stronger expression, and upon second
thought, I believe I did. I next interviewed Captain Laufer and demanded
of him also the horse and mule, as I was responsible for them to
Quartermaster Hays. Captain Laufer intimated that I was a liar and that I
had disposed of the animals. Hot words ensued between us, and he too
ordered me to leave the post. I replied that General Bankhead had
commanded me to do the same thing, but that I had not yet gone; and that
I did not propose to obey any orders of an inferior officer.

Seeing that it was of no use to make any further effort to get possession
of the animals I rode back to Sheridan, and just as I reached there I met
the quartermaster's agent coming out from supper, with his head tied up.
It occurred to me that he had not received more than one half the
punishment justly due him, and that now would be a good time to give him
the balance--so I carried the idea into immediate execution. After
finishing the job in good style, I informed him that he could not stay in
that town while I remained there, and convinced him that Sheridan was not
large enough to hold us both at the same time; he accordingly left the
place and again went to Fort Wallace, this time reporting to General
Bankhead that I had driven him away, and had threatened to kill him.

That night while sleeping at the Perry House, I was awakened by a tap on
the shoulder and upon looking up I was considerably surprised to see the
room filled with armed negroes who had their guns all pointed at me. The
first words I heard came from the sergeant, who said:

"Now look a-heah, Massa Bill, ef you makes a move we'll blow you off de
farm, shuah!" Just then Captain Ezekiel entered and ordered the soldiers
to stand back.

"Captain, what does this mean?" I asked.

"I am sorry, Bill, but I have been ordered by General Bankhead to arrest
you and bring you to Fort Wallace," said he.

"That's all right," said I, "but you could have made the arrest alone,
without having brought the whole Thirty-eighth Infantry with you." "I
know that, Bill," replied the Captain, "but as you've not been in very
good humor for the last day or two, I didn't know how you would act."

I hastily dressed, and accompanied Captain Ezekiel to Fort Wallace,
arriving there at two o'clock in the morning.

"Bill, I am really sorry," said Captain Ezekiel, as we alighted, "but I
have orders to place you in the guard-house, and I must perform my duty."

"Very well, Captain; I don't blame you a bit," said I; and into the
guard-house I went as a prisoner for the first and only time in my life.
The sergeant of the--guard who was an old friend of mine, belonging to
Captain Graham's company, which was stationed there at the time--did not
put me into a cell, but kindly allowed me to stay in his room and occupy
his bed, and in a few minutes I was snoring away as if nothing unusual
had occurred.

Shortly after _reveille_ Captain Graham called to see me. He thought it
was a shame for me to be in the guard-house, and said that he would
interview General Bankhead in my behalf as soon as he got up. The Captain
had a nice breakfast prepared for me, and then departed. At guard-mount I
was not sent for, contrary to my expectations, and thereupon I had word
conveyed to Captain Graham, who was officer of the day, that I wanted to
see General Bankhead. The Captain informed me that the General absolutely
refused to hold any conversation whatever with me.

At this time there was no telegraph line between Fort Wallace and Fort
Lyon, and therefore it was impossible for me to telegraph to General
Carr, and I determined to send a dispatch direct to General Sheridan. I
accordingly wrote out a long telegram informing him of my difficulty,
and had it taken to the telegraph office for transmission; but the
operator, instead of sending it at once as he should have done, showed
it to General Bankhead, who tore it up, and instructed the operator not
to pay any attention to what I might say, as he was running that post.
Thinking it very strange that I received no answer during the day I
went to the telegraph office, accompanied by a guard, and learned from
the operator what he had done. "See here, my young friend," said I,
"this is a public telegraph line, and I want my telegram sent, or
there'll be trouble."

I re-wrote my dispatch and handed it to him, accompanied with the money
to pay for the transmission, saying, as I did so: "Young man, I wish that
telegram sent direct to Chicago. You know it is your duty to send it, and
it must go."

He knew very well that he was compelled to transmit the message, but
before doing so he called on General Bankhead and informed him of what I
had said, and told him that he would certainly have to send it, for if he
didn't he might lose his position. The General, seeing that the telegram
would have to go, summoned me to his headquarters, and the first thing he
said, after I got into his presence was:

"If I let you go, sir, will you leave the post at once and not bother my
agent at Sheridan again?"

"No, sir;" I replied, "I'll do nothing of the kind. I'll remain in the
guard-house until I receive an answer from General Sheridan."

"If I give you the horse and mule will you proceed at once to Fort Lyon?"

"No, sir; I have some bills to settle at Sheridan and some other business
to transact," replied I.

"Well, sir; will you at least agree not to interfere any further with the
quartermaster's agent at Sheridan?"

"I shall not bother him any more, sir, as I have had all I want from
him," was my answer.

General Bankhead thereupon sent for Captain Laufer and ordered him to
turn the horse and mule over to me. In a few minutes more I was on my way
to Sheridan, and after settling my business there, I proceeded to Fort
Lyon, arriving two days afterwards. I related my adventures to General
Carr, Major Brown, and other officers, who were greatly amused thereby.

"I'm glad you've come, Bill," said General Carr, "as I have been
wanting you for the last two weeks. While we have been at this post
several valuable animals, as well as a large number of government
horses and mules have been stolen, and we think that the thieves are
still in the vicinity of the fort, but as yet we have been unable to
discover their rendezvous. I have had a party out for the last few days
in the neighborhood of old Fort Lyon, and they have found fresh tracks
down there and seem to think that the stock is concealed somewhere in
the timber, along the Arkansas river. Bill Green, one of the scouts who
has just come up from there, can perhaps tell you something more about
the matter."

Green, who had been summoned, said that he had discovered fresh trails
before striking the heavy timber opposite old Fort Lyon, but that in the
tall grass he could not follow them. He had marked the place where he had
last seen fresh mule tracks, so that he could find it again.

"Now, Cody, you're just the person we want," said the General.

"Very well, I'll get a fresh mount, and to-morrow I'll go down and see
what I can discover," said I.

"You had better take two men besides Green, and a pack mule with eight or
ten days' rations," suggested the General, "so that if you find the trail
you can follow it up, as I am very anxious to get back this stolen
property. The scoundrels have taken one of my private horses and also
Lieutenant Forbush's favorite little black race mule."

Next morning I started out after the horse-thieves, being accompanied by
Green, Jack Farley, and another scout. The mule track, marked by Green,
was easily found, and with very little difficulty I followed it for about
two miles into the timber and came upon a place where, as I could plainly
see from numerous signs, quite a number of head of stock had been tied
among the trees and kept for several days. This was evidently the spot
where the thieves had been hiding their stolen stock until they had
accumulated quite a herd. From this point it was difficult to trail
them, as they had taken the stolen animals out of the timber one by one
and in different directions, thus showing that they were experts at the
business and experienced frontiersmen, for no Indian could have exhibited
more cunning in covering up a trail than did they.

I abandoned the idea of following their trail in this immediate locality,
so calling my men together, I told them that we would ride out for about
five miles and make a complete circuit about the place, and in this way
we would certainly find the trail on which they had moved out. While
making the circuit we discovered the tracks of twelve animals--four mules
and eight horses--in the edge of some sand-hills, and from this point we
had no trouble in trailing them down the Arkansas river, which they had
crossed at Sand Creek, and then had gone up the latter stream, in the
direction of Denver, to which place they were undoubtedly bound. When
nearing Denver their trail became so obscure that we at last lost it; but
by inquiring of the settlers along the road which they had taken, we
occasionally heard of them.

When within four miles of Denver--this was on a Thursday--we learned that
the horse-thieves had passed there two days before. I came to the
conclusion they would attempt to dispose of the animals in Denver, and
being aware that Saturday was the great auction day there, I thought it
best to remain where we were at a hotel, and not go into the city until
that day. It certainly would not have been advisable for me to have gone
into Denver meantime--because I was well-known there, and if the thieves
had learned of my presence in the city they would at once have suspected
my business.

Early Saturday morning, we rode into town and stabled our horses at the
Elephant Corral. I secured a room from Ed. Chase, overlooking the corral,
and then took up my post of observation. I did not have long to wait, for
a man, whom I readily recognized as one of our old packers, rode into the
corral mounted upon Lieutenant Forbush's racing mule, and leading another
government mule, which I also identified. It had been recently branded,
and over the "U.S." was a plain "D.B." I waited for the man's companion
to put in an appearance, but he did not come, and my conclusion was that
he was secreted outside of the city with the rest of the animals.

Presently the black mule belonging to Forbush was put up at auction. Now,
thought I, is the time to do my work. So, walking through the crowd, who
were bidding for the mule, I approached the man who had offered him for
sale. He recognized me and endeavored to escape, but I seized him by the
shoulder, saying: "I guess, my friend, that you'll have to go with me. If
you make any resistance, I'll shoot you on the spot." He was armed with a
pair of pistols, which I took away from him. Then informing the
auctioneer that I was a United States detective, and showing him--as well
as an inquisitive officer--my commission as such, I told him to stop the
sale, as the mule was stolen property, and that I had arrested the thief,
whose name was Williams.

Farley and Green, who were near at hand, now came forward, and together
we took the prisoner and the mules three miles down the Platte River;
there, in a thick bunch of timber, we all dismounted and made
preparations to hang Williams from a limb, if he did not tell us where
his partner was. At first he denied knowing anything about any partner,
or any other stock; but when he saw that we were in earnest, and would
hang him at the end of the given time--five minutes--unless he
"squealed," he told us that his "pal" was at an unoccupied house three
miles further down the river.

We immediately proceeded to the spot indicated, and as we came within
sight of the house we saw our stock grazing near by. Just as we rode up
to the door, another one of our old packers, whom I recognized as Bill
Bevins, stepped to the front, and I covered him instantly with my rifle
before he could draw his revolver. I ordered him to throw up his hands,
and he obeyed the command. Green then disarmed him and brought him out.
We looked through the house and found their saddles, pack-saddles,
blankets, overcoats, lariats and two Henry rifles, which we took
possession of. The horses and mules we tied in a bunch, and with the
whole outfit we returned to Denver, where we lodged Williams and Bevins
in jail, in charge of my friend, Sheriff Edward Cook. The next day we
took them out, and, tying each one on a mule, we struck out on our return
trip to Fort Lyon.

At the hotel outside the city, where we had stopped on Thursday and
Friday, we were joined by our man with the pack-mule. That night we
camped on Cherry Creek, seventeen miles from Denver. The weather--it
being in April--was cold and stormy, but we found a warm and cosy
camping place in a bend of the creek. We made our beds in a row, with our
feet towards the fire. The prisoners so far had appeared very docile, and
had made no attempt to escape, and therefore I did not think it necessary
to hobble them. We made them sleep on the inside, and it was so arranged
that some one of us should be on guard all the time.

At about one o'clock in the night it began snowing, while I was watching.
Shortly before three o'clock, Jack Farley, who was then on guard, and
sitting on the foot of the bed, with his back to the prisoners, was
kicked clear into the fire by Williams, and the next moment Bevins, who
had got hold of his shoes--which I had thought were out of his
reach--sprang up and jumped over the fire, and started on a run. I sent a
shot after him as soon as I awoke sufficiently to comprehend what was
taking place. Williams attempted to follow him, and as he did so, I
whirled around and knocked him down with my revolver. Farley by this time
had gathered himself out of the fire, and Green had started after Bevins,
firing at him on the run; but the prisoner made his escape into the
brush. In his flight, unfortunately for him, and luckily for us, he
dropped one of his shoes.

Leaving Williams in the charge of Farley and "Long Doc," as we called
the man with the pack-mule, Green and myself struck out after Bevins as
fast as possible. We heard him breaking through the brush, but knowing
that it would be useless to follow him on foot, we went back to the camp
and saddled up two of the fastest horses, and at daylight we struck out
on his trail, which was plainly visible in the snow. He had got an hour
and a half the start of us. His tracks led us in the direction of the
mountains and the South Platte River, and as the country through which he
was passing was covered with prickly pears, we knew that he could not
escape stepping on them with his one bare foot, and hence we were likely
to overtake him in a short time. We could see, however, from the long
jumps that he was taking, that he was making excellent time, but we
frequently noticed, after we had gone some distance, that the prickly
pears and stones along his route were cutting his bare foot, as nearly
every track of it was spotted with blood.

We had run our horses some twelve miles when we saw Bevins crossing a
ridge about two miles ahead. Urging our horses up to their utmost speed,
we reached the ridge just as he was descending the divide towards the
South Platte, which stream was very deep and swift at this point. It
became evident that if he should cross it ahead of us, he would have a
good chance of making his escape. So pushing our steeds as fast as
possible, we rapidly gained on him, and when within a hundred yards of
him I cried to him to halt or I would shoot. Knowing I was a good shot,
he stopped, and, coolly sitting down, waited till we came up.

"Bevins, you've given us a good run," said I.

"Yes," said he, "and if I had had fifteen minutes more of a start and
got across the Platte, I would have laughed at the idea of your ever
catching me."

Bevin's run was the most remarkable feat of the kind ever known, either
of a white man, or an Indian. A man who could run bare-footed in the
snow eighteen miles through a prickly pear patch, was certainly a
"tough one," and that's the kind of a person Bill Bevins was. Upon
looking at his bleeding foot I really felt sorry for him. He asked me
for my knife, and I gave him my sharp-pointed bowie, with which he dug
the prickly pear briars out of his foot. I considered him as "game" a
man as I had ever met.

"Bevins, I have got to take you back," said I, "but as you can't walk
with that foot, you can ride my horse and I'll foot it."

We accordingly started back for our camp, with Bevins on my horse, which
was led either by Green or myself, as we alternately rode the other
horse. We kept a close watch on Bevins, for we had ample proof that he
needed watching. His wounded foot must have pained him terribly but not a
word of complaint escaped him. On arriving at the camp we found Williams
bound as we had left him and he seemed sorry that we had captured Bevins.

[Illustration: THE RECAPTURE OF BEVINS.]

After breakfasting we resumed our journey, and nothing worth of note
again occurred until we reached the Arkansas river, where we found a
vacant cabin and at once took possession of it for the night. There was
no likelihood of Bevins again trying to escape, for his foot had swollen
to an enormous size, and was useless. Believing that Williams could not
escape from the cabin, we unbound him. We then went to sleep, leaving
Long Doc on guard, the cabin being comfortably warmed and well lighted by
the fire. It was a dark, stormy night--so dark that you could hardly see
your hand before you. At about ten o'clock, Williams asked Long Doc to
allow him to step to the door for a moment.

Long Doc, who had his revolver in his hand, did not think it necessary to
wake us up, and believing that he could take care of the prisoner, he
granted his request. Williams thereupon walked to the outer edge of the
door, while Long Doc, revolver in hand, was watching him from the inside.
Suddenly Williams made a spring to the right, and before Doc could even
raise his revolver, he had dodged around the house. Doc jumped after him,
and fired just as he turned a corner, the report bringing us all to our
feet, and in an instant we knew what had happened. I at once covered
Bevins with my revolver, but as I saw that he could hardly stir, and was
making no demonstration, I lowered the weapon. Just then Doc came in
swearing "a blue streak," and announced that Williams had escaped. There
was nothing for us to do except to gather our horses close to the cabin
and stand guard over them for the rest of the night, to prevent the
possibility of Williams sneaking up and stealing one of them. That was
the last I ever saw or heard of Williams.

We finally got back to Fort Lyon with Bevins, and General Carr, to whom I
immediately reported, complimented us highly on the success of our trip,
notwithstanding we had lost one prisoner. The next day we took Bevins to
Boggs' ranch on Picket Wire Creek, and there turned him over to the civil
authorities, who put him in a log jail to await his trial. He never was
tried, however, for he soon made his escape, as I expected he would do. I
heard no more of him until 1872, when I learned that he was skirmishing
around on Laramie Plains at his old tricks. He sent word by the gentleman
from whom I gained this information, that if he ever met me again he
would kill me on sight. He finally was arrested and convicted for
robbery, and was confined in the prison at Laramie City. Again he made
his escape, and soon afterwards he organized a desperate gang of outlaws
who infested the country north of the Union Pacific railroad, and when
the stages began to run between Cheyenne and Deadwood, in the Black
Hills, they robbed the coaches and passengers, frequently making large
hauls of plunder. They kept this up for some time, till finally most of
the gang were caught, tried, convicted, and sent to the penitentiary for
a number of years. Bill Bevins and nearly all of his gang are now
confined in the Nebraska state prison, to which they were transferred,
from Wyoming.

[Illustration: ROBBING A STAGE COACH.]




CHAPTER XXI.

A MILITARY EXPEDITION.


A day or two after my return to Fort Lyon, the Fifth Cavalry were ordered
to the Department of the Platte, and took up their line of march for Fort
McPherson, Nebraska. We laid over one day at Fort Wallace, to get
supplies, and while there I had occasion to pass General Bankhead's
headquarters. His orderly called to me, and said the General wished to
see me. As I entered the General's office he extended his hand and said:
"I hope you have no hard feelings toward me, Cody, for having you
arrested when you were here. I have just had a talk with General Carr and
Quartermaster Hays, and they informed me that you had their permission to
ride the horse and mule, and if you had stated this fact to me there
would have been no trouble about the matter whatever." "That is all
right, General," said I; "I will think no more of it. But I don't believe
that your quartermaster's agent will ever again circulate false stories
about me."

"No," said the General; "he has not yet recovered from the beating that
you gave him."

From Fort Wallace we moved down to Sheridan, where the command halted for
us to lay in a supply of forage which was stored there. I was still
messing with Major Brown, with whom I went into the village to purchase a
supply of provisions for our mess; but unfortunately we were in too jolly
a mood to fool away money on "grub." We bought several articles, however,
and put them into the ambulance and sent them back to the camp with our
cook. The Major and myself did not return until _reveille_ next morning.
Soon afterwards the General sounded "boots and saddles," and presently
the regiment was on its way to McPherson.

It was very late before we went into camp that night, and we were tired
and hungry. Just as Major Brown was having his tent put up, his cook
came to us and asked where the provisions were that we had bought the
day before.

"Why, did we not give them to you--did you not bring them to camp in the
ambulance?" asked Major Brown.

"No, sir; it was only a five-gallon demijohn of whiskey, a five-gallon
demijohn of brandy, and two cases of Old Tom-Cat gin," said the cook.

"The mischief!" I exclaimed; "didn't we spend any money on grub at all?"

"No, sir," replied the cook.

"Well, that will do for the present," said Major Brown.

It seems that our minds had evidently been running on a different subject
than provisions while we were loitering in Sheridan, and we found
ourselves, with a two hundred and fifty mile march ahead of us, without
anything more inviting than ordinary army rations.

At this juncture Captain Denny came up, and the Major apologized for not
being able to invite him to take supper with us; but we did the next best
thing, and asked him to take a drink. He remarked that that was what he
was looking for, and when he learned of our being out of commissary
supplies, and that we had bought nothing except whiskey, brandy and gin,
he said, joyously:

"Boys, as we have an abundance, you can eat with us, and we will drink
with you."

It was a satisfactory arrangement, and from that time forward we traded
our liquids for their solids. When the rest of the officers heard of what
Brown and I had done, they all sent us invitations to dine with them at
any time. We returned the compliment by inviting them to drink with us
whenever they were dry. Although I would not advise anybody to follow our
example, yet it is a fact that we got more provisions for our whiskey
than the same money, which we paid for the liquor, would have bought; so
after all it proved a very profitable investment.

On reaching the north fork of the Beaver and riding down the valley
towards the stream, I suddenly discovered a large fresh Indian trail. On
examination I found it to be scattered all over the valley on both sides
of the creek, as if a very large village had recently passed down that
way. Judging from the size of the trail, I thought there could not be
less than four hundred lodges, or between twenty-five hundred and three
thousand warriors, women and children in the band. I galloped hack to the
command, distant about three miles, and reported the news to General
Carr, who halted the regiment, and, after consulting a few minutes,
ordered me to select a ravine, or as low ground as possible, so that he
could keep the troops out of sight until we could strike the creek.

We went into camp on the Beaver, and the General ordered Lieutenant Ward
to take twelve men and myself and follow up the trail for several miles,
and find out how fast the Indians were traveling. I was soon convinced,
by the many camps they had made, that they were traveling slowly, and
hunting as they journeyed. We went down the Beaver on this scout about
twelve miles, keeping our horses well concealed under the banks of the
creek, so as not to be discovered.

At this point, Lieutenant Ward and myself, leaving our horses behind us,
crawled to the top of a high knoll, where we could have a good view for
some miles distant down the stream. We peeped over the summit of the
hill, and not over three miles away we could see a whole Indian village
in plain sight, and thousands of ponies grazing around on the prairie.
Looking over to our left on the opposite side of the creek, we observed
two or three parties of Indians coming in, loaded down with buffalo meat.

"This is no place for us, Lieutenant," said I; "I think we have important
business at the camp to attend to as soon as possible."

"I agree with you," said he, "and the quicker we get there the better it
will be for us."

We quickly descended the hill and joined the men below. Lieutenant
Ward hurriedly wrote a note to General Carr, and handing it to a
corporal, ordered him to make all possible haste back to the command
and deliver the message. The man started off on a gallop, and
Lieutenant Ward said: "We will march slowly back until we meet the
troops, as I think the General will soon be here, for he will start
immediately upon receiving my note."

In a few minutes we heard two or three shots in the direction in which
our dispatch courier had gone, and soon after we saw him come flying
around the bend of the creek, pursued by four or five Indians. The
Lieutenant, with his squad of soldiers and myself, at once charged upon
them, when they turned and ran across the stream.

"This will not do," said Lieutenant Ward, "the whole Indian village will
now know that soldiers are near by.

"Lieutenant, give me that note, and I will take it to the
General," said I.

He gladly handed me the dispatch, and spurring my horse I dashed up the
creek. After having ridden a short distance, I observed another party of
Indians also going to the village with meat; but instead of waiting for
them to fire upon me, I gave them a shot at long range. Seeing one man
firing at them so boldly, it surprised them, and they did not know what
to make of it. While they were thus considering, I got between them and
our camp. By this time they had recovered from their surprise, and,
cutting their buffalo meat loose from their horses, they came after me at
the top of their speed; but as their steeds were tired out, it did not
take me long to leave them far in the rear.

I reached the command in less than an hour, delivered the dispatch to
General Carr, and informed him of what I had seen. He instantly had the
bugler sound "boots and saddles," and all the troops--with the exception
of two companies, which we left to guard the train--were soon galloping
in the direction of the Indian camp.

We had ridden about three miles when we met Lieutenant Ward, who was
coming slowly towards us. He reported that he had run into a party of
Indian buffalo-hunters, and had killed one of the number, and had had
one of his horses wounded. We immediately pushed forward and after
marching about five miles came within sight of hundreds of mounted
Indians advancing up the creek to meet us. They formed a complete line
in front of us. General Carr, being desirous of striking their village,
ordered the troops to charge, break through their line, and keep
straight on. This movement would, no doubt, have been successfully
accomplished had it not been for the rattle-brained and dare-devil
French Lieutenant Schinosky, commanding Company B, who, misunderstanding
General Carr's orders, charged upon some Indians at the left, while the
rest of the command dashed through the enemy's line, and was keeping
straight on, when it was observed that Schinosky and his company were
surrounded by four or five hundred red-skins. The General, to save the
company, was obliged to sound a halt and charge back to the rescue. The
company, during this short fight, had several men and quite a number of
horses killed.

All this took up valuable time, and night was coming on. The Indians were
fighting desperately to keep us from reaching their village, which being
informed by couriers of what was taking place, was packing up and getting
away. During that afternoon it was all we could do to hold our own in
fighting the mounted warriors, who were in our front and contesting every
inch of the ground. The General had left word for our wagon train to
follow up with its escort of two companies, but as it had not made its
appearance he entertained some fears that it had been surrounded, and to
prevent the possible loss of the supply train we had to go back and look
for it. About 9 o'clock that evening we found it, and went into camp for
the night.

Next morning we passed down the creek and there was not an Indian to be
seen. They had all disappeared and gone on with their village. Two miles
further on we came to where a village had been located, and here we found
nearly everything belonging or pertaining to an Indian camp, which had
been left in the great hurry to get away. These articles were all
gathered up and burned. We then pushed out on the trail as fast as
possible. It led us to the northeast towards the Republican; but as the
Indians had a night the start of us we entertained but little hope of
overtaking them that day. Upon reaching the Republican in the afternoon
the General called a halt, and as the trail was running more to the east,
he concluded to send his wagon train on to Fort McPherson by the most
direct route, while he would follow on the trail of the red-skins.

Next morning at daylight we again pulled out and were evidently gaining
rapidly on the Indians for we could occasionally see them in the
distance. About 11 o'clock that day while Major Babcock was ahead of the
main command with his company, and while we were crossing a deep ravine,
we were surprised by about three hundred warriors who commenced a lively
fire upon us. Galloping out of the ravine on to the rough prairie the men
dismounted and returned the fire. We soon succeeded in driving the enemy
before us, and were so close upon them at one time, that they abandoned
and threw away nearly all their lodges and camp equipages, and everything
that had any considerable weight. They left behind them their played-out
horses, and for miles we could see Indian furniture strewn along in every
direction. The trail became divided, and the Indians scattered in small
bodies, all over the prairie. As night was approaching and our horses
were about giving out, a halt was called. A company was detailed to
collect all the Indian horses running loose over the country, and to burn
the other Indian property.

The command being nearly out of rations I was sent to the nearest point,
Old Fort Kearney, about sixty miles distant for supplies.

Shortly after we reached Fort McPherson, which continued to be the
headquarters of the Fifth Cavalry for some time. We remained there for
ten days, fitting out for a new expedition to the Republican river
country, and were reinforced by three companies of the celebrated Pawnee
Indian scouts, commanded by Major Frank North; his officers being Captain
Lute North, brother of the Major, Captain Cushing, his brother-in-law,
Captain Morse, and Lieutenants Beecher, Matthews and Kislandberry.
General Carr recommended at this time to General Augur, who was in
command of the Department, that I be made chief of scouts in the
Department of the Platte, and informed me that in this position I would
receive higher wages than I had been getting in the Department of the
Missouri. This appointment I had not asked for.

I made the acquaintance of Major Frank North,[B] and I found him, and his
officers, perfect gentlemen, and we were all good friends from the very
start. The Pawnee scouts had made quite a reputation for themselves as
they had performed brave and valuable services, in fighting against the
Sioux, whose bitter enemies they were; being thoroughly acquainted with
the Republican and Beaver country, I was glad that they were to be with
the expedition, and they did good service.

[Footnote B: Major North is now my partner in a cattle ranch in
Nebraska.]

During our stay at Fort McPherson I made the acquaintance of Lieutenant
George P. Belden, known as the "White Chief," whose life was written by
Colonel Brisbin, U.S. army. I found him to be an intelligent, dashing
fellow, a splendid rider and an excellent shot. An hour after our
introduction he challenged me for a rifle match, the preliminaries of
which were soon arranged. We were to shoot ten shots each for fifty
dollars, at two hundred yards, off hand. Belden was to use a Henry rifle,
while I was to shoot my old "Lucretia." This match I won and then Belden
proposed to shoot a one hundred yard match, as I was shooting over his
distance. In this match Belden was victorious. We were now even, and we
stopped right there.

While we were at this post General Augur and several of his officers, and
also Thomas Duncan, Brevet Brigadier and Lieutenant Colonel of the Fifth
Cavalry, paid us a visit for the purpose of reviewing the command. The
regiment turned out in fine style and showed themselves to be well
drilled soldiers, thoroughly understanding military tactics. The Pawnee
scouts were also reviewed and it was very amusing to see them in their
full regulation uniform. They had been furnished a regular cavalry
uniform and on this parade some of them had their heavy overcoats on,
others their large black hats, with all the brass accoutrements attached;
some of them were minus pantaloons and only wore a breech clout. Others
wore regulation pantaloons but no shirts on and were bareheaded; others
again had the seat of the pantaloons cut out, leaving only leggins; some
of them wore brass spurs, but had no boots or moccasins on. They seemed
to understand the drill remarkably well for Indians. The commands, of
course, were given to them in their own language by Major North, who
could talk it as well as any full-blooded Pawnee. The Indians were well
mounted and felt proud and elated because they had been made United
States soldiers. Major North, has had for years complete power over these
Indians and can do more with them than any man living. That evening after
the parade was over the officers and quite a number of ladies visited a
grand Indian dance given by the Pawnees, and of all the Indians I have
seen, their dances excel those of any other tribe.

Next day the command started; when encamped, several days after, on the
Republican river near the mouth of the Beaver, we heard the whoops of
Indians, followed by shots in the vicinity of the mule herd, which had
been taken down to water. One of the herders came dashing into camp with
an arrow sticking into him. My horse was close at hand, and, mounting him
bare-back, I at once dashed off after the mule herd, which had been
stampeded. I supposed certainly that I would be the first man on the
ground. I was mistaken, however, for the Pawnee Indians, unlike regular
soldiers, had not waited to receive orders from their officers, but had
jumped on their ponies without bridles or saddles, and placing ropes in
their mouths, had dashed off in the direction whence the shots had come,
and had got there ahead of me. It proved to be a party of about fifty
Sioux, who had endeavored to stampede our mules, and it took them by
surprise to see their inveterate enemies--the Pawnees--coming at full
gallop towards them. They were not aware that the Pawnees were with the
command, and as they knew that it would take regular soldiers sometime to
turn out, they thought they would have ample opportunity to secure the
herd before the troops could give chase.

We had a running fight of fifteen miles, and several of the enemy were
killed. During this chase I was mounted on an excellent horse, which
Colonel Royal had picked out for me, and for the first mile or two I was
in advance of the Pawnees. Presently a Pawnee shot by me like an arrow
and I could not help admiring the horse that he was riding. Seeing that
he possessed rare running qualities, I determined if possible to get
possession of the animal in some way. It was a large buckskin or yellow
horse, and I took a careful view of him so that I would know him when I
returned to camp.

After the chase was over I rode up to Major North and inquired about the
buckskin horse.

"Oh yes," said the Major, "that is one of our favorite steeds."

"What chance is there to trade for him?" I asked.

"It is a government horse," said he, "and the Indian who is riding him is
very much attached to the animal."

"I have fallen in love with the horse myself," said I, "and I would like
to know if you have any objections to my trading for him if I can arrange
it satisfactorily with the Indian?"

He said: "None whatever, and I will help you to do it; you can give the
Indian another horse in his place."

A few days after this, I persuaded the Indian, by making him several
presents, to trade horses with me, and in this way I became the owner of
the buckskin steed, not as my own property, however, but as a government
horse that I could ride. I gave him the name of "Buckskin Joe" and he
proved to be a second Brigham. That horse I rode on and off during the
summers of 1869, 1870, 1871 and 1872, and he was the horse that the Grand
Duke Alexis rode on his buffalo hunt. In the winter of 1872, after I had
left Fort McPherson, Buckskin Joe was condemned and sold at public sale,
and was bought by Dave Perry, at North Platte, who in 1877 presented him
to me, and I still own him. He is now at my ranch on the Dismal river,
stone blind, but I shall keep him until he dies.

The command scouted several days up the Beaver and Prairie Dog rivers,
occasionally having running fights with war parties of Indians, but did
not succeed in getting them into a general battle. At the end of twenty
days we found ourselves back on the Republican.

Hitherto the Pawnees had not taken much interest in me, but while at this
camp I gained their respect and admiration by showing them how I killed
buffaloes. Although the Pawnees were excellent buffalo killers, for
Indians, I have never seen one of them who could kill more than four or
five in one run. A number of them generally surround the herd and then
dash in upon them, and in this way each one kills from one to four
buffaloes. I had gone out in company with Major North and some of the
officers, and saw them make a "surround." Twenty of the Pawnees circled a
herd and succeeded in killing only thirty-two.

"While they were cutting up the animals another herd appeared in sight.
The Indians were preparing to surround it, when I asked Major North to
keep them back and let me show them what I could do. He accordingly
informed the Indians of my wish and they readily consented to let me have
the opportunity. I had learned that Buckskin Joe was an excellent buffalo
horse, and felt confident that I would astonish the natives; galloping in
among the buffaloes, I certainly did so by killing thirty-six in less
than a half-mile run. At nearly every shot I killed a buffalo, stringing
the dead animals out on the prairie, not over fifty feet apart. This
manner of killing was greatly admired by the Indians who called me a big
chief, and from that time on, I stood high in their estimation."




CHAPTER XXII.

A DESPERATE FIGHT.


On leaving camp, the command took a westward course up the Republican,
and Major North with two companies of his Pawnees and two or three
companies of cavalry, under the command of Colonel Royal, made a scout to
the north of the river. Shortly after we had gone into camp, on the Black
Tail Deer Fork, we observed a band of Indians coming over the prairie at
full gallop, singing and yelling and waving their lances and long poles.
At first we supposed them to be Sioux, and all was excitement for a few
moments. We noticed, however, that our Pawnee Indians made no hostile
demonstrations or preparations towards going out to fight them, but began
swinging and yelling themselves. Captain Lute North stepped up to General
Carr and said:

"General, those are our men who are coming, and they have had a fight.
That is the way they act when they come back from a battle and have taken
any scalps."

The Pawnees came into camp on the run. Captain North calling to one of
them--a sergeant--soon found out that they had run across a party of
Sioux who were following a large Indian trail. These Indians had
evidently been in a fight, for two or three of them had been wounded and
they were conveying the injured persons on _travois_. The Pawnees had
"jumped" them and had killed three or four more of them.

Next morning the command, at an early hour, started out to take up this
Indian trail which they followed for two days as rapidly as possible; it
becoming evident from the many camp fires which we passed, that we were
gaining on the Indians. Wherever they had encamped we found the print of
a woman's shoe, and we concluded that they had with them some white
captive. This made us all the more anxious to overtake them, and General
Carr accordingly selected all his best horses, which could stand a hard
run, and gave orders for the wagon train to follow as fast as possible,
while he pushed ahead on a forced march. At the same time I was ordered
to pick out five or six of the best Pawnees, and go on in advance of the
command, keeping ten or twelve miles ahead on the trail, so that when we
overtook the Indians we could find out the location of their camp, and
send word to the troops before they came in sight, thus affording ample
time to arrange a plan for the capture of the village.

After having gone about ten miles in advance of the regiment, we began
to move very cautiously, as we were now evidently nearing the Indians. We
looked carefully over the summits of the hills before exposing ourselves
to plain view, and at last we discovered the village, encamped in the
sand-hills south of the South Platte river at Summit Springs. Here I left
the Pawnee scouts to keep watch, while I went back and informed General
Carr that the Indians were in sight.

The General at once ordered his men to tighten their saddles and
otherwise prepare for action. Soon all was excitement among the officers
and soldiers, every one being anxious to charge the village. I now
changed my horse for old Buckskin Joe, who had been led for me thus far,
and was comparatively fresh. Acting on my suggestion, the General made a
circuit to the north, believing that if the Indians had their scouts out,
they would naturally be watching in the direction whence they had come.
When we had passed the Indians and were between them and the Platte
river, we turned to the left and started toward the village.

By this manoeuver we had avoided discovery by the Sioux scouts, and we
were confident of giving them a complete surprise. Keeping the command
wholly out of sight, until we were within a mile of the Indians, the
General halted the advance guard until all closed up, and then issued an
order, that, when he sounded the charge, the whole command was to rush
into the village.

As we halted on the top of the hill overlooking the camp of the
unsuspecting Indians, General Carr called out to his bugler: "Sound the
charge!" The bugler for a moment became intensely excited, and actually
forgot the notes. The General again sang out: "Sound the charge!" and
yet the bugler was unable to obey the command. Quartermaster Hays--who
had obtained permission to accompany the expedition--was riding near
the General, and comprehending the dilemma of the man, rushed up to
him, jerked the bugle from his hands and sounded the charge himself in
clear and distinct notes. As the troops rushed forward, he threw the
bugle away, then drawing his pistols, was among the first men that
entered the village.

The Indians had just driven up their horses and were preparing to make a
move of the camp, when they saw the soldiers coming down upon them. A
great many of them succeeded in jumping upon their ponies, and, leaving
every thing behind them, advanced out of the village and prepared to meet
the charge; but upon second thought they quickly concluded that it was
useless to try to check us, and, those who were mounted rapidly rode
away, while the others on foot fled for safety to the neighboring hills.
We went through their village shooting right and left at everything we
saw. The Pawnees, the regular soldiers and the officers were all mixed up
together, and the Sioux were flying in every direction.

General Carr had instructed the command that when they entered the
village, they must keep a sharp look out for white women, as he was
confident the Indians had some captives. The company which had been
ordered to take possession of the village after its capture, soon found
two white women, one of whom had just been killed and the other wounded.
They were both Swedes, and the survivor could not talk English. A
Swedish soldier, however, was soon found who could talk with her. The
name of this woman was Mrs. Weichel, and her story as told to the
soldier was, that as soon as the Indians saw the troops coming down upon
them, a squaw--Tall Bull's wife--had killed Mrs. Alderdice, the other
captive, with a hatchet, and then wounded her. This squaw had evidently
intended to kill both women to prevent them from telling how cruelly
they had been treated.

[Illustration: INDIAN VILLAGE.]

The attack lasted but a short time, and the Indians were driven several
miles away. The soldiers then gathered in the herd of Indian horses,
which were running at large over the country and drove them back to the
camp. After taking a survey of what we had accomplished, it was found
that we had killed about one hundred and forty Indians, and captured one
hundred and twenty squaws and papooses, two hundred lodges, and eight
hundred horses and mules. The village proved to be one of the richest I
had ever seen. The red-skins had everything pertaining to an Indian
camp, besides numerous articles belonging to the white settlers whom
they had killed on the Saline. The Pawnees, as well as the soldiers,
ransacked the camp for curiosities, and found enough to start twenty
museums, besides a large amount of gold and silver. This money had been
stolen from the Swedish settlers whom they had murdered on the Saline.
General Carr ordered that all the tepees, the Indian lodges, buffalo
robes, all camp equipage and provisions, including dried buffalo meat,
amounting to several tons, should be gathered in piles and burned. A
grave was dug in which the dead Swedish woman, Mrs. Alderdice, was
buried. Captain Kane, a religious officer, read the burial service, as
we had no chaplain with us.

While this was going on, the Sioux warriors having recovered from their
surprise, had come back and a battle took place all around the camp. I
was on the skirmish line, and I noticed an Indian, who was riding a
large bay horse, and giving orders to his men in his own
language--which I could occasionally understand--telling them that they
had lost everything, that they were ruined, and he entreated them to
follow him, and fight until they died. His horse was an extraordinary
one, fleet as the wind, dashing here and there, and I determined to
capture him if possible, but I was afraid to fire at the Indian for
fear of killing the horse.

I noticed that the Indian, as he rode around the skirmish line, passed
the head of a ravine not far distant, and it occurred to me that if I
could dismount and creep to the ravine I could, as he passed there,
easily drop him from his saddle without danger of hitting the horse.
Accordingly I crept into and secreted myself in the ravine, reaching the
place unseen by the Indians, and I waited there until Mr. Chief came
riding by.

When he was not more than thirty yards distant I fired, and the next
moment he tumbled from his saddle, and the horse kept on without his
rider. Instead of running toward the Indians, however, he galloped toward
our men, by one of whom he was caught. Lieutenant Mason, who had been
very conspicuous in the fight and who had killed two or three Indians
himself, single-handed, came galloping up to the ravine and jumping from
his horse, secured the fancy war bonnet from the head of the dead chief,
together with all his other accoutrements. We both then rejoined the
soldiers, and I at once went in search of the horse; I found him in the
possession of Sergeant McGrath, who had caught him. The Sergeant knew
that I had been trying to get the animal and having seen me kill his
rider, he handed him over to me at once.

Little did I think at that time that I had captured a horse which, for
four years afterwards was the fastest runner in the state of Nebraska,
but such proved to be the fact.

[Illustration: THE KILLING OF TALL BULL.]

I jumped on his back and rode him down to the spot where the prisoners
were corraled. One of the squaws among the prisoners suddenly began
crying in a pitiful and hysterical manner at the sight of this horse,
and upon inquiry I found that she was Tall Bull's wife, the same squaw
that had killed one of the white women and wounded the other. She stated
that this was her husband's favorite war-horse, and that only a short
time ago she had seen Tall Bull riding him. I gave her to understand
that her liege lord had passed in his mortal chips and that it would be
sometime before he would ride his favorite horse again, and I informed
her that henceforth I should call the gallant steed "Tall Bull," in
honor of her husband.

Late in the evening our wagon train arrived, and placing the wounded
woman, Mrs. Weichel, in the ambulance--she having been kindly attended to
by the surgeons,--and gathering up the prisoners--the squaws and
papooses--and captured stock, we started at once for the South Platte
River, eight miles distant, and there went into camp.

Next morning General Carr issued an order that all the money found in the
village should be turned over to the adjutant. About one thousand dollars
was thus collected, and the entire amount was given to Mrs. Weichel. The
command then proceeded to Fort Sedgwick, from which point the particulars
of our fight, which took place on Sunday, July 11th, 1869, were
telegraphed to all parts of the country.

We remained at this post for two weeks, during which General Augur, of
the Department of the Platte, paid us a visit, and highly complimented
the command for the gallant service it had performed. For this fight at
Summit Springs General Carr and his command were complimented not only in
General Orders, but received a vote of thanks from the Legislatures of
Nebraska and Colorado--as Tall Bull and his Indians had long been a
terror to the border settlements--and the resolutions of thanks were
elegantly engrossed and sent to General Carr.

The wounded white woman was cared for in the hospital at this post, and
after her recovery she soon married the hospital steward, her former
husband having been killed by the Indians.

Our prisoners were sent to the Whetstone Agency, on the Missouri River,
where Spotted Tail and the friendly Sioux were then living. The
captured horses and mules were distributed among the officers, scouts
and soldiers. Among the animals that I thus obtained were my Tall Bull
horse, and a pony which I called "Powder Face," and which afterwards
became quite celebrated, as he figured prominently in the stories of
Ned Buntline.

One day, while we were lying at Fort Sedgwick, General Carr received a
telegram from Fort McPherson stating that the Indians had made a dash on
the Union Pacific Railroad, and had killed several section-men and run
off some stock near O'Fallon's Station; also that an expedition was going
out from Fort McPherson to catch and punish the red-skins if possible.
The General ordered me to accompany the expedition, and accordingly that
night I proceeded by rail to McPherson Station, and from thence rode on
horseback to the fort. Two companies, under command of Major Brown, had
been ordered out, and next morning, just as we were about to start, Major
Brown said to me:

"By the way, Cody, we are going to have quite an important character with
us as a guest on this scout. It's old Ned Buntline, the novelist."

Just then I noticed a gentleman, who was rather stoutly built, and who
wore a blue military coat, on the left breast of which were pinned
about twenty gold medals and badges of secret societies. He walked a
little lame as he approached us, and I at once concluded that he was
Ned Buntline.

"He has a good mark to shoot at on the left breast," said I to Major
Brown, "but he looks like a soldier." As he came up, Major Brown said:

"Cody, allow me to introduce you to Colonel E.B.O. Judson, otherwise
known as Ned Buntline."

"Colonel Judson, I am glad to meet you," said I; "the Major tells me that
you are to accompany us on the scout."

"Yes, my boy, so I am," said he; "I was to deliver a temperance lecture
to-night, but no lectures for me when there is a prospect for a fight.
The Major has kindly offered me a horse, but I don't know how I'll stand
the ride, for I haven't done any riding lately; but when I was a young
man I spent several years among the fur companies of the Northwest, and
was a good rider and an excellent shot."

"The Major has given you a fine horse, and you'll soon find yourself at
home in the saddle," said I.

The command soon pulled out for the South Platte River, which was very
wide and high, owing to recent mountain rains, and in crossing it we had
to swim our horses in some places. Buntline was the first man across. We
reached O'Fallon's at eleven o'clock, and in a short time I succeeded in
finding the Indian trail; the party seemed to be a small one, which had
come up from the south. We followed their track to the North Platte, but
as they had a start of two days, Major Brown abandoned the pursuit, and
returned to Fort McPherson, while I went back to Fort Sedgwick,
accompanied by Buntline.

During this short scout, Buntline had asked me a great many questions,
and he was determined to go out on the next expedition with me, providing
he could obtain permission from the commanding officer. I introduced him
to the officers--excepting those he already knew--and invited him to
become my guest while he remained at the post, and gave him my pony
Powder Face to ride.

By this time I had learned that my horse Tall Bull was a remarkably fast
runner, and therefore when Lieutenant Mason, who was quite a sport and
owned a racer, challenged me to a race, I immediately accepted it. We
were to run our horses a single dash of half a mile for one hundred
dollars a side. Several of the officers, and also Reub. Wood, the
post-trader, bantered me for side bets, and I took them all until I had
put up my last cent on Tall Bull.

The ground was measured off, the judges were selected, and all other
preliminaries were arranged. We rode our horses ourselves, and coming up
to the score nicely we let them go. I saw from the start that it would be
mere play to beat the Lieutenant's horse, and therefore I held Tall Bull
in check, so that none could see how fast he really could run. I easily
won the race, and pocketed a snug little sum of money. Of course
everybody was now talking horse. Major North remarked that if Tall Bull
could beat the Pawnees' fast horse, I could break his whole command.

The next day the troops were paid off, the Pawnees with the rest, and for
two or three days they did nothing but run horse-races, as all the
recently captured horses had to be tested to find out the swiftest among
them. Finally the Pawnees wanted to run their favorite horse against Tall
Bull, and I accordingly arranged a race with them. They raised three
hundred dollars and bet it on their horse, while of course, I backed Tall
Bull with an equal amount, and in addition took numerous side bets. The
race was a single dash of a mile, and Tall Bull won it without any
difficulty. I was ahead on this race about seven hundred dollars, and the
horse was fast getting a reputation. Heretofore nobody would bet on him,
but now he had plenty of backers.

I also made a race for my pony Powder Face, against a fast pony
belonging to Captain Lute North. I selected a small boy, living at the
post to ride Powder Face, while an Indian boy was to ride the other pony.
The Pawnees as usual wanted to bet on their pony, but as I had not yet
fully ascertained the running qualities of Powder Face, I did not care
about risking very much money on him. Had I known him as well then as I
did afterwards I would have backed him for every dollar I had, for he
proved to be one of the swiftest ponies I ever saw, and had evidently
been kept as a racer.

The race was to be four hundred yards, and when I led the pony over the
track he seemed to understand what he was there for. North and I finally
put the riders on, and it was all I could do to hold the fiery little
animal after the boy became seated on his back. He jumped around and made
such quick movements, that the boy was not at all confident of being able
to stay on him. The order to start was at last given by the judges, and
as I brought Powder Face up to the score and the word "go" was given, he
jumped away so quickly that he left his rider sitting on the ground;
notwithstanding he ran through and won the race without him. It was an
easy victory, and after that I could get up no more races. Thus passed
the time while we were at Fort Sedgwick.

General Carr having obtained a leave of absence, Colonel Royal was given
the command of an expedition that was ordered to go out after the
Indians, and in a few days--after having rested a couple of weeks--we set
out for the Republican; having learned that there were plenty of Indians
in that section of the country. At Frenchman's Fork we discovered an
Indian village, but did not surprise it, for its people had noticed us
approaching, and were retreating when we reached their camping-place. We
chased them down the stream, and they finally turned to the left, went
north, and crossed the South Platte river five miles above Ogallala. We
pushed rapidly after them, following them across the North Platte and on
through the sand-hills towards the Niobrara; but as they were making much
better time than we, the pursuit was abandoned.

While we were in the sand-hills, scouting the Niobrara country, the
Pawnee Indians brought into camp, one night, some very large bones, one
of which a surgeon of the expedition pronounced to be the thigh-bone of a
human being. The Indians claimed that the bones they had found were those
of a person belonging to a race of people who a long time ago lived in
this country. That there was once a race of men on the earth whose size
was about three times that of an ordinary man, and they were so swift and
powerful that they could run along-side of a buffalo, and taking the
animal in one arm could tear off a leg and eat the meat as they walked.
These giants denied the existence of a Great Spirit, and when they heard
the thunder or saw the lightning they laughed at it and said that they
were greater than either. This so displeased the Great Spirit that he
caused a great rain-storm to come, and the water kept rising higher and
higher so that it drove those proud and conceited giants from the low
grounds to the hills, and thence to the mountains, but at last even the
mountain tops were submerged, and then those mammoth men were all
drowned. After the flood had subsided, the Great Spirit came to the
conclusion that he had made man too large and powerful, and that he would
therefore correct the mistake by creating a race of men of smaller size
and less strength. This is the reason, say the Indians, that modern men
are small and not like the giants of old, and they claim that this story
is a matter of Indian history, which has been handed down among them from
time immemorial.

As we had no wagons with us at the time this large and heavy bone was
found, we were obliged to leave it.




CHAPTER XXIII.

ADMINISTERING JUSTICE.


On returning to Fort McPherson we found that Brevet Major General W.H.
Emory, Colonel of the Fifth Cavalry, and Brevet Brigadier General Thomas
Duncan, Lieutenant Colonel of the regiment, had arrived there during our
absence. General Emory had been appointed to the command of the District
of the Republican, with headquarters at Fort McPherson. As the command
had been continually in the field, it was generally thought that we were
to have a long rest; and it looked as if this post was to be my home and
headquarters for some time to come. I accordingly sent to St. Louis for
my wife and daughter to join me there. General Emory promised to build a
house for me, but before the building was completed my family arrived.

During the fall of 1869 there were two or three scouting expeditions
sent out; but nothing of very great importance was accomplished by them.
I found Fort McPherson to be a lively and pleasant post to be stationed
at, especially as there was plenty of game in the vicinity, and within a
day's ride there were large herds of deer, antelope and elk.

During the winter of 1869-70 I spent a great deal of time in pursuit of
game, and during the season we had two hunting parties of Englishmen
there; one party being that of Mr. Flynn, and the other that of George
Boyd Houghton, of London--the well known caricaturist. Among their
amusements were several horse races, which I arranged, and in which Tall
Bull and Powder Face were invariably the winners. Tall Bull by this time
had such a reputation as a running horse, that it was difficult to make a
race for him. I remember one however, in which he ran against a horse in
Captain Spaulding's Company of the Second Cavalry.

This race was rather a novel affair. I had made a bet that Tall Bull
would beat the Second Cavalry horse around a one mile track, and, during
the time that he was running, I would jump off and on the horse eight
times. I rode the horse bareback; seized his mane with my left hand,
rested my right on his withers, and while he was going at full speed, I
jumped to the ground, and sprang again upon his back, eight times in
succession. Such feats I had seen performed in the circus and I had
practiced considerably at it with Tall Bull, so that I was certain of
winning the race in the manner agreed upon.

Early one morning, in the spring of 1870, the Indians, who had
approached during the night, stole some twenty-one head of horses from
Mr. John Burke--a Government contractor--Ben. Gallagher and Jack Waite.
They also ran off some horses from the post; among the number being my
pony Powder Face. The commandant at once ordered out Lieutenant Thomas
with Company I of the Fifth Cavalry, and directed me to accompany them as
trailer. We discovered the trail after some little difficulty, as the
Indians were continually trying to hide it, and followed it sixty miles,
when darkness set in.

We were now within about four miles of Red Willow Creek and I felt
confident the Indians would camp that night in that vicinity. Advising
Lieutenant Thomas to halt his company and "lay low" I proceeded on to the
creek, where, moving around cautiously, I suddenly discovered horses
feeding in a bend of the stream on the opposite side. I hurried back to
the troops with the information, and Lieutenant Thomas moved his company
to the bank of the creek, with the intention of remaining there until
daylight, and then, if possible, surprise the Indians.

Just at break of day we mounted our horses, and after riding a short
distance we ascended a slight elevation, when, not over one hundred yards
distant, we looked down into the Indian camp. The Indians, preparing to
make an early start, had driven up their horses and were in the act of
mounting, when they saw us charging down upon them. In a moment they
sprang upon their ponies and dashed away. Had it not been for the creek,
which lay between us and them, we would have got them before they could
have mounted their horses; but as it was rather miry, we were
unexpectedly delayed. The Indians fired some shots at us while we were
crossing, but as soon as we got across we went for them in hot pursuit. A
few of the red-skins had not had time to mount and had started on foot
down the creek toward the brush. One of these was killed.

A number of our soldiers, who had been detailed before the charge to
gather up any of the Indian horses that would be stampeded, succeeded in
capturing thirty-two. I hurriedly looked over them to see if Powder Face
was among them; but he was not there. Starting in pursuit of the
fugitives I finally espied an Indian mounted on my favorite, dashing away
and leading all the others. We continued the chase for two or three
miles, overtaking a couple who were mounted upon one horse. Coming up
behind them I fired my rifle, when about thirty feet distant; the ball
passed through the backs of both, and they fell headlong to the ground;
but I made no stop however just then, for I had my eye on the gentleman
who was riding Powder Face. It seemed to be fun for him to run away from
us, and run away he did, for the last I saw of him was when he went over
a divide, about three miles away. I bade him adieu. On my way back to the
Indian camp I stopped and secured the war bonnets and accoutrements of
the pair I had killed, and at the same time gently "raised their hair."

We were feeling rather tired and hungry, as we had started out on the
trail thirty-six hours before without a breakfast or taking any food with
us; but not a murmur or complaint was heard among the men. In the
abandoned Indian camp, however, we found enough dried buffalo meat to
give us all a meal, and after remaining there for two hours, to rest our
animals, we started on our return to Fort McPherson, where we arrived at
night, having traveled 130 miles in two days.

This being the first fight Lieutenant Thomas had ever commanded in, he
felt highly elated over his success, and hoped that his name would be
mentioned in the special orders for gallantry; sure enough when we
returned both he, myself and the whole command received a complimentary
mention in a special order. This he certainly deserved for he was a
brave, energetic, dashing little officer. The war bonnets which I had
captured I turned over to General Carr, with the request that he
present them to General Augur, whose daughters were visiting at the
post at the time.

Shortly after this, another expedition was organized at Fort McPherson
for the Republican river country. It was commanded by General Duncan, who
was a jolly, blustering old fellow, and the officers who knew him well,
said that we would have a good time, as he was very fond of hunting. He
was a good fighter, and one of the officers said that an Indian bullet
never could hurt him, as he had been shot in the head with a cannon ball
which had not injured him in the least; another said the ball glanced off
and killed one of the toughest mules in the army.

The Pawnee scouts who had been mustered out of service, during the winter
of 1869 and '70, were reorganized to accompany this expedition. I was
glad of this, as I had become quite attached to one of the officers,
Major North, and to many of the Indians. The only white scout we had at
the post, besides myself at that time, was John Y. Nelson, whose Indian
name was Cha-Sha-Cha-Opoyeo,[C] which interpreted means
Red-Willow-Fill-the-Pipe. This man is a character in his way; he has a
Sioux squaw for a wife, and consequently a half-breed family. John is a
good fellow, though as a liar he has but few equals and no superior.

[Footnote C: Since traveled with me in my Dramatic Combination as
interpreter for Sioux Indians.]

We started out from the post with the regimental band playing the lively
air of "The Girl I Left Behind Me." We made but a short march that day,
and camped at night at the head of Fox Creek. Next morning General Duncan
sent me word by his orderly that I was to bring up my gun and shoot at a
mark with him; but I can assure the reader that I did not feel much like
shooting anything except myself, for on the night before, I had returned
to Fort McPherson and spent several hours in interviewing the sutler's
store, in Company with Major Brown. I looked around for my gun, and
found that I had left it behind. The last I could remember about it was
that I had it at the sutler's store. I informed Major Brown of my loss,
who said that I was a nice scout to start out without a gun. I replied
that that was not the worst of it, as General Duncan had sent for me to
shoot a match with him, and I did not know what to do; for if the old
gentleman discovered my predicament, he would very likely severely
reprimand me.

"Well, Cody," said he, "the best you can do is to make some excuse, and
then go and borrow a gun from some of the men, and tell the General that
you lent yours to some man to go hunting with to-day. While we are
waiting here, I will send back to the post and get your rifle for you."

I succeeded in obtaining a gun from John Nelson, and then marching up to
the General's headquarters I shot the desired match with him, which
resulted in his favor.

This was the first scout the Pawnees had been out on under command of
General Duncan, and in stationing his guards around the camp he posted
them in a manner entirely different from that of General Carr and Colonel
Royal, and he insisted that the different posts should call out the hour
of the night thus:

"Post No. 1, nine o'clock, all is well! Post No. 2, nine o'clock, all is
well!" etc.

The Pawnees, who had their regular turns at standing upon guard, were
ordered to call the hour the same as the white soldiers. This was very
difficult for them to do, as there were but few of them who could express
themselves in English. Major North explained to them that when the man on
post next to them should call out the hour, they must call it also as
near like him as possible. It was very amusing to hear them do this. They
would try to remember what the other man had said on the post next to
them. For instance, a white soldier would call out: "Post No. I,
half-past nine o'clock, all is well!" The Indian standing next to him
knew that he was bound to say something in English, and he would sing
out something like the following:

"Poss number half pass five cents--go to ----! I don't care!"

This system was really so ridiculous and amusing that the General had to
give it up, and the order was accordingly countermanded.

Nothing of any great interest occurred on this march, until one day,
while proceeding up Prairie Dog Creek,[D] Major North and myself went out
in advance of the command several miles and killed a number of buffaloes.
Night was approaching, and I began to look around for a suitable camping
ground for the command. Major North dismounted from his horse and was
resting, while I rode down to the stream to see if there was plenty of
grass in the vicinity. I found an excellent camping spot, and returning
to Major North told him that I would ride over the hill a little way, so
that the advance guard could see me. This I did, and when the advance
came in sight I dismounted and laid down upon the grass to rest.

[Footnote D: Near the lonely camp where I had so long been laid up with a
broken leg, when trapping years before with Dave Harrington.]

Suddenly I heard three or four shots, and in a few moments Major North
came dashing up towards me, pursued by eight or ten Indians. I instantly
sprang into my saddle, and fired a few shots at the Indians, who by this
time had all come in sight, to the number of fifty. We turned our horses
and ran, the bullets flying after us thick and fast--my whip being shot
from my hand and daylight being put through the crown of my hat. We were
in close quarters, when suddenly Lieutenant Valkmar came galloping up to
our relief with several soldiers, and the Indians seeing them whirled and
retreated. As soon as Major North got in sight of his Pawnees, he began
riding in a circle. This was a sign to them that there were hostile
Indians in front, and in a moment the Pawnees broke ranks pell-mell and,
with Major North at their head, started for the flying warriors. The rest
of the command pushed rapidly forward also, and chased the enemy for
three or four miles, killing three of them.

But this was a wrong move on our part, as their village was on Prairie
Dog Creek, while they led us in a different direction; one Indian only
kept straight on up the creek--a messenger to the village. Some of the
command, who had followed him, stirred up the village and accelerated its
departure. We finally got back to the main force, and then learned that
we had made a great mistake. Now commenced another stern chase.

The second day that we had been following these Indians we came upon an
old squaw, whom they had left on the prairie to die. Her people had built
for her a little shade or lodge, and had given her some provisions,
sufficient to last her on her trip to the Happy Hunting grounds. This the
Indians often do when pursued by an enemy, and one of their number
becomes too old and feeble to travel any longer. This squaw was
recognized by John Nelson who said that she was a relative of his wife.
From her we learned that the flying Indians were known as Pawnee,
Killer's band, and that they had lately killed Buck's surveying party,
consisting of eight or nine men; the massacre having occurred a few days
before on Beaver Creek. We knew that they had had a fight with surveyors,
as we found quite a number of surveying instruments, which had been left
in the abandoned camp. We drove these Indians across the Platte river and
then returned to Fort McPherson, bringing the old squaw with us, from
there she was sent to the Spotted Tail Agency.

During my absence, my wife had given birth to a son, and he was several
weeks old when I returned. No name had yet been given him and I selected
that of Elmo Judson, in honor of Ned Buntline; but this the officers and
scouts objected to. Major Brown proposed that we should call him Kit
Carson, and it was finally settled that that should be his name.

During the summer we made one or two more scouts and had a few
skirmishes with the Indians: but nothing of any great importance
transpired. In the fall of 1870, while I was a witness in a court
martial at Fort D.A. Russell I woke up one morning and found that I was
dead broke;--this is not an unusual occurrence to a frontiersman, or an
author I may add, especially when he is endeavoring to kill time--to
raise necessary funds I sold my race horse Tall Bull to Lieutenant
Mason, who had long wanted him.

In the winter of 1870 and 1871 I first met George Watts Garland, an
English gentleman, and a great hunter, whom I had the pleasure of guiding
on several hunts and with whom I spent some weeks. During the winter I
also took several parties out on the Loupe River country, hunting and
trapping. Although I was still chief of scouts I did not have much to do,
as the Indians were comparatively quiet, thus giving me plenty of time
for sporting.

In the spring of 1871 several short scouting expeditions were sent out
from Fort McPherson, but all with minor results.

About this time General Emory was considerably annoyed by petty offenses
committed in the vicinity of the post, and as there was no justice of the
peace in the neighborhood, he was anxious to have such an officer there
to attend to the civilians; one day he remarked to me that I would make
an excellent justice.

"General, you compliment me rather too highly, for I don't know any more
about law than a government mule does about book-keeping," said I.

"That doesn't make any difference," said he, "for I know that you will
make a good 'Squire." He accordingly had the county commissioners
appoint me to the office of justice of the peace, and I soon received my
commission.

One morning a man came rushing up to my house and stated that he wanted
to get out a writ of replevin, to recover possession of a horse which a
stranger was taking out of the country. I had no blank forms, and had not
yet received the statutes of Nebraska to copy from, so I asked the man:

"Where is the fellow who has got your horse?"

"He is going up the road, and is about two miles away," replied he.

"Very well," said I, "I will get the writ ready in a minute or two."

I saddled up my horse, and then taking my old reliable gun, "Lucretia," I
said to the man: "That's the best writ of replevin that I can think of;
come along, and we'll get that horse, or know the reason why."

We soon overtook the stranger who was driving a herd of horses, and as we
came up to him, I said:

"Hello, sir; I am an officer, and have an attachment for that horse," and
at the same time I pointed out the animal.

"Well, sir, what are you going to do about it?" he inquired.

"I propose to take you and the horse back to the post," said I.

"You can take the horse," said he, "but I haven't the time to return
with you."

"You'll have to take the time, or pay the costs here and now," said I.

"How much are the costs?"

"Twenty dollars."

"Here's your money," said he, as he handed me the greenbacks.

I then gave him a little friendly advice, and told him that he was
released from custody. He went on his way a wiser and a poorer man, while
the owner of the horse and myself returned to the fort. I pocketed the
twenty dollars, of course. Some people might think it was not a square
way of doing business, but I didn't know any better just then. I had
several little cases of this kind, and I became better posted on law in
the course of time, being assisted by Lieutenant Burr Reilly, of the
Fifth Cavalry, who had been educated for a lawyer.

One evening I was called upon to perform a marriage ceremony. The
bridegroom was one of the sergeants of the post. I had "braced up" for
the occasion by imbibing rather freely of stimulants, and when I arrived
at the house, with a copy of the Statutes of Nebraska, which I had
recently received, I felt somewhat confused. Whether my bewilderment was
owing to the importance of the occasion and the large assembly, or to the
effect of Louis Woodin's "tanglefoot," I cannot now distinctly
remember--but my suspicions have always been that it was due to the
latter cause. I looked carefully through the statutes to find the
marriage ceremony, but my efforts were unsuccessful. Finally the time
came for the knot to be tied. I told the couple to stand up, and then I
said to the bridegroom:

"Do you take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife, to support and
love her through life?"

"I do," was the reply.

Then addressing myself to the bride, I said, "Do you take this man to be
your lawful wedded husband through life, to love, honor and obey him?"

[Illustration: A WEDDING CEREMONY.]

"I do," was her response.

"Then join hands," said I to both of them; "I now pronounce you to be man
and wife, and whomsoever God and Buffalo Bill have joined together let no
man put asunder. May you live long and prosper. Amen."

This concluded the interesting ceremony, which was followed by the usual
festivities on such occasions. I was highly complimented for the elegant
and eloquent manner in which I had tied the matrimonial knot.

During the summer of 1871, Professor Marsh, of Yale College, came out to
McPherson, with a large party of students to have a hunt and to look for
fossils. Professor Marsh had heard of the big bone which had been found
by the Pawnees in the Niobrara country, and he intended to look for that
as well as other bones. He accordingly secured the services of Major
Frank North and the Pawnees as an escort. I was also to accompany the
bone-hunters, and would have done so had it not been for the fact that
just at that time I was ordered out with a small scouting party to go
after some Indians.

[Illustration: A RIDE FOR LIFE.]

The day before the Professor arrived at the fort, I had been out hunting
on the north side of the North Platte River, near Pawnee Springs, with
several companions, when we were suddenly attacked by Indians, who
wounded one of our number, John Weister. We stood the Indians off for a
little while, and Weister got even with them by killing one of their
party. The Indians, however, outnumbered us, and at last we were forced
to make a run for our lives. In this we succeeded, and reached the fort
in safety. The General wanted to have the Indians pursued, and said he
could not spare me to accompany Professor Marsh.

However, I had the opportunity to make the acquaintance of the eminent
Professor, whom I found to be not only a well-posted person but a very
entertaining gentleman. He gave me a geological history of the country;
told me in what section fossils were to be found; and otherwise
entertained me with several scientific yarns, some of which seemed too
complicated and too mysterious to be believed by an ordinary man like
myself; but it was all clear to him. I rode out with him several miles,
as he was starting on his bone-hunting expedition, and I greatly enjoyed
the ride. His party had been provided with Government transportation and
his students were all mounted on Government horses.

As we rode along he delivered a scientific lecture, and he convinced me
that he knew what he was talking about. I finally bade him good-bye, and
returned to the post. While the fossil-hunters were out on their
expedition, we had several lively little skirmishes with the Indians.
After having been absent some little time Professor Marsh and his party
came back with their wagons loaded down with all kinds of bones, and the
Professor was in his glory. He had evidently struck a bone-yard, and
"gad!"[E] wasn't he happy! But they had failed to find the big bone which
the Pawnees had unearthed the year before.

[Footnote E: A favorite expression of the Professor's.]




CHAPTER XXIV.

HUNTING EXPEDITION.


Early in the month of September, 1871, information was received at Fort
McPherson that General Sheridan and a party of invited friends were
coming out to the post to have a grand hunt in the vicinity, and to
explore the country from McPherson to Fort Hays, in Kansas. On the
morning of September 22d they arrived in a special car at North Platte, a
station on the Union Pacific, distant eighteen miles from Fort McPherson.

The party consisted of General Sheridan, Lawrence R. Jerome, James Gordon
Bennett, of the _New York Herald_; Leonard W. Jerome, Carroll Livingston,
Major J.G. Hecksher, General Fitzhugh, General H.E. Davies, Captain M.
Edward Rogers, Colonel J. Scuyler Crosby, Samuel Johnson, General Anson
Stager, of the Western Union Telegraph Company; Charles Wilson, editor of
the _Chicago Evening Journal_; General Rucker, Quartermaster-General,
and Dr. Asch--the two last-named being of General Sheridan's staff. They
were met at the station by General Emory and Major Brown, with a cavalry
company as escort and a sufficient number of vehicles to carry the
distinguished visitors and their baggage.

A brisk drive of less than two hours over a hard and smooth road brought
them to the fort, where they found the garrison, consisting of five
companies of the Fifth Cavalry, under the command of General Carr, out
on parade awaiting their arrival. The band played some martial music,
and the cavalry passed very handsomely in review before General
Sheridan. The guests were then most hospitably received, and assigned to
comfortable quarters.

Lieutenant Hayes, the quartermaster of the expedition, arranged
everything for the comfort of the party. One hundred cavalry under
command of Major Brown were detailed as an escort. A train of sixteen
wagons was provided to carry the baggage, supplies, and forage for the
trip; and, besides these, there were three four-horse ambulances in which
the guns were carried, and in which members of the party who became weary
of the saddle might ride and rest. At General Sheridan's request I was to
accompany the expedition; he introduced me to all his friends, and gave
me a good send-off.

During the afternoon and evening the gentlemen were all entertained at
the post in a variety of ways, including dinner and supper parties, and
music and dancing; at a late hour they retired to rest in their tents at
the camp which they occupied outside the post--named Camp Rucker in honor
of General Rucker.

At five o'clock next morning a cavalry bugle sounded the _reveille_, and
soon all were astir in the camp, preparatory to pulling out for the first
day's march. I rose fresh and eager for the trip, and as it was a nobby
and high-toned outfit which I was to accompany, I determined to put on a
little style myself. So I dressed in a new suit of light buckskin,
trimmed along the seams with fringes of the same material; and I put on a
crimson shirt handsomely ornamented on the bosom, while on my head I wore
a broad _sombrero_. Then mounting a snowy white horse--a gallant
stepper--I rode down from the fort to the camp, rifle in hand. I felt
first-rate that morning, and looked well.

The expedition was soon under way. Our road for ten miles wound through a
wooded ravine called Cottonwood Canon, intersecting the high ground, or
divide, as it is called, between the Platte and Republican Rivers. Upon
emerging from the canon we found ourselves upon the plains. First in the
line rode General Sheridan, followed by his guests, and then the
orderlies. Then came the ambulances, in one of which were carried five
greyhounds, brought along to course the antelope and rabbit. With the
ambulances marched a pair of Indian ponies belonging to Lieutenant
Hayes--captured during some Indian fight--and harnessed to a light wagon,
which General Sheridan occasionally used. These little horses, but
thirteen hands high, showed more vigor and endurance than any other of
the animals we had with us. Following the ambulances came the main body
of the escort and the supply wagons.

We marched seventeen miles the first day, and went into camp on Fox
Creek, a tributary of the Republican. No hunting had as yet been done;
but I informed the gentlemen of the party that we would strike the
buffalo country the next day. A hundred or more questions were then
asked me by this one and that one, and the whole evening was spent
principally in buffalo talk, sandwiched with stories of the plains--both
of war and of the chase. Several of the party, who were good vocalists,
gave us some excellent music. We closed the evening by christening the
camp, naming it Camp Brown, in honor of the gallant officer in command of
the escort.

At three o'clock next morning the bugle called us to an early start. We
had breakfast at half-past four, and at six were in the saddle. All were
eager to see and shoot the buffaloes which I assured them we would
certainly meet during the day. After marching five miles, the advance
guard, of which I had the command, discovered six buffaloes grazing at a
distance of about two miles from us. We returned to the hunters with this
information, and they at once consulted with me as to the best way to
attack the "enemy."

Acting upon my suggestions, Fitzhugh, Crosby, Lawrence Jerome,
Livingston, Hecksher and Rogers, accompanied by myself as guide, rode
through a convenient canon to a point beyond the buffaloes, so that we
were to the windward of the animals. The rest of the party made a detour
of nearly five miles, keeping behind the crest of a hill. We charged down
upon the buffaloes, at full gallop, and just then the other party emerged
from their concealment and witnessed the exciting chase. The buffaloes
started off in a line, single file. Fitzhugh, after a lively gallop, led
us all and soon came alongside the rear buffalo, at which he fired. The
animal faltered, and then with another shot Fitzhugh brought him to the
ground. Crosby dashed by him and leveled another of the herd, while
Livingston dropped a third. Those who were not directly engaged in the
hunt now came up and congratulated the men upon their success, and
Fitzhugh was at once hailed as the winner of the buffalo cup; while all
sympathized with Hecksher, whose chance had been the best at the start,
but who lost by reason of his horse falling and rolling over him.

The hunt being over, the column moved forward on its march passing
through a prairie-dog town, several miles in extent. These animals are
found throughout the plains, living together in a sort of society; their
numberless burrows in their "towns" adjoin each other, so that great care
is necessary in riding through these places, as the ground is so
undermined as often to fall in under the weight of a horse. Around the
entrance to their holes the ground is piled up almost a foot high; on
these little elevations the prairie-dogs sit upon their hind legs,
chattering to each other and observing whatever passes on the plains.
They will permit a person to approach quite near, but when they have
viewed him closely, they dive into their dens with wonderful quickness.
They are difficult to kill, and if hit, generally succeed in crawling
underground before they can be captured. Rattlesnakes and small owls are
generally found in great numbers in the prairie-dog towns, and live in
the same holes with the dogs on friendly terms. A few of the prairie-dogs
were killed, and were found to be very palatable eating.

[Illustration: PRAIRIE-DOG VILLAGE.]

A short distance beyond the dog town we discovered a settlement of five
white men, who proved to be the two Clifford brothers, Arthur Ruff, Dick
Seymour and John Nelson--the latter already referred to in these pages.
Each of them had a squaw wife and numerous half-breed children, living in
tents of buffalo skins. They owned a herd of horses and mules and a few
cattle, and had cultivated a small piece of land. Their principal
occupation was hunting, and they had a large number of buffalo hides,
which, they had tanned in the Indian manner.

Upon reaching Pleasant Valley, on Medicine Creek, our party divided into
two detachments--one hunting along the bank of the stream for elk or
deer, and the other remaining with the main body of the escort. The elk
hunters met with no success whatever, but the others ran across plenty of
buffaloes, and nearly everybody killed one or more before the day was
over. Lawrence Jerome made an excellent shot; while riding in an
ambulance he killed a buffalo which attempted to cross the line of march.

At about four o'clock P.M., we arrived at Mitchell's Fork of the
Medicine, having traveled thirty-five miles during that day, and there we
went into camp--calling it Camp Jack Hayes, in honor of Lieutenant Hayes.

On the next morning, the 25th, we moved out of camp at eight o'clock.
The party was very successful through the day in securing game,
Hecksher, Fitzhugh, Livingston and Lieutenant Hayes; and in fact all did
good shooting.

Lawrence Jerome persuaded me to let him ride Buckskin Joe, the best
buffalo horse in the whole outfit, and on his back he did wonders among
the buffaloes. Leonard Jerome, Bennett and Rogers also were very
successful in buffalo hunting.

Our camp of this night was named Camp Asch to commemorate our surgeon,
Dr. Asch. The evening was pleasantly spent around the camp fires in
relating the adventures of the day.

Upon crossing the Republican river on the morning of the 26th, we came
upon an immense number of buffaloes scattered over the country in every
direction, as far as the eye could reach and all had an opportunity to
do as much hunting as they wished. The wagons and troops moved slowly
along in the direction of the next camp, while the hunters went off
separately, or by twos and threes, in different directions, and all were
rewarded with abundant success. Lawrence Jerome, however, had his career
suddenly checked. He had dismounted to make a steady and careful shot,
and thoughtlessly let go of the bridle. The buffalo failing to take a
tumble, as he ought to have done, started off at a lively gait, followed
by Buckskin Joe--the horse being determined to do some hunting on his own
account--the last seen of him, he was a little ahead of the buffalo, and
gaining slightly, leaving his late rider to his own reflections and the
prospect of a tramp; his desolate condition was soon discovered and
another horse warranted not to run under any provocation, was sent to
him. It maybe stated here that three days afterwards, as I subsequently
learned, Buckskin Joe, all saddled and bridled, turned up at Fort
McPherson.

We pitched our tents for the night in a charming spot on the bank of
Beaver Creek. The game was so abundant that we remained there one day.
This stopping place was called. Camp Cody, in honor of the reader's
humble servant.

The next day was spent in hunting jack-rabbits, coyotes, elks,
antelopes and wild turkeys. We had a splendid dinner as will be seen
from the following:


                  BILL OF FARE.

                      SOUP.
                  Buffalo Tail.

                      FISH.
             Cisco broiled, fried Dace.

                     ENTREES.
Salmi of Prairie Dog, Stewed Rabbit, Fillet of Buffalo,
                 Aux Champignons.

                      ROAST.
    Elk, Antelope, Black-tailed Deer, Wild Turkey.

                     BROILED.
  Teal, Mallard, Antelope Chops, Buffalo-Calf Steaks,
                  Young Wild Turkey.

                    VEGETABLES.
    Sweet Potatoes, Mashed Potatoes, Green Peas.

                      DESSERT.
                  Tapioca Pudding.

                       WINES.
    Champagne Frappe, Champagne au Naturel, Claret,
             Whiskey, Brandy, Bass' Ale.

                      COFFEE.


This I considered a pretty square meal for a party of hunters, and
everybody did ample justice to it.

In the evening a court-martial was held, at which I presided as chief
justice. We tried one of the gentlemen for aiding and abetting in the
loss of a government horse, and for having something to do with the
mysterious disappearance of a Colt's pistol. He was charged also with
snoring in a manner that was regarded as fiendish, and with committing a
variety of other less offenses too numerous to mention.

The accused made a feeble defense as to the pistol, and claimed that
instead of losing a government horse, the fact was that the horse had
lost him. His statements were all regarded as "too thin," and finally
failing to prove good character, he confessed all, and threw himself upon
the mercy of the court. The culprit was Lawrence Jerome.

As chief justice I delivered the opinion of the court, which my modesty
does not prevent me from saying, was done in an able and dignified
manner; as an act of clemency I suspended judgment for the time being,
remarking that while the camp fire held out to burn, the vilest sinner
might return; and in hope of the accused's amendment, I would defer
pronouncing sentence. The trial afforded its considerable amusement, and
gave me a splendid opportunity to display the legal knowledge which I had
acquired while acting as justice of the peace at Fort McPherson.

On the morning of the 28th the command crossed the South Beaver, distant
nine miles from Camp Cody, and then striking a fair road we made a rapid
march until we reached our camp on Short Nose or Prairie Dog Creek,
about 2 P. M., after having made twenty-four miles. The remainder of the
afternoon was spent in hunting buffaloes and turkeys. Camp Stager was the
name given to this place, in honor of General Stager, of the Western
Union Telegraph Company.

The next day we made a march of twenty-four miles, and then halted at
about 1 P. M. on the North Solomon River. This day we killed three
buffaloes, two antelopes, two raccoons, and three teal ducks. Near our
camp, which we named Camp Leonard Jerome, was a beaver dam some six feet
high and twenty yards wide; it was near the junction of two streams, and
formed a pond of at least four acres.

On the 30th we traveled twenty-five miles, and during the march nine
turkeys, two rabbits, and three or four buffaloes were killed. We went
into camp on the bank of the South Fork of the Solomon River and called
the place Camp Sam Johnson. We were now but forty-five miles from Fort
Hays, the point at which General Sheridan and his guests expected to
strike the Kansas Pacific Railway, and thence return home. That evening
I volunteered to ride to Fort Hays and meet the party next day,
bringing with me all the letters that might be at the post. Taking the
best horse in the command I started out, expecting to make the trip in
about four hours.

The next morning the command got an early start and traveled thirty miles
to Saline River, where they made their last camp on the plains. As some
of the party were attacking a herd of buffaloes, I rode in from Fort Hays
and got into the middle of the herd, and killed a buffalo or two before
the hunters observed me. I brought a large number of letters, which
proved welcome reading matter.

In the evening we gathered around the camp-fire for the last time. The
duty of naming the camp, which was called Camp Davies, having been duly
performed, we all united in making that night the pleasantest of all that
we had spent together. We had eloquent speeches, songs, and interesting
anecdotes. I was called upon, and entertained the gentlemen with some
lively Indian stories.

The excursionists reached Fort Hays, distant fifteen miles, on the
morning of October 2d, where we pitched our tents for the last time, and
named the camp in honor of Mr. Hecksher. That same afternoon General
Sheridan and his guests took the train for the East, after bidding Major
Browa, Lieutenant Hayes and myself a hearty good-bye, and expressing
themselves as greatly pleased with their hunt, and the manner in which
they had been escorted and guided.

It will be proper and fair to state here that General Davies afterwards
wrote an interesting account of this hunt and published it in a neat
volume of sixty-eight pages, under the title of "Ten Days on the Plains."
I would have inserted the volume bodily in this book, were it not for the
fact that the General has spoken in a rather too complimentary manner of
me. However, I have taken the liberty in this chapter to condense from
the little volume, and in some places I have used the identical language
of General Davies without quoting the same; in fact, to do the General
justice, I ought to close this chapter with several lines of quotation
marks to be pretty generally distributed by the reader throughout my
account of our ten days' hunt.

Soon after the departure of General Sheridan's party, we returned to Fort
McPherson and found General Carr about to start out on a twenty days'
scout, not so much for the purpose of finding Indians, but more for the
object of taking some friends on a hunt. His guests were a couple of
Englishmen,--whose names I cannot now remember--and Mr. McCarthy, of
Syracuse, New York, who was a relative of General Emory. The command
consisted of three companies of the Fifth Cavalry, one company of Pawnee
Indians, and twenty-five wagons. Of course I was called on to accompany
the expedition.

One day, after we had been out from the post for some little time, I was
hunting on Deer Creek, in company with Mr. McCarthy, about eight miles
from the command. I had been wishing for several days to play a joke on
him, and had arranged a plan with Captain Lute North to carry it into
execution. I had informed North at about what time we would be on Deer
Creek, and it was agreed that he should appear in the vicinity with some
of his Pawnees, who were to throw their blankets around them, and come
dashing down upon us, firing and whooping in true Indian style; while he
was to either conceal or disguise himself. This programme was faithfully
and completely carried out. I had been talking about Indians to McCarthy,
and he had become considerably excited, when just as we turned a bend of
the creek, we saw not half a mile from us about twenty Indians, who
instantly started for us on a gallop, firing their guns and yelling at
the top of their voices.

"McCarthy, shall we dismount and fight, or run?" said I.

He didn't wait to reply, but wheeling his horse, started at full speed
down the creek, losing his hat and dropping his gun; away he went, never
once looking back to see if he was being pursued. I tried to stop him by
yelling at him and saying that it was all right, as the Indians were
Pawnees. Unfortunately he did not hear me, but kept straight on, not
stopping his horse until he reached the camp.

[Illustration: MCCARTHY'S FRIGHT.]

I knew that he would tell General Carr that the Indians had jumped him,
and that the General would soon start out with the troops. So as soon as
the Pawnees rode up to me I told them to remain there while I went after
my friend. I rode after him as fast as possible, but he had arrived at
the command some time before me and when I got there the General had, as
I had suspected he would do, ordered out two companies of cavalry to go
in pursuit of the Indians. I told the General that the Indians were only
some Pawnees, who had been out hunting and that they had merely played a
joke upon us. I forgot to inform him that I had put up the trick, but
as he was always fond of a good joke himself, he did not get very angry.
I had picked up McCarthy's hat and gun which I returned to him, and it
was some time afterwards before he discovered who was at the bottom of
the affair.

When we returned to Fort McPherson we found there Mr. Royal Buck, whose
father had been killed with his entire party by Pawnee Killer's band of
Indians on the Beaver Creek. He had a letter from the commanding officer
of the Department requesting that he be furnished with an escort to go in
search of the remains of his father and the party. Two companies of
cavalry were sent with him and I accompanied them as guide. As the old
squaw, which we had captured, and of which mention is made in a previous
chapter, could not exactly tell us the place on Beaver Creek where the
party had been killed, we searched the country over for two days and
discovered no signs of the murdered men. At last, however, our efforts
were rewarded with success. We found pieces of their wagons and among
other things an old letter or two which Mr. Buck recognized as his
father's handwriting. We then discovered some of the remains, which we
buried; but nothing further. It was now getting late in the fall and we
accordingly returned to Fort McPherson.

A short time after this the Fifth Cavalry was ordered to Arizona, a not
very desirable country to soldier in. I had become greatly attached to
the officers of the regiment, having been continually with them for over
three years, and had about made up my mind to accompany them, when a
letter was received from General Sheridan instructing the commanding
officer "not to take Cody" with him, and saying that I was to remain in
my old position. In a few days the command left for its destination,
taking the cars at McPherson Station, where I bade my old friends adieu.
During the next few weeks I had but little to do, as the post was
garrisoned by infantry, awaiting the arrival of the Third Cavalry.

[Illustration: FINDING THE REMAINS OF THE BUCK PARTY.]




CHAPTER XXV.

HUNTING WITH A GRAND DUKE.


About the first of January, 1872, General Forsyth and Dr. Asch, of
Sheridan's staff came out to Fort McPherson to make preparations for a
big buffalo hunt for the Grand Duke Alexis, of Russia; and as this was to
be no ordinary affair, these officers had been sent by General Sheridan
to have all the necessary arrangements perfected by the time the Grand
Duke should arrive. They learned from me that there were plenty of
buffaloes in the vicinity and especially on the Red Willow, sixty miles
distant. They said they would like to go over on the Red Willow and pick
out a suitable place for the camp; they also inquired the location of
the Spotted Tail, Sioux Indians. Spotted Tail had permission from the
Government to hunt the buffalo, with his people during the winter, in the
Republican river country. It was my opinion that they were located
somewhere on the Frenchman's Fork about one hundred and fifty miles from
Fort McPherson.

General Sheridan's commissioners informed me, that he wished me to visit
Spotted Tail's camp, and induce about one hundred of the leading warriors
and chiefs, to come to the point where it should be decided to locate the
Alexis hunting camp, and to be there by the time the Grand Duke should
arrive, so that he could see a body of American Indians and observe the
manner in which they killed buffaloes. The Indians would also be called
upon to give a grand war dance in honor of the distinguished visitor.

Next morning General Forsyth and Dr. Asch, accompanied by Captain Hays,
who had been left at Fort McPherson in charge of the Fifth Cavalry
horses, taking an ambulance and a light wagon, to carry their tents, and
provisions sufficient to last them two or three days; started, under my
guidance, with a small escort, for Red Willow Creek, arriving there at
night. The next day we selected a pleasant camping place on a little
knoll in the valley of the Red Willow. General Forsyth and his party
returned to the post the next day while I left for Spotted Tail's camp.

The weather was very cold and I found my journey by no means a pleasant
one as I was obliged to camp out with only my saddle blankets; and
besides, there was more or less danger from the Indians themselves; for,
although Spotted Tail himself was friendly, I was afraid I might have
difficulty in getting into his camp. I was liable at any moment to run
into a party of his young men who might be out hunting, and as I had
many enemies among the Sioux, I would be running considerable risk in
meeting them.

At the end of the first day I camped on Stinking Water, a tributary of
the Frenchman's Fork, where I built a little fire in the timber; but it
was so very cold I was not able to sleep much. Getting an early start in
the morning I followed up the Frenchman's Fork and late in the afternoon
I could see, from the fresh horse tracks and from the dead buffaloes
lying here and there, recently killed, that I was nearing Spotted Tail's
camp. I rode on for a few miles further, and then hiding my horse in a
low ravine, I crawled up a high hill, where I obtained a good view of the
country. I could see for four or five miles up the creek, and got sight
of a village and of two or three hundred ponies in its vicinity. I waited
until night came and then I succeeded in riding into the Indian camp
unobserved.

[Illustration: SPOTTED TAIL.]

I had seen Spotted Tail's camp when he came from the north and I knew the
kind of lodge he was living in. As I entered the village I wrapped a
blanket around my head so that the Indians could not tell whether I was a
white or a red man. In this way I rode around until I found Spotted
Tail's lodge. Dismounting from my horse I opened his tent door and looked
in and saw the old chief lying on some robes. I spoke to him and he
recognized me at once and invited me to enter. Inside the lodge I found a
white man, an old frontiersman, Todd Randall, who was Spotted Tail's
agent and who had lived a great many years with the Indians. He
understood their language perfectly and did all the interpreting for
Spotted Tail. Through him I readily communicated with the chief and
informed him of my errand. I told him that the warriors and chiefs would
greatly please General Sheridan if they would meet him in about ten
sleeps at the old Government crossing of the Red Willow. I further
informed him that there was a great chief from across the water who was
coming there to visit him. Spotted Tail replied that he would be very
glad to go; that the next morning he would call his people together and
select those who would accompany him. I told Spotted Tail how I had
entered his camp. He replied that I had acted wisely; that although his
people were friendly, yet some of his young men had a grudge against me,
and I might have had difficulty with them had I met them away from the
village. He directed his squaw to get me something to eat, and ordered
that my horse be taken care of, and upon his invitation I spent the
remainder of the night in his lodge.

Next morning the chiefs and warriors assembled according to orders, and
to them was stated the object of my visit. They were asked:

"Do you know who this man is?"

"Yes, we know him well," replied one, "that is Pa-he-haska," (that being
my name among the Sioux, which translated means "Long Hair") "that is our
old enemy," a great many of the Indians, who were with Spotted Tail at
this time, had been driven out of the Republican country.

"That is he," said Spotted Tail. "I want all my people to be kind to him
and treat him as my friend."

I noticed that several of them were looking daggers at me. They appeared
as if they wished to raise my hair then and there. Spotted Tail motioned
and I followed him into his lodge, and thereupon the Indians dispersed.
Having the assurance of Spotted Tail that none of the young men would
follow me I started back for the Red Willow, arriving the second night.

There I found Captain Egan with a company of the Second Cavalry and a
wagon train loaded with tents, grain, provisions, etc. The men were
leveling off the ground and were making preparations to put up large wall
tents for the Grand Duke Alexis and his _suite_, and for General
Sheridan, his staff and other officers, and invited guests of the party.
Proceeding to Fort McPherson I reported what had been done. Thereupon
Quartermaster Hays selected from the five or six hundred horses in his
charge, seventy-five of the very best, which were sent to the Red Willow,
to be used by Alexis and his party at the coming hunt. In a day or two a
large supply of provisions, liquors, etc., arrived from Chicago, together
with bedding and furniture for the tents; all of which were sent over to
Camp Alexis.

[Illustration: GRAND DUKE ALEXIS.]

At last, on the morning of the 12th of January, 1872, the Grand Duke and
party arrived at North Platte by special train; in charge of a Mr.
Francis Thompson. Captain Hays and myself, with five or six ambulances,
fifteen or twenty extra saddle-horses and a company of cavalry under
Captain Egan, were at the depot in time to receive them. Presently
General Sheridan and a large, fine-looking young man, whom we at once
concluded to be the Grand Duke came out of the cars and approached us.
General Sheridan at once introduced me to the Grand Duke as Buffalo Bill,
for he it was, and said that I was to take charge of him and show him how
to kill buffalo.

In less than half an hour the whole party were dashing away towards the
south, across the South Platte and towards the Medicine; upon reaching
which point we halted for a change of horses and a lunch. Resuming our
ride we reached Camp Alexis in the afternoon. General Sheridan was well
pleased with the arrangements that had been made and was delighted to
find that Spotted Tail and his Indians had arrived on time. They were
objects of great curiosity to the Grand Duke, who spent considerable time
in looking at them, and watching their exhibitions of horsemanship, sham
fights, etc. That evening the Indians gave the grand war dance, which I
had arranged for.

[Illustration: INDIAN EXERCISES.]

General Custer, who was one of the hunting party, carried on a mild
flirtation with one of Spotted Tail's daughters, who had accompanied her
father thither, and it was noticed also that the Duke Alexis paid
considerable attention to another handsome red-skin maiden. The night
passed pleasantly, and all retired with great expectations of having a
most enjoyable and successful buffalo hunt. The Duke Alexis asked me a
great many questions as to how we shot buffaloes, and what kind of a gun
or pistol we used, and if he was going to have a good horse. I told him
that he was to have my celebrated buffalo horse Buckskin Joe, and when
we went into a buffalo herd all he would have to do was to sit on the
horse's back and fire away.

At nine o'clock next morning we were all in our saddles, and in a few
minutes were galloping over the prairies in search of a buffalo herd. We
had not gone far before we observed a herd some distance ahead of us
crossing our way; after that we proceeded cautiously, so as to keep out
of sight until we were ready to make a charge.

Of course the main thing was to give Alexis the first chance and the best
shot at the buffaloes, and when all was in readiness we dashed over a
little knoll that had hidden us from view, and in a few minutes we were
among them. Alexis at first preferred to use his pistol instead of a gun.
He fired six shots from this weapon at buffaloes only twenty feet away
from him, but as he shot wildly, not one of his bullets took effect.
Riding up to his side and seeing that his weapon was empty, I exchanged
pistols with him. He again fired six shots, without dropping a buffalo.

Seeing that the animals were bound to make their escape without his
killing one of them, unless he had a better weapon, I rode up to him,
gave him my old reliable "Lucretia," and told him to urge his horse close
to the buffaloes, and I would then give him the word when to shoot. At
the same time I gave old Buckskin Joe a blow with my whip, and with a few
jumps the horse carried the Grand Duke to within about ten feet of a big
buffalo bull.

"Now is your time," said I. He fired, and down went the buffalo. The
Grand Duke stopped his horse, dropped his gun on the ground, and
commenced waving his hat. When his _suite_ came galloping up, he began
talking to them in a tongue which I could not understand. Presently
General Sheridan joined the group, and the ambulances were brought up.
Very soon the corks began to fly from the champagne bottles, in honor of
the Grand Duke Alexis, who had killed the first buffalo.

It was reported in a great many of the newspapers that I shot the first
buffalo for Alexis, while in some it was stated that I held the buffalo
while His Royal Highness killed it. But the way I have related the affair
is the correct version.

It was thought that we had had about sport enough for one day, and
accordingly I was directed by General Sheridan to guide the party back to
camp, and we were soon on our way thither. Several of the party, however,
concluded to have a little hunt on their own account, and presently we
saw them galloping over the prairie in different directions in pursuit of
buffaloes.

While we were crossing a deep ravine, on our way to camp, we ran into a
small band of buffaloes that had been frightened by some of the hunters.
As they rushed past us, not more than thirty yards distant, Alexis raised
his pistol, fired and killed a buffalo cow. It was either an
extraordinary good shot or a "scratch"--probably the latter, for it
surprised the Grand Duke as well as everybody else. We gave him three
cheers, and when the ambulance came up we took a pull at the champagne
in honor of the Grand Duke's success. I was in hopes that he would kill
five or six more buffaloes before we reached camp, especially if a basket
of champagne was to be opened every time he dropped one.

General Sheridan directed me to take care of the hides and heads of the
buffaloes which Alexis had killed, as the Duke wished to keep them as
souvenirs of the hunt. I also cut out the choice meat from the cow and
brought it into camp, and that night at supper Alexis had the pleasure of
dining on broiled buffalo steak obtained from the animal which he had
shot himself.

We remained at this camp two or three days, during which we hunted most
of the time, the Grand Duke himself killing eight buffaloes.

One day Alexis desired to see how the Indians hunted buffaloes and killed
them with bow and arrow; so Spotted Tail, selecting some of his best
hunters, had them surround a herd, and bring the animals down, not only
with arrows, but with lances. The Grand Duke was told to follow upon the
heels of one celebrated Indian hunter, whose name was "Two Lance," and
watch him bring down the game; for this chief had the reputation of being
able to send an arrow through and through the body of a buffalo. Upon
this occasion he did not belie his reputation, for he sent an arrow
_through_ a buffalo, which fell dead at the shot, and the arrow was given
to Alexis as a souvenir of his hunt on the American Plains.

[Illustration: TWO LANCE KILLING A BUFFALO.]

When the Grand Duke was satisfied with the sport, orders were given for
the return to the railroad. The conveyance provided for the Grand Duke
and General Sheridan was a heavy double-seated open carriage, or rather
an Irish dog-cart, and it was drawn by four spirited cavalry horses which
were not much used to the harness. The driver was Bill Reed, an old
overland stage driver and wagon master; on our way in, the Grand Duke
frequently expressed his admiration of the skillful manner in which Reed
handled the reins.

General Sheridan informed the Duke that I also had been a stage-driver in
the Rocky Mountains, and thereupon His Royal Highness expressed a desire
to see me drive. I was in advance at the time, and General Sheridan sang
out to me:

"Cody, get in here and show the Duke how you can drive. Mr. Reed will
exchange places with you and ride your horse."

"All right, General," said I, and in a few moments I had the reins and we
were rattling away over the prairie. When we were approaching Medicine
Creek, General Sheridan said: "Shake 'em up a little, Bill, and give us
some old-time stage-driving." I gave the horses a crack or two of the
whip, and they started off at a very rapid gait. They had a light load to
pull, and kept increasing their speed at every jump, and I found it
difficult to hold them. They fairly flew over the ground, and at last we
reached a steep hill, or divide, which, led down into the valley of the
Medicine. There was no brake on the wagon, and the horses were not much
on the hold-back. I saw that it would be impossible to stop them. All I
could do was to keep them straight in the track and let them go it down
the hill, for three miles; which distance, I believe, was made in about
six minutes. Every once in a while the hind wheels would strike a rut and
take a bound, and not touch the ground again for fifteen or twenty feet.
The Duke and the General were kept rather busy in holding their positions
on the seats, and when they saw that I was keeping the horses straight in
the road, they seemed to enjoy the dash which we were making. I was
unable to stop the team until they ran into the camp where we were to
obtain a fresh relay, and there I succeeded in checking them. The Grand
Duke said he didn't want any more of that kind of driving, as he
preferred to go a little slower.

On arriving at the railroad, the Duke invited me into his car, and made
me some valuable presents, at the same time giving me a cordial
invitation to visit him, if ever I should come to his country.

General Sheridan took occasion to remind me of an invitation to visit New
York which I had received from some of the gentlemen who accompanied the
General on the hunt from Fort McPherson to Hays City, in September of the
previous year. Said he:

"You will never have a better opportunity to accept that invitation than
now. I have had a talk with General Ord concerning you, and he will give
you a leave of absence whenever you are ready to start. Write a letter to
General Stager, of Chicago, that you are now prepared to accept the
invitation, and he will send you a pass."

Thanking the General for his kindness, I then bade him and the Grand Duke
good-bye, and soon their train was out of sight.




CHAPTER XXVI.

SIGHT-SEEING.


General Ord, commanding the Department of the Platte at the time, and who
had been out on the Alexis hunt, had some business to attend to at Fort
McPherson, and I accepted his invitation to ride over to the post with
him in an ambulance. On the way thither he asked me how I would like to
have an officer's commission in the regular army. He said that General
Sheridan and himself had had some conversation about the matter, and if I
wanted a commission, one could easily be procured for me. I thanked
General Ord for his kindness, and said that although an officer's
commission in the regular army was a tempting prize, yet I preferred to
remain in the position I was then holding. He concluded by stating that
if at any time I should wish a commission, all that I would have to do to
secure it would be to inform him of my desire.

Having determined to visit New York, I acted upon General Sheridan's
suggestion and wrote to General Stager, from whom in a few days I
received my railroad passes. Obtaining thirty days' leave of absence from
the department, I struck out for the East. On arriving in Chicago, in
February, 1872, I was met at the depot by Colonel M.V. Sheridan, who said
that his brother, the General, had not yet returned, but had sent word
that I was to be his and the Colonel's guest, at their house, while I
remained in Chicago.

I spent two or three days very pleasantly in the great city of the West,
meeting several of the gentlemen who had been out on the Sheridan hunt in
September--General Stager, Colonel Wilson, editor of the _Journal_; Mr.
Sam Johnson, General Rucker and others--by all of whom I was most
cordially received and well entertained. I was introduced to quite a
number of the best people of the city, and was invited to several "swell"
dinners. I also accompanied General Sheridan--who meantime had returned
to the city--to a ball at Riverside--an aristocratic suburb.

[Illustration: AN EMBARRASSING SITUATION]

On this occasion I became so embarrassed that it was more difficult for
me to face the throng of beautiful ladies, than it would have been to
confront a hundred hostile Indians. This was my first trip to the East,
and I had not yet become accustomed to being stared at. And besides
this, the hundreds of questions which I was called upon to answer further
embarrassed and perplexed me.

According to the route laid out for me by General Stager, I was to stop
at Niagara Falls, Buffalo and Rochester on my way to New York, and he
provided me with all the necessary railroad passes. Just as I was about
to leave Chicago I met Professor Henry A. Ward, of Rochester, for whom
during the previous year or two I had collected a large number of
specimens of wild animals. He was on his way to Rochester, and kindly
volunteered to act as my guide until we reached that point. We spent one
day in viewing the wonders of Niagara, and I stopped one day at Rochester
and was shown the beauties of that handsome city by Professor Ward, and I
had the honor of receiving an invitation to dine with the Mayor.

On arriving at New York I was met at the depot by Mr. J.G. Hecksher, who
had been appointed as "a committee of one" to escort me to the Union
Club, where James Gordon Bennett, Leonard W. Jerome and others were to
give me an informal reception, and where I was to make my headquarters
during my visit in the great metropolis. I had an elegant dinner at the
club rooms, with the gentlemen who had been out on the September hunt,
and other members of the club.

After dinner, in company with Mr. Hecksher--who acted as my guide--I
started out on the trail of my friend, Ned Buntline, whom we found at the
Brevoort Place Hotel. He was delighted to see me, and insisted on my
becoming his guest. He would listen to no excuses, and on introducing me
to Messrs. Overton & Blair, proprietors of the Brevoort, they also gave
me a pressing invitation to make my home at their house. I finally
compromised the matter by agreeing to divide my time between the Union
Club, the Brevoort House, and Ned Buntline's quarters.

The next few days I spent in viewing the sights of New York, everything
being new and startling, convincing me that as yet I had seen but a small
portion of the world. I received numerous dinner invitations, as well as
invitations to visit different places of amusement and interest; but as
they came in so thick and fast, I soon became badly demoralized and
confused. I found I had accepted invitations to dine at half a dozen or
more houses on the same day and at the same hour. James Gordon Bennett
had prepared a dinner for me, at which quite a large number of his
friends were to be present, but owing to my confusion, arising from the
many other invitations I had received, I forgot all about it, and dined
elsewhere. This was "a bad break," but I did not learn of my mistake
until next day, when at the Union Club House several gentlemen, among
them Lawrence Jerome, inquired "where in the world I had been," and why I
had not put in an appearance at Bennett's dinner. They said that Bennett
had taken great pains to give me a splendid reception, that the party had
waited till nine o'clock for me, and that my non-arrival caused
considerable disappointment. I apologized as well as I could, by saying
that I had been out on a scout and had got lost, and had forgotten all
about the dinner; and expressed my regret for the disappointment I had
created by my forgetfulness. August Belmont, the banker, being near said:

"Never mind, gentlemen, I'll give Cody a dinner at my house."

"Thank you, sir," said I; "I see you are determined that I shall not run
short of rations while I am in the city. I'll be there, sure."

Both Mr. Jerome and Mr. Hecksher told me that I must not disappoint Mr.
Belmont, for his dinners were splendid affairs. I made a note of the
date, and at the appointed time I was promptly at Mr. Belmont's mansion,
where I spent a very enjoyable evening.

Mr. Bennett, who was among the guests, having forgiven my carelessness,
invited me to accompany him to the Liederkranz masked ball, which was to
take place in a few evenings, and would be a grand spectacle. Together we
attended the ball, and during the evening I was well entertained. The
dancers kept on their masks until midnight, and the merry and motley
throng presented a brilliant scene, moving gracefully beneath the bright
gas-light to the inspiriting music. To me it was a novel and entertaining
sight, and in many respects reminded me greatly of an Indian war-dance.

Acting upon the suggestion of Mr. Bennett, I had dressed myself in my
buckskin suit, and I naturally attracted considerable attention;
especially when I took part in the dancing and exhibited some of my
backwoods steps, which, although not as graceful as some, were a great
deal more emphatic. But when I undertook to do artistic dancing, I found
I was decidedly out of place in that crowd, and I accordingly withdrew
from the floor.

I occasionally passed an evening at Niblo's Garden, viewing the many
beauties of "The Black Crook," which was then having its long run, under
the management of Jarrett & Palmer, whose acquaintance I had made, and
who extended to me the freedom of the theater.

Ned Buntline and Fred Maeder had dramatized one of the stories which the
former had written about me for the _New York Weekly_. The drama was
called "Buffalo Bill, the King of Border Men." While I was in New York it
was produced at the Bowery Theater; J.B. Studley, an excellent actor,
appearing in the character of "Buffalo Bill," and Mrs. W.G. Jones, a fine
actress, taking the part of my sister, a leading _role_. I was curious to
see how I would look when represented by some one else, and of course I
was present on the opening night, a private box having been reserved for
me. The theater was packed, every seat being occupied as well as the
standing-room. The drama was played smoothly, and created a great deal of
enthusiasm.

The audience, upon learning that the real "Buffalo Bill" was present,
gave several cheers between the acts, and I was called on to come out on
the stage and make a speech. Mr. Freleigh, the manager, insisted that I
should comply with the request, and that I should be introduced to Mr.
Studley. I finally consented, and the next moment I found myself standing
behind the footlights and in front of an audience for the first time in
my life. I looked up, then down, then on each side, and everywhere I saw
a sea of human faces, and thousands of eyes all staring at me. I confess
that I felt very much embarrassed--never more so in my life--and I knew
not what to say. I made a desperate effort, and a few words escaped me,
but what they were I could not for the life of me tell, nor could any one
else in the house. My utterances were inaudible even to the leader of the
orchestra, Mr. Dean, who was sitting only a few feet in front of me.
Bowing to the audience, I beat a hasty retreat into one of the canons of
the stage. I never felt more relieved in my life than when I got out of
the view of that immense crowd. That evening Mr. Freleigh offered to
give me five hundred dollars a week to play the part of "Buffalo Bill"
myself. I thought that he was certainly joking, especially as he had
witnessed my awkward performance; but when he assured me that he was in
earnest, I told him that it would be useless for me to attempt anything
of the kind, for I never could talk to a crowd of people like that, even
if it was to save my neck, and that he might as well try to make an actor
out of a government mule. I thanked him for the generous offer, which I
had to decline owing to a lack of confidence in myself; or as some people
might express it, I didn't have the requisite cheek to undertake a thing
of that sort. The play of "Buffalo Bill" had a very successful run of six
or eight weeks, and was afterwards produced in all the principal cities
of the country, everywhere being received with genuine enthusiasm.

I had been in New York about twenty days when General Sheridan arrived in
the city. I met him soon after he got into town. In answer to a question
how I was enjoying myself, I replied that I had struck the best camp I
had ever seen, and if he didn't have any objections I would like to have
my leave of absence extended about ten days. This he willingly did, and
then informed me that my services would soon be required at Fort
McPherson, as there was to be an expedition sent out from that point.

At Westchester, Pennsylvania, I had some relatives living whom I had
never seen, and now being so near, I determined to make them a visit.
Upon mentioning the matter to Buntline, he suggested that we should
together take a trip to Philadelphia, and thence run out to Westchester.
Accordingly the next day found us in the "City of Brotherly Love," and in
a few hours we arrived at the home of my uncle, General Henry R. Guss,
the proprietor of the Green Tree Hotel, who gave us a cordial reception.

Inviting us into the parlor, my uncle brought in the members of his
family, among them an elderly lady, who was my grandmother, as he
informed me. He told me that my Aunt Eliza, his first wife, was dead, and
that he had married a second time; Lizzie Guss, my cousin, I thought was
the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. They were all very anxious to
have us remain several days, but as I had some business to attend to in
New York, I was obliged to return that day. Assuring them, however, that
I would visit them again soon, I bade them adieu, and with Buntline took
the train for New York.

The time soon arrived for my departure for the West; so packing up my
traps I started for home, and on the way thither I spent a day with my
Westchester relatives, who did everything in their power to entertain me
during my brief stay with them.




CHAPTER XXVII.

HONORS.


Upon reaching Fort McPherson, I found that the Third Cavalry, commanded
by General Reynolds, had arrived from Arizona, in which Territory they
had been on duty for some time, and where they had acquired quite a
reputation on account of their Indian fighting qualities.

Shortly after my return, a small party of Indians made a dash on
McPherson Station, about five miles from the fort, killing two or three
men and running off quite a large number of horses. Captain Meinhold and
Lieutenant Lawson with their company were ordered out to pursue and
punish the Indians if possible. I was the guide of the expedition and had
as an assistant T.B. Omohundro, better known as "Texas Jack" and who was
a scout at the post.

Finding the trail, I followed it for two days, although it was difficult
trailing because the red-skins had taken every possible precaution to
conceal their tracks. On the second day Captain Meinhold went into camp
on the South Fork of the Loupe, at a point where the trail was badly
scattered. Six men were detailed to accompany me on a scout in search of
the camp of the fugitives. We had gone but a short distance when we
discovered Indians camped, not more than a mile away, with horses grazing
near by. They were only a small party, and I determined to charge upon
them with my six men, rather than return to the command, because I feared
they would see us as we went back and then they would get away from us
entirely. I asked the men if they were willing to attempt it, and they
replied that they would follow me wherever I would lead them. That was
the kind of spirit that pleased me, and we immediately moved forward on
the enemy, getting as close to them as possible without being seen.

I finally gave the signal to charge, and we dashed into the little camp
with a yell. Five Indians sprang out of a willow tepee, and greeted us
with a volley, and we returned the fire. I was riding Buckskin Joe, who
with a few jumps brought me up to the tepee, followed by my men. We
nearly ran over the Indians who were endeavoring to reach their horses on
the opposite side of the creek. Just as one was jumping the narrow stream
a bullet from my old "Lucretia" overtook him. He never reached the other
bank, but dropped dead in the water. Those of the Indians who were
guarding the horses, seeing what was going on at the camp, came rushing
to the rescue of their friends. I now counted thirteen braves, but as we
had already disposed of two, we had only eleven to take care of. The odds
were nearly two to one against us.

While the Indian reinforcements were approaching the camp I jumped the
creek with Buckskin Joe to meet them, expecting our party would follow
me; but as they could not induce their horses to make the leap, I was the
only one who got over. I ordered the sergeant to dismount his men, and
leaving one to hold the horses, to come over with the rest and help me
drive the Indians off. Before they could do this, two mounted warriors
closed in on me and were shooting at short range. I returned their fire
and had the satisfaction of seeing one of them fall from his horse. At
this moment I felt blood trickling down my forehead, and hastily running
my hand through my hair I discovered that I had received a scalp wound.
The Indian, who had shot me, was not more than ten yards away, and when
he saw his partner tumble from his saddle, he turned to run.

By this time the soldiers had crossed the creek to assist me, and were
blazing away at the other Indians. Urging Buckskin Joe forward, I was
soon alongside of the chap who had wounded me, when raising myself in the
stirrups I shot him through the head.

The reports of our guns had been heard by Captain Meinhold, who at once
started with his company up the creek to our aid, and when the remaining
Indians, whom we were still fighting, saw these reinforcements coming
they whirled their horses and fled; as their steeds were quite fresh they
made their escape. However, we killed six out of the thirteen Indians,
and captured most of their stolen stock. Our loss was one man killed, and
one man--myself--slightly wounded. One of our horses was killed, and
Buckskin Joe was wounded, but I didn't discover the fact until some time
afterwards as he had been shot in the breast and showed no signs of
having received a scratch of any kind. Securing the scalps of the dead
Indians and other trophies we returned to the fort.

I made several other scouts during the summer with different officers of
the Third Cavalry, one being with Major Alick Moore, a good officer,
with whom I was out for thirty days. Another long one was with Major
Curtis, with whom I followed some Indians from the South Platte river to
Fort Randall on the Missouri river in Dakota, on which trip the command
ran out of rations and for fifteen days subsisted entirely upon the game
we killed.

In the fall of 1872 the Earl of Dunraven and Dr. Kingsley with several
friends came to Fort McPherson with a letter from General Sheridan,
asking me to accompany them on an elk hunt. I did so, and I afterwards
spent several weeks in hunting with the Earl of Dunraven, who was a
thorough sportsman and an excellent hunter. It was while I was out with
the Earl, that a Chicago party--friends of General Sheridan--arrived at
Fort McPherson for the purpose of going out on a hunt. They, too, had a
letter from, the General requesting me to go with them. The Earl had not
yet finished his hunt, but as I had been out with him for several weeks,
and he had by this time learned where to find plenty of elks and other
game, I concluded to leave him and accompany the Chicago party. I
informed him of my intention and gave him my reasons for going, at the
same time telling him that I would send him one of my scouts, Texas Jack,
who was a good hunter, and would be glad to accompany him. The Earl
seemed to be somewhat offended at this, and I don't think he has ever
forgiven me for "going back on him." Let that be as it may, he found
Texas Jack a splendid hunter and guide, and Jack has been his guide on
several hunts since.

[Illustration: TEXAS JACK]

Among the gentlemen who composed the Chicago party were E.P.
Green,--son-in-law of Remington, the rifle manufacturer,--Alexander
Sample, Mr. Milligan, of the firm of Heath & Milligan, of Chicago, and
several others, whose names I do not now remember. Mr. Milligan was a
man full of life, and was continually "boiling over with fun." He was a
regular velocipede, so to speak, and was here, there, and everywhere.
He was exceedingly desirous of having an Indian fight on the trip, not
that he was naturally a blood-thirsty man but just for variety he
wanted a little "Indian pie." He was in every respect the life of the
party, during the entire time that we were out. One day while he was
hunting with Sample and myself we came in sight of a band of thirty
mounted Indians.

"Milligan, here's what you've been wanting for some time," said I, "for
yonder is a war party of Indians and no mistake; and they'll come for
us, you bet."

"I don't believe this is one of my fighting days," replied Milligan, "and
it occurs to me that I have urgent business at the camp."

Our camp was five or six miles distant on the Dismal river, and our
escort consisted of a company of cavalry commanded by Captain Russell.
The soldiers were in camp, and Milligan thought that Captain Russell
ought to be at once notified of the appearance of these Indians. Knowing
that we could reach the camp in safety, for we were well mounted, I
continued to have considerable amusement at Milligan's expense, who
finally said:

"Cody, what's making my hat raise up so. I can hardly keep it on my
head."

Sample, who was as cool as a cucumber, said to Milligan: "There must be
something wrong with your hair. It must be trying to get on end."

"It's all very fine for you fellows to stand here and talk," replied
Milligan, "but I am not doing justice to my family by remaining. Sample,
I think we are a couple of old fools to have come out here, and I never
would have done so if it had not been for you."

By this time the Indians had discovered us and were holding a
consultation, and Milligan turned his horse in the direction of the camp.
I never believed that he was half as scared as he seemed to be, but that
he was merely pretending so that we could enjoy our joke. However, we did
not wait any longer but rode into camp and notified Captain Russell, who
immediately started with his company to pursue the band.

While we were riding along with the company Milligan said to Sample:
"Now, Alick, let them come on. We may yet go back to Chicago covered
with glory."

We struck the trail going north, but as we had not come out on a scout
for Indians, we concluded not to follow them; although Milligan was now
very anxious to proceed and clean them out.

The hunt came to an end in a day or two, and we escorted the visiting
hunters to North Platte, where they took the train for Chicago. Before
their departure they extended to me a very cordial invitation to come to
their city on a visit, promising that I should be well taken care of.

Soon after this I had the pleasure of guiding a party of gentlemen from
Omaha on a buffalo hunt. Among the number were Judge Dundy, Colonel
Watson B. Smith, and U.S. District Attorney Neville. We left Fort
McPherson in good trim. I was greatly amused at the "style" of Mr.
Neville, who wore a stove-pipe hat and a swallow-tail coat, which made up
a very comical rig for a buffalo hunter. As we galloped over the prairie,
he jammed his hat down over his ears to keep it from being shaken off his
head, and in order to stick to his horse, he clung to the pommel of his
saddle. He was not much of a rider, and he went bouncing up and down,
with his swallow-tails flopping in the air. The sight I shall never
forget, for it was enough to make a "horse laugh," and I actually believe
old Buckskin Joe did laugh.

However, we had a splendid hunt, and on the second day I lariated, or
roped, a big buffalo bull and tied him to a tree,--a feat which I had
often performed, and which the gentlemen requested me to do on this
occasion for their benefit, as they had heard of my skill with the
lariat. I captured several other buffaloes in the same way. The gentlemen
returned to Omaha well pleased with their hunt.

In the fall of the year, 1872, a convention was held at Grand Island,
when some of my friends made me their candidate to represent the
Twenty-sixth District in the legislature of Nebraska; but as I had always
been a Democrat and the State was largely Republican, I had no idea of
being elected. In fact I cared very little about it, and therefore made
no effort whatever to secure an election. However, I was elected and that
is the way in which I acquired my title of Honorable.




CHAPTER XXVIII.

AN ACTOR.


During the summer and fall of 1872, I received numerous letters from Ned
Buntline, urging me to come East and go upon the stage to represent my
own character. "There's money in it," he wrote, "and you will prove a big
card, as your character is a novelty on the stage."

At times I almost determined to make the venture; but the recollection of
that night when I stood on the stage of the Bowery Theatre and was unable
to utter a word above a whisper, would cause me to stop and think and
become irresolute. I feared that I would be a total failure, and wrote
Buntline to that effect. But he insisted that I would soon get over all
that embarrassment, and become accustomed to the stage, so that I would
think no more of appearing before five thousand people than I would
before half a dozen. He proposed to organize a good company, and wished
me to meet him in Chicago, where the opening performance would be given.

I remained undecided as to what I ought to do. The officers at the fort
as well as my family and friends to whom I had mentioned the matter,
laughed at the idea of my ever becoming an actor. That I, an old scout
who had never seen more than twenty or thirty theatrical performances in
my life, should think of going upon the stage, was ridiculous in the
extreme--so they all said.

A few days after my election to the legislature a happy event occurred in
my family circle, in the birth of a daughter whom we named Ora; about the
same time I received another letter from Buntline, in which he requested
me to appear on the stage for a few months as an experiment; and he said
that if I made a failure or did not like the business, I could easily
return to my old life.

My two sisters who had been living with us had married,--Nellie, to A.
C. Jester, a cattle man, and May, to Ed. Bradford, a railroad
engineer--and consequently left us; and my wife had been wishing for a
long time to visit her parents in St. Louis. Taking these and other
things into consideration I finally resolved to resign my seat in the
legislature and try my luck behind the footlights. I informed General
Reynolds of my determination, telling him at the same time that at the
end of the month, November, I would resign my position under him. The
General regretted to hear this, and advised me not to take the step, for
I was leaving a comfortable little home, where I was sure of making a
good living for my family; while, on the other hand, I was embarking
upon a sea of uncertainty. Having once made up my mind, however, nothing
could change it.

While I was selling my horses and other effects, preparatory to leaving
the fort, one of my brother scouts, Texas Jack, said that he would like
to accompany me. Now as Jack had also appeared as the hero in one of
Ned Buntline's stories, I thought that he would make as good a "star"
as myself, and it was accordingly arranged that Jack should go with me.
On our way East we stopped in Omaha a day or two to visit General Augur
and other officers, and also the gentlemen who were out on the Judge
Dundy hunt. Judge Dundy and his friends gave a dinner party in my honor
at the leading restaurant and entertained me very handsomely during my
stay in the city.

At Omaha I parted with my family, who went to St. Louis, while Jack and
myself proceeded to Chicago. Ned Buntline and Mr. Milligan, having been
apprised of our coming by a telegram, met us at the depot. Mr. Milligan
accompanied us to the Sherman House, where he had made arrangements for
us to be his guests while we remained in the city. I didn't see much of
Buntline that evening, as he hurried off to deliver a temperance lecture
in one of the public halls. The next day we met him by appointment, and
the first thing he said, was:

"Boys, are you ready for business?"

"I can't answer that," replied I, "for we don't know what we are
going to do."

"It's all arranged," said he, "and you'll have no trouble whatever. Come
with me. We'll go and see Nixon, manager of the Amphitheatre. That's the
place where we are to play. We'll open there next Monday night." Jack and
myself accordingly accompanied him to manager Nixon's office without
saying a word, as we didn't know what to say.

"Here we are, Mr. Nixon," said Buntline; "here are the stars for you.
Here are the boys; and they are a fine pair to draw too. Now, Nixon, I am
prepared for business."

Nixon and Buntline had evidently had a talk about the terms of our
engagement. Buntline, it seems, was to furnish the company, the drama,
and the pictorial printing, and was to receive sixty per cent. of the
gross receipts for his share; while Nixon was to furnish the theater, the
_attaches_, the orchestra, and the local printing; and receive forty per
cent. of the gross receipts.

"I am ready for you, Buntline. Have you got your company yet?"
asked Nixon.

"No, sir; but there are plenty of idle theatrical people in town, and I
can raise a company in two hours," was his reply.

"You haven't much time to spare, if you open on Monday night," said
Nixon. "If you will allow me to look at your drama, to see what kind of
people you want, I'll assist you in organizing your company."

"I have not yet written the drama," said Buntline.

"What the deuce do you mean? This is Wednesday, and you propose to open
on next Monday night. The idea is ridiculous. Here you are at this late
hour without a company and without a drama. This will never do, Buntline.
I shall have to break my contract with you, for you can't possibly write
a drama, cast it, and rehearse it properly for Monday night. Furthermore,
you have no pictorial printing as yet. These two gentlemen, whom you have
with you, have never been on the stage, and they certainly must have time
to study their parts. It is preposterous to think of opening on Monday
night, and I'll cancel the engagement."

This little speech was delivered in rather an excited manner by Mr.
Nixon. Buntline said that he would write the drama that day and also
select his company and have them at the theater for rehearsal next
morning. Nixon laughed at him, and said that there was no use of trying
to undertake anything of the kind in so short a time--it was utterly
impossible to do it. Buntline, whose ire was rising, said to Nixon:

"What rent will you ask for your theater for next week?"

"Six hundred dollars," was the reply.

"Well, sir, I'll take your theater for next week at that price, and here
is half of the amount in advance," said Buntline, as he threw down three
hundred dollars on the stand.

Nixon took the money, gave a receipt for it, and had nothing more to say.

"Now, come with me boys," said Buntline; and away we went to the hotel.
Buntline immediately obtained a supply of pens, ink and paper, and then
engaged all the hotel clerks as penmen. In less than an hour after he had
rented the theater, he was dashing off page after page of his proposed
drama--the work being done in his room at the hotel. He then set his
clerks at copying for him, and at the end of four hours, he jumped up
from the table, and enthusiastically shouted:

"Hurrah for 'The Scouts of the Plains!' That's the name of the play. The
work is done. Hurrah!"

The parts were then all copied off separately by the clerks, and handing
us our respective portions Buntline said:

"Now, boys, go to work, and do your level best to have this dead-letter
perfect for the rehearsal, which takes place to-morrow morning at ten
o'clock, prompt. I want to show Nixon that we'll be ready on time."

[Illustration: STUDYING THE PARTS.]

I looked at my part and then at Jack; and Jack looked at his part and
then at me. Then we looked at each other, and then at Buntline. We did
not know what to make of the man.

"How long will it take you to commit your part to memory, Bill?"
asked Jack.

"About six months, as near as I can calculate. How long will it take
you?" answered I.

"It will take me about that length of time to learn the first line," said
Jack. Nevertheless we went to our room and commenced studying. I thought
it was the hardest work I had ever done.

"This is dry business," finally remarked Jack.

"That's just what it is," I answered; "jerk the bell, Jack." The bell-boy
soon appeared. We ordered refreshments; after partaking thereof we
resumed our task. We studied hard for an hour or two, but finally gave it
up as a bad job, although we had succeeded in committing a small portion
to memory. Buntline now came into the room and said:

"Boys, how are you getting along?"

"I guess we'll have to go back on this studying business as it isn't our
_forte_" said I.

"Don't weaken now, Bill; you'll come out on the top of the heap yet. Let
me hear you recite your part," said Buntline. I began "spouting" what I
had learned, but was interrupted by Buntline:

"Tut! tut! you're not saying it right. You must stop at the cue."

"Cue! What the mischief do you mean by the cue? I never saw any cue
except in a billiard room," said I. Buntline thereupon explained it to
me, as well as to Jack, who was ignorant as myself concerning the
"cue" business.

"Jack, I think we had better back out and go to hunting again," said I.

"See here, boys; it won't do to go back on me at this stage of the game.
Stick to it, and it may be the turning point in your lives and lead you
on to fortune and to fame."

"A fortune is what we are after, and we'll at least give the wheel a turn
or two and see what luck we have," said I. This satisfied Buntline, but
we didn't study any more after he left us. The next morning we appeared
at rehearsal and were introduced to the company. The first rehearsal was
hardly a success; and the succeeding ones were not much better. The stage
manager did his best to teach Jack and myself what to do, but when Monday
night came we didn't know much more about it than when we began.

The clock struck seven, and then we put on our buckskin suits, which were
the costumes we were to appear in. The theater was being rapidly filled,
and it was evident that we were going to make our _debut_ before a packed
house. As the minutes passed by, Jack and I became more and more nervous.
We occasionally looked through the holes in the curtain, and saw that the
people were continuing to crowd into the theatre; our nervousness
increased to an uncomfortable degree.

When, at length the curtain arose, our courage had returned, so that we
thought we could face the immense crowd; yet when the time came for us
to go on, we were rather slow in making our appearance. As we stepped
forth we were received with a storm of applause, which we acknowledged
with a bow.

[Illustration: BEHIND THE FOOTLIGHTS.]

Buntline, who was taking the part of "Cale Durg," appeared, and gave me
the "cue" to speak "my little piece," but for the life of me I could not
remember a single word. Buntline saw I was "stuck," and a happy thought
occurred to him. He said--as if it were in the play:

"Where have you been, Bill? What has kept you so long?"

Just then my eye happened to fall on Mr. Milligan, who was surrounded by
his friends, the newspaper reporters, and several military officers, all
of whom had heard of his hunt and "Indian fight"--he being a very popular
man, and widely known in Chicago. So I said:

"I have been out on a hunt with Milligan."

This proved to be a big hit. The audience cheered and applauded; which
gave me greater confidence in my ability to get through the performance
all right. Buntline, who is a very versatile man, saw that it would be a
good plan to follow this up, and he said:

"Well, Bill, tell us all about the hunt."

I thereupon proceeded to relate in detail the particulars of the affair.
I succeeded in making it rather funny, and I was frequently interrupted
by rounds of applause. Whenever I began to "weaken," Buntline would give
me a fresh start, by asking some question. In this way I took up fifteen
minutes, without once speaking a word of my part; nor did I speak a word
of it during the whole evening. The prompter, who was standing between
the wings, attempted to prompt me, but it did no good; for while I was on
the stage I "chipped in" anything I thought of.

"The Scouts of the Plains" was an Indian drama, of course; and there were
between forty and fifty "supers" dressed as Indians. In the fight with
them, Jack and I were at home. We blazed away at each other with blank
cartridges; and when the scene ended in a hand-to-hand encounter--a
general knock-down and drag-out--the way Jack and I killed Indians was "a
caution." We would kill them all off in one act, but they would come up
again ready for business in the next. Finally the curtain dropped; the
play was ended; and I congratulated Jack and myself on having made such a
brilliant and-successful _debut_. There was no backing out after that.

The next morning there appeared in the Chicago papers some very funny
criticisms on our first performance. The papers gave us a better send-off
than I expected, for they did not criticise us as actors. The _Chicago
Times_ said that if Buntline had actually spent four hours in writing
that play, it was difficult for any one to see what he had been doing all
the time. Buntline, as "Cale Durg," was killed in the second act, after a
long temperance speech; and the _Inter-Ocean_ said that it was to be
regretted that he had not been killed in the first act. The company,
however, was very good, and Mdlle. Morlacchi, as "Pale Dove,"
particularly fine; while Miss Cafarno "spouted" a poem of some seven
hundred and three verses, more or less, of which the reader will be glad
to know that I only recall the words "I was born in March."

Our engagement proved a decided success financially, if not artistically.
Nixon was greatly surprised at the result, and at the end of the week he
induced Buntline to take him in as a partner in the company.

The next week we played at DeBar's Opera House, in St. Louis, doing an
immense business. The following week we were at Cincinnati, where the
theater was so crowded every night that hundreds were unable to obtain
admission. We met with equal success all over the country. Theatrical
managers, upon hearing of this new and novel combination; which was
drawing such tremendous houses, were all anxious to secure us; and we
received offers of engagements at all the leading theaters. We played
one week at the Boston Theater, and the gross receipts amounted to
$16,200. We also appeared at Niblo's Garden, New York, the theater being
crowded to its utmost capacity every night of the engagement. At the Arch
Street Theater, Philadelphia, it was the same way. There was not a single
city where we did not have crowded houses.

We closed our tour on the 16th of June, 1873, at Port Jervis, New York,
and when I counted up my share of the profits I found that I was only
about $6,000 ahead. I was somewhat disappointed, for, judging from our
large business, I certainly had expected a greater sum.

Texas Jack and myself longed for a hunt on the Western prairies once
more; and on meeting in New York a party of gentlemen who were desirous
of going with us, we all started Westward, and after a pleasant trip
arrived at Fort McPherson.




CHAPTER XXIX.

STARRING.


Texas Jack and I spent several weeks in hunting in the western part of
Nebraska, and at the end of our vacation we felt greatly re-invigorated
and ready for another theatrical campaign. We accordingly proceeded to
New York and organized a company for the season of 1873-74. Thinking that
Wild Bill would be quite an acquisition to the troupe, we wrote to him at
Springfield, Missouri, offering him a large salary if he would play with
us that winter. He was doing nothing at the time, and we thought that he
would like to take a trip through the States, as he had never been East.

Wild Bill accepted our offer, and came on to New York; though he told us
from the start that we could never make an actor out of him. Although he
had a fine stage appearance and was a handsome fellow, and possessed a
good strong voice, yet when he went upon the stage before an audience,
it was almost impossible for him to utter a word. He insisted that we
were making a set of fools of ourselves, and that we were the
laughing-stock of the people. I replied that I did not care for that, as
long as they came and bought tickets to see us.

Wild Bill was continually playing tricks upon the members of the
company, and it was his especial delight to torment the "supers." Quite
frequently in our sham Indian battles he would run up to the "Indians"
(the supers), and putting his pistol close to their legs, would fire at
them and burn them with the powder, instead of shooting over their
heads. This would make them dance and jump, so that it was difficult to
make them fall and die--although they were paid twenty-five cents each
for performing the "dying business." The poor "supers" often complained
to me about this, and threatened not to go on the stage and be killed
again if that man Wild Bill did not stop shooting and burning their
legs. I would order Wild Bill to stop his mischief; he would laugh and
then promise not to do it any more. But it would not be long before he
was at his old tricks again.

My company, known as the "Buffalo Bill Combination," did a fine business,
all through the East. Wild Bill continued his pranks, which caused us
considerable annoyance, but at the same time greatly amused us.

One day at Titusville, Pennsylvania, while Burke, the business agent, was
registering our names and making arrangements for our accommodation,
several of us started for the billiard room; but were met by the
landlord, who stopped me and said that there was a party of roughs from
the lower oil region who were spreeing, and had boasted that they were
staying in town to meet the Buffalo Bill gang and clean them out. The
landlord begged of me not to allow the members of the troupe to enter the
billiard room, as he did not wish any fight in his house. To please the
landlord, and at his suggestion, I called the boys up into the parlor and
explained to them the situation. Wild Bill wanted to go at once and fight
the whole mob, but I persuaded him to keep away from them during the day.

In order to entirely avoid the roughs, the members of the company entered
the theater through a private door from the hotel, as the two buildings
joined each other. While I was standing at the door of the theater taking
the tickets, the landlord of the hotel came rushing up and said that Wild
Bill was having a fight with the roughs in the bar-room. It seemed that
Bill had not been able to resist the temptation of going to see what kind
of a mob it was that wanted to test the pluck of the Buffalo Bill party;
and just as he stepped into the room, one of the bruisers put his hand on
his shoulder and said:

"Hello, Buffalo Bill! we have been looking for you all day."

"My name is not Buffalo Bill; you are mistaken in the man," was
the reply.

"You are a liar!" said the bruiser.

Bill instantly knocked him down, and then seizing a chair he laid out
four or five of the crowd on the floor, and drove the rest out of the
room. All this was done in a minute or two, and by the time I got down
stairs, Bill was coming out of the bar-room, whistling a lively tune.

"Well!" said he, "I have been interviewing that party who wanted to
clean us out."

"I thought you promised to come into the Opera House by the private
entrance?"

"I did try to follow that trail, but I got lost among the canons, and
then I ran in among the hostiles," said he; "but it is all right now.
They won't bother us any more. I guess those fellows have found us." And
sure enough they had. We heard no more of them after that.

Another incident occurred, one night, at Portland, Maine. Bill found it
impossible to go to sleep at the hotel on account of the continued
talking of some parties who were engaged in a game of cards in an
adjoining room. He called to them several times to make less noise, but
they paid little or no attention to him. He finally got up and went to
the room with the intention of cleaning out the whole crowd. He knocked
and was admitted; greatly to his surprise, he found the party to be some
merchants of the city, whom he had met the previous day. They were
playing poker, and invited him to take a hand. Bill sat down at the
table, and said that, inasmuch as they would not let him sleep, he
wouldn't mind playing for a while, provided they would post him a little
in the game, for he didn't know much about it. At first he didn't play
very well, intentionally making many blunders and asking numerous
questions; but when morning came, he was about seven hundred dollars
ahead. Bill put the money in his pocket, and just as he was leaving the
room he advised them never to wake a man up and invite him to play poker.

[Illustration: LEARNING THE GAME.]

Wild Bill remained with me until we reached Rochester. I met my family
there, and having bought some property in that city, with the intention
of making the place my home, I asked Bill not to cut up any of his
capers, for I wanted the performance to go off smoothly, as I expected a
large audience that evening. He, of course, promised to behave himself.
When the curtain rose the house was crowded. The play proceeded finely
until the Indian fight in the second act, when Bill amused himself by his
old trick of singeing the legs of the "supers."

After the curtain dropped, the "supers" complained to me about it.
Bill's conduct made me angry, and I told him that he must either stop
shooting the "supers," or leave the company. He made no reply, but went
to the dressing-room and changed his buckskin suit for his citizen's
dress, and during one of my scenes I looked down in front and saw him
elbowing his way through the audience and out of the theater. When I had
finished the scene, and had retired from the stage, the stage-carpenter
came up and said:

"That long-haired gentleman, who passed out a few minutes ago, requested
me to tell you that you could go to thunder with your old show."

That was the last time that Wild Bill and I ever performed together on
the stage. After the evening's entertainment I met him at the Osborn
House. By this time he had recovered from his mad fit and was in as good
humor as ever. He had made up his mind to leave for the West the next
day. I endeavored to persuade him to remain with me till spring, and then
we would go together; but it was of no use. I then paid him the money due
him, and Jack and myself made him a present of $1,000 besides.

Bill went to New York the next day, intending to start west from there.
Several days afterwards I learned that he had lost all his money in New
York by playing faro; also that a theatrical manager had engaged him to
play. A company was organized and started out, but as a "star" Wild Bill
was not a success; the further he went the poorer he got. This didn't
suit Bill by any means, and he accordingly retired from the stage. The
company, however, kept on the road, using Bill's name, and employing an
actor to represent him not only on the stage but on the street and
elsewhere. Bill heard of this deception and sent word to the manager to
stop it, but no attention was paid to his message.

Finally, Bill resolved to have satisfaction and he proceeded to a town
where the company was to play; he entered the theater and took a seat
near the stage, and watched the performance until the bogus Wild Bill
appeared. He then sprang upon the stage, knocked the actor clear through
one of the scenes, and grabbing the manager by the shoulders he threw him
over the foot-lights into the orchestra.

[Illustration: GETTING SATISFACTION.]

The other actors screamed and yelled "Police!" The audience could not at
first understand what it all meant, some of them supposing the affair to
be a part of the play.

Wild Bill retired from the stage in good order, resumed his seat, and
told them to go on with their show. A policeman now appearing, Bill was
pointed out as the disturber of the peace; the officer tapping him on the
shoulder, said:

"I'll have to arrest you, sir."

"How many of you are there?" asked Bill.

"Only myself," said the policeman.

"You had better get some help," said Bill. The officer then called up
another policeman, and Bill again asked:

"How many of you are there now?"

"Two," was the reply.

"Then I advise you to go out and get some more reinforcements," said
Bill, very coolly.

The policemen thereupon spoke to the sheriff, who was dressed in
citizen's clothes. The sheriff came up and said he would have to take him
into custody.

"All right, sir," replied Bill, "I have no objections to walking out with
you, but I won't go with any two policemen." At the court next morning
Bill stated his reasons for having acted as he had done, and the judge
fined him only three dollars and costs.

This was the last time that Wild Bill appeared on the stage. He shortly
afterwards returned to the West, and on arriving at Cheyenne, he visited
Boulder's gambling room and sat down at a faro table. No one in the room
recognized him, as he had not been in Cheyenne for several years. After
losing two or three bets he threw down a fifty dollar bill and lost that
also. Boulder quietly raked in the money. Bill placed a second fifty
dollar note on another card, when Boulder informed him that the limit was
twenty-five dollars.

"You have just taken in a fifty dollar bill which I lost," said Bill.

"Well you needn't make any more such bets, as I will not go above my
limit," replied Boulder.

"I'll just play that fifty dollar bill as it lays. If it loses, it's
yours; if it wins, you'll pay me fifty dollars, or I'll know the
reason why."

"I am running this game, and I want no talk from you, sir," said Boulder.

One word brought on another, until Boulder threatened to have Bill put
out of the house. Bill was carrying the butt end of a billiard cue for a
cane, and bending over the table, he said: "You'd rob a blind man." Then
he suddenly tapped Boulder on the head with the cane, with such force as
to knock him over. With another sweep of the cane he tumbled the
"look-out" from his chair, and then reaching over into the money drawer
he grabbed a handful of greenbacks and stuck them in his pocket.

At this stage of the game four or five men--who were employed as
"bouncers" for the establishment to throw out the noisy persons--rushed
up to capture Bill, but he knocked them right and left with his cane, and
seeing the whole crowd was now closing in on him, he jumped into a
corner, and with each hand drew a revolver and faced the enemy. At this
moment the bar-keeper recognized him, and sang out in a loud voice:

"Look out boys--that's Wild Bill you've run against."

That settled the matter; for when they heard the name of Wild Bill they
turned and beat a hasty retreat out of the doors and windows, and in less
time than it takes to tell it, Wild Bill was the only man in the room.
He coolly walked over to Dyer's hotel, and retired for the night. Boulder
claimed that he had taken $500, but he really got only $200. Boulder,
upon learning that it was Wild Bill who had cleaned him out, said nothing
more about the money. The next day the two men met over a bottle of wine,
and settled their differences in an amicable manner.

Poor Bill was afterwards killed at Deadwood, in the Black Hills, in a
cowardly manner, by a desperado who sneaked up behind him while he was
playing a game of cards in a saloon, and shot him through the back of the
head, without the least provocation. The murderer, Jack McCall, was tried
and hung at Yankton, Dakotah, for the crime. Thus ended the career of a
life-long friend of mine who, in spite of his many faults, was a noble
man, ever brave and generous hearted.

Jack and myself continued playing through the country after Wild Bill
left us, and we finally closed our season in Boston on the 13th of
May, 1874.

Business called me from Boston to New York, and after I had been there a
few days, I met an English gentleman, Thomas P. Medley, of London, who
had come to America for a hunt on the Plains. He had often heard of me,
and was anxious to engage me as his guide and companion, and he offered
to pay the liberal salary of one thousand dollars a month while I was
with him. He was a very wealthy man, as I learned upon inquiry, and was a
relative of Mr. Lord, of the firm of Lord & Taylor, of New York. Of
course I accepted his offer.

When we reached the hunting ground in Nebraska, he informed me, somewhat
to my surprise, that he did not want to go out as Alexis did, with
carriages, servants, and other luxuries, but that he wished to rough it
just as I would do--to sleep on the ground in the open air, and kill and
cook his own meat. We started out from North Platte, and spent several
weeks in hunting all over the county. Dr. W. F. Carver, who then resided
at North Platte, and who has recently acquired considerable notoriety as
a rifle-shot, hunted with us for a few days.

Mr. Medley proved to be a very agreeable gentleman and an excellent
hunter. While in camp he busied himself in carrying wood and water,
attending to the fire, and preparing and cooking the meals, never asking
me to do a thing. He did not do this to save expenses, but because he
wanted to do as the other hunters in the party were doing. After spending
as much time as he wished, we returned to the railroad, and he took the
train for the East. Everything that was required on this hunt was paid
for in the most liberal manner by Mr. Medley, who also gave the members
of the party several handsome presents.

About this time an expedition consisting of seven companies of cavalry
and two companies of infantry--to be commanded by Colonel Mills of the
Third Cavalry, was being organized to scout the Powder River and Big Horn
country, and I was employed as guide for the command. Proceeding to
Rawlins, Wyoming, we "outfitted," and other guides were engaged--among
them Tom Sun and Bony Ernest, two noted Rocky Mountain scouts. We there
left the railroad, and passing through the Seminole range of the Rocky
Mountains we established our supply camp at the foot of Independence Rock
on the Sweetwater. I was now on my old familiar stamping ground, and it
seemed like home to me. Fifteen years before, I had ridden the pony
express and driven the overland stages through this region, and the
command was going into the same section of country where Wild Bill's
expedition of stage-drivers and express-riders had recaptured from the
Indians a large number of stolen stage-horses.

Leaving the infantry to guard the supply camp, Colonel Mills struck out
for the north with the seven companies of cavalry. One day while we were
resting on a prairie near the head of Powder river, a horseman was seen
in the distance approaching us. At first it was thought he was an Indian,
but as he came near we saw that he was a white man, and finally when he
rode up to us, I recognized him as "California Joe," a noted scout and
frontiersman who had spent many years in California, on the plains and in
the mountains. He was armed with a heavy old Sharpe's rifle, a revolver
and a knife. I introduced him to Colonel Mills and the other officers and
asked him where he was going. He replied that he was out for a morning
ride only; but the fact was that he had been out prospecting alone for
weeks along the foot of the Big Horn mountains.

Having no permanent occupation just at that time, Joe accompanied us for
two or three days, when Colonel Mills suggested that I had better employ
him as a scout, so that he could make a little money for himself. Joe
didn't seem to care whether I hired him or not; but I put him on the
pay-roll, and while he was with us he drew his five dollars a day. It was
worth the money to have him along for company's sake, for he was a droll
character in his way, and afforded us considerable amusement. We finally
surprised Little Wolf's band of Arapahoes and drove them into the
agencies. We then scouted the Powder river, Crazy Woman's Fork, and Clear
Fork, and then pushed westward through the mountains to the Wind river.
After having been out for a month or two we were ordered to return.

I immediately went East and organized another Dramatic company for the
season of 1874-75, Texas Jack being absent in the Yellowstone country
hunting with the Earl of Dunraven. I played my company in all the
principal cities of the country, doing a good business wherever I went.
The summer of 1875 I spent at Rochester with my family.

For the season of 1875-6, Texas Jack and I reorganized our old
Combination, and made a very successful tour. While we were playing at
Springfield, Massachusetts, April 20th and 21st 1876, a telegram was
handed me just as I was going on the stage. I opened it and found it to
be from Colonel G.W. Torrence, of Rochester, an intimate friend of the
family, who stated that my little boy Kit was dangerously ill with the
scarlet fever. This was indeed sad news, for little Kit had always been
my greatest pride. I sent for John Burke, our business manager, and
showing him the telegram, told him that I would play the first act, and
making a proper excuse to the audience, I would then take the nine
o'clock train that same evening for Rochester, leaving him to play out my
part. This I did, and at ten o'clock the next morning I arrived in
Rochester, and was met at the depot by my intimate friend Moses Kerngood
who at once drove me to my home. I found my little boy unable to speak
but he seemed to recognize me and putting his little arms around my neck
he tried to kiss me. We did everything in our power to save him, but it
was of no avail. The Lord claimed his own, and that evening at six
o'clock my beloved little Kit died in my arms. We laid him away to rest
in the beautiful cemetery of Mount Hope amid sorrow and tears.




CHAPTER XXX.

I RETURN TO THE PLAINS.


We closed our theatrical season earlier than usual in the spring of 1876,
because I was anxious to take part in the Sioux war which was then
breaking out. Colonel Hills had written me several letters saying that
General Crook was anxious to have me accompany his command, and I
promised to do so, intending to overtake him in the Powder river country.
But when I arrived at Chicago, on my way West, I learned that my old
regiment, the gallant Fifth Cavalry, was on its way back from Arizona to
join General Crook, and that my old commander, General Carr, was in
command. He had written to military headquarters at Chicago to learn my
whereabouts, as he wished to secure me as his guide and chief of scouts.
I then gave up the idea of overtaking General Crook, and hastening on to
Cheyenne, where the Fifth Cavalry had already arrived, I was met at the
depot by Lieutenant King, adjutant of the regiment, he having been sent
down from Fort D. A. Russell for that purpose by General Carr, who had
learned by a telegram from military headquarters at Chicago that I was on
the way. I accompanied the Lieutenant on horseback to the camp, and as we
rode up, one of the boys shouted, "Here's Buffalo Bill!" Soon after there
came three hearty cheers from the regiment. Officers and men all were
glad to see me, and I was equally delighted to meet them once more. The
General at once appointed me his guide and chief of scouts.

The next morning the command pulled out for Fort Laramie, and on reaching
that post we found General Sheridan there, accompanied by General Frye
and General Forsyth, _en route_ to Red Cloud agency. As the command was
to remain here a few days, I accompanied General Sheridan to Red Cloud
and back, taking a company of cavalry as escort.

The Indians having recently committed a great many depredations on the
Black Hills road, the Fifth Cavalry was sent out to scout the country
between the Indian agencies and the hills. The command operated on the
South Fork of the Cheyenne and at the foot of the Black Hills for about
two weeks, having several small engagements with roving bands of Indians
during the time. General Wesley Merritt--who had lately received his
promotion to the Colonelcy of the Fifth Cavalry--now came out and took
control of the regiment. I was sorry that the command was taken from
General Carr, because under him it had made its fighting reputation.
However, upon becoming acquainted with General Merritt, I found him to be
an excellent officer.

The regiment, by continued scouting, soon drove the Indians out of that
section of the country, as we supposed, and we had started on our way
back to Fort Laramie, when a scout arrived at the camp and reported the
massacre of General Custer and his band of heroes on the Little Big Horn,
on the 25th of June, 1876; and he also brought orders to General Merritt
to proceed at once to Fort Fetterman and join General Crook in the Big
Horn country.

Colonel Stanton, who was with the Fifth Cavalry on this scout, had been
sent to Red Cloud agency two days before, and that same evening a scout
arrived bringing a message from him that eight hundred Cheyenne warriors
had that day left the Red Cloud agency to join Sitting Bull's hostile
forces in the Big Horn region. Notwithstanding the instructions to
proceed immediately to join General Crook by the Way of Fort Fetterman,
Colonel Merritt took the responsibility of endeavoring to intercept the
Cheyennes, and as the sequel shows he performed a very important service.

He selected five hundred men and horses, and in two hours we were making
a forced march back to Hat, or War-Bonnet Creek--the intention being to
reach the main Indian trail running to the north across that creek before
the Cheyennes could get there. We arrived there the next night, and at
daylight the following morning, July 17th, 1876, I went out on a scout,
and found that the Indians had not yet crossed the creek. On my way back
to the command I discovered a large party of Indians, which proved to be
the Cheyennes, coming up from the south, and I hurried to the camp with
this important information.

The cavalrymen quietly mounted their horses, and were ordered to remain
out of sight, while General Merritt, accompanied by two or three _aides_
and myself, went out on a little tour of observation to a neighboring
hill, from the summit of which we saw that the Indians were approaching
almost directly towards us. Presently fifteen or twenty of them dashed
off to the west in the direction from which we had come the night before;
and upon closer observation with our field glasses, we discovered two
mounted soldiers, evidently carrying dispatches for us, pushing forward
on our trail.

The Indians were evidently endeavoring to intercept these two men, and
General Merritt feared that they would accomplish their object. He did
not think it advisable to send out any soldiers to the assistance of the
couriers, for fear that would show to the Indians that there were troops
in the vicinity who were waiting for them. I finally suggested that the
best plan was to wait until the couriers came closer to the command, and
then, just as the Indians were about to charge, to let me take the scouts
and cut them off from the main body of the Cheyennes, who were coming
over the divide.

"All right, Cody," said the General, "if you can do that, go ahead."

I rushed back to the command, jumped on my horse, picked out fifteen men,
and returned with them to the point of observation. I told General
Merritt to give us the word to start out at the proper time, and
presently he sang out:

"Go in now, Cody, and be quick about it. They are going to charge on the
couriers."

The two messengers were not over four hundred yards from us, and the
Indians were only about two hundred yards behind them. We instantly
dashed over the bluffs, and advanced on a gallop towards the Indians. A
running fight lasted several minutes, during which we drove the enemy
some little distance and killed three of their number. The rest of them
rode off towards the main body, which had come into plain sight, and
halted, upon seeing the skirmish that was going on. We were about half
a mile from General Merritt, and the Indians whom we were chasing
suddenly turned upon us, and another lively skirmish took place. One of
the Indians, who was handsomely decorated with all the ornaments
usually worn by a war chief when engaged in a fight, sang out to me, in
his own tongue:

"I know you, Pa-he-haska; if you want to fight, come ahead and fight me."

The chief was riding his horse back and forth in front of his men, as if
to banter me, and I concluded to accept the challenge. I galloped towards
him for fifty yards and he advanced towards me about the same distance,
both of us riding at full speed, and then, when we were only about thirty
yards apart, I raised my rifle and fired; his horse fell to the ground,
having been killed by my bullet.

Almost at the same instant my own horse went down, he having stepped into
a hole. The fall did not hurt me much, and I instantly sprang to my feet.
The Indian had also recovered himself, and we were now both on foot, and
not more than twenty paces apart. We fired at each other simultaneously.
My usual luck did not desert me on this occasion, for his bullet missed
me, while mine struck him in the breast. He reeled and fell, but before
he had fairly touched the ground I was upon him, knife in hand, and had
driven the keen-edged weapon to its hilt in his heart. Jerking his
war-bonnet off, I scientifically scalped him in about five seconds.

The whole affair from beginning to end occupied but little time, and the
Indians, seeing that I was some little distance from my company, now came
charging down upon me from a hill, in hopes of cutting me off. General
Merritt had witnessed the duel, and realizing the danger I was in,
ordered Colonel Mason with Company K to hurry to my rescue. The order
came none too soon, for had it been given one minute later I would have
had not less than two hundred Indians upon me. As the soldiers came up I
swung the Indian chieftain's top-knot and bonnet in the air, and shouted:
 "_The first scalp for Custer_."

General Merritt, seeing that he could not now ambush the Indians, ordered
the whole regiment to charge upon them. They made a stubborn resistance
for a little while, but it was of no use for any eight hundred, or even
sixteen hundred Indians to try and check a charge of the gallant old
Fifth Cavalry, and they soon came to that conclusion and began a running
retreat towards Red Cloud Agency. For thirty-five miles we drove them;
pushing them so hard that they were obliged to abandon their loose
horses, their camp equipage and everything else. We drove them into the
agency, and followed in ourselves, notwithstanding the possibility of our
having to encounter the thousands of Indians at that point. We were
uncertain whether or not the other agency Indians had determined to
follow the example of the Cheyennes and strike out upon the war-path; but
that made no difference with the Fifth Cavalry, for they would have
fought them all if necessary. It was dark when we rode into the agency,
where we found thousands of Indians collected together; but they
manifested no disposition to fight.

[Illustration: A DUEL WITH CHIEF YELLOW HAND.]

While at the agency I learned the name of the Indian Chief whom I had
killed in the morning; it was Yellow Hand; a son of old Cut-nose--a
leading chief of the Cheyennes. Cut-nose, having learned that I had
killed his son sent a white interpreter to me with a message to the
effect that he would give me four mules if I would turn over to him
Yellow Hand's war-bonnet, guns, pistols, ornaments, and other
paraphernalia which I had captured. I sent back word to the old gentleman
that it would give me pleasure to accommodate him, but I could not do it
this time.

The next morning we started to join General Crook, who was camped near
the foot of Cloud Peak in the Big Horn mountains; awaiting the arrival
of the Fifth Cavalry, before proceeding against the Sioux, who were
somewhere near the head of the Little Big Horn,--as his scouts informed
him. We made rapid marches and reached General Crook's camp on Goose
Creek about the 3d of August.

At this camp I met many old friends, among whom was Colonel Royal, who
had received his promotion to the Lieutenant Colonelcy of the Third
Cavalry. He introduced me to General Crook, whom I had never met before,
but of whom I had often heard. He also introduced me to the General's
chief guide, Frank Grouard, a half breed, who had lived six years with
Sitting Bull, and knew the country thoroughly.

We remained in this camp only one day, and then the whole troop pulled
out for the Tongue river, leaving our wagons behind, but taking with us
a large pack train. We marched down the Tongue river for two days,
thence in a westerly direction over to the Rosebud, where we struck the
main Indian trail, leading down this stream. From the size of the trail,
which appeared to be about four days old, we estimated that there must
have been in the neighborhood of seven thousand Indians who had made the
broad trail.

At this point we were overtaken by Jack Crawford, familiarly known as
"Captain Jack, the Poet Scout of the Black Hills," and right here I will
insert the following lines, written by him, just after the "Custer
Massacre," upon receiving from me the following dispatch:

"Jack, old boy, have you heard of the death of Custer?"

CUSTER'S DEATH.

Did I hear the news from Custer?
  Well, I reckon I did, old pard;
It came like a streak of lightnin',
  And, you bet, it hit me hard.
I ain't no hand to blubber,
  And the briny ain't run for years;
But chalk me down for a lubber,
  If I didn't shed regular tears.

What for? Now look you here, Bill,
  You're a bully boy, that's true;
As good as e'er wore buckskin,
  Or fought with the boys in blue;
But I'll bet my bottom dollar
  Ye had no trouble to muster
A tear, or perhaps a hundred,
  At the news of the death of Custer.

He always thought well of you, pard,
  And had it been heaven's will,
In a few more days you'd met him,
  And he'd welcome his old scout Bill.
For if ye remember at Hat Creek,
  I met ye with General Carr;
We talked of the brave young Custer,
  And recounted his deeds of war.

But little we knew even then, pard,
  (And that's just two weeks ago),
How little we dreamed of disaster,
  Or that he had met the foe--
That the fearless, reckless hero,
  So loved by the whole frontier,
Had died on the field of battle
  In this, our centennial year.

I served with him in the army,
  In the darkest days of the war:
And I reckon ye know his record,
  For he was our guiding star;
And the boys who gathered round him
  To charge in the early morn,
War just like the brave who perished
  With him on the Little Horn.

And where is the satisfaction,
  And how will the boys get square?
By giving the reds more rifles?
  Invite them to take more hair?
We want no scouts, no trappers,
  Nor men who know the frontier;
Phil, old boy, you're mistaken,
  _We must have the volunteer_.

Never mind that two hundred thousand
  But give us a hundred instead;
Send five thousand men towards Reno,
  And soon we won't leave a red.
It will save Uncle Sam lots of money,
  In fortress we need not invest,
Jest wollup the devils this summer,
  And the miners will do all the rest.

The Black Hills are filled with miners,
  The Big Horn will soon be as full,
And which will show the most danger
  To Crazy Horse and old Sitting Bull
A band of ten thousand frontier men,
  Or a couple of forts with a few
Of the boys in the East now enlisting--
  Friend Cody, I leave it with you.

They talk of peace with these demons
  By feeding and clothing them well:
I'd as soon think an angel from Heaven
  Would reign with contentment in H--l

And one day the Quakers will answer
  Before the great Judge of us all,
For the death of daring young Custer
  And the boys who round him did fall.

Perhaps I am judging them harshly,
  But I mean what I'm telling ye, pard;
I'm letting them down mighty easy,
  Perhaps they may think it is hard.
But I tell you the day is approaching--
  The boys are beginning to muster--
That day of the great retribution,
  The day of revenge for our Custer.

And I will be with you, friend Cody,
  My weight will go in with the boys;
I shared all their hardships last winter,
  I shared all their sorrows and joys;
Tell them I'm coming, friend William,
  I trust I will meet you ere long;
Regards to the boys in the mountains;
  Yours, ever; in friendship still strong.

Jack was a new man in the country, but evidently had plenty of nerve and
pluck, as he had brought dispatches from Fort Fetterman, a distance of
300 miles through a dangerous Indian country. The dispatches were for
General Crook, and notified him that General Terry was to operate with a
large command south of the Yellowstone, and that the two commands would
probably consolidate somewhere on the Rosebud.

Jack at once hunted me up and gave me a letter from General Sheridan,
informing me that he had appointed him (Jack) as one of the scouts.

While we were conversing, Jack informed me that he had brought me a
present from Colonel Jones of Cheyenne, and that he had it in his
saddle-pockets. Asking the nature of the gift, he replied that it was
only a bottle of good whiskey.

I placed my hand over his mouth and told him to keep still, and not to
whisper it even to the winds, for there were too many dry men around us;
and only when alone with him did I dare to have him take the treasure
from his saddle-pockets.

In this connection I may remark that Jack Crawford is the only man I
have ever known that could have brought that bottle of whiskey through
without _accident_ befalling it, for he is one of the very few teetotal
scouts I ever met.

Not wishing to have a game of "whiskey _solitaire_," I invited General
Carr to sample the bottle with me. We soon found a secluded spot, and
dismounting, we thought we were going to have a nice little drink all by
ourselves, when who should ride up but Mr. Lathrop, the Reporter of the
Associated Press of the Pacific slope--to whom we had given the name of
the "Death Rattler,"--and who was also known in San Francisco as "the man
with the iron jaw," he having, with the true nose of a Reporter, smelt
the whiskey from afar off, and had come to "interview" it. He was a good
fellow withal, and we were glad to have him join us.

Now to resume: For two or three days we pushed on, but we did not seem to
gain much on the Indians, as they were evidently making about the same
marches that we were. On the fourth or fifth morning of our pursuit, I
rode ahead of the command about ten miles, and mounting a hill I scanned
the country far and wide with my field glass, and discovered an immense
column of dust rising about ten miles further down the creek, and soon I
noticed a body of men marching towards me, that at first I believed to be
the Indians of whom we were in pursuit; but subsequently they proved to
be General Terry's command. I sent back word to that effect to General
Crook, by a scout who had accompanied me, but after he had departed I
observed a band of Indians on the opposite side of the creek, and also
another party directly in front of me. This led me to believe that I had
made a mistake.

But shortly afterwards my attention was attracted by the appearance of a
body of soldiers, who were forming into a skirmish line, and then I
became convinced that it was General Terry's command after all, and that
the red-skins whom I had seen were some of his friendly Indian scouts,
who had mistaken me for a Sioux, and fled back to their command terribly
excited, shouting, "The Sioux are coming!"

General Terry at once came to the post, and ordered the Seventh
Cavalry to form line of battle across the Rosebud; he also ordered up
his artillery and had them prepare for action, doubtless dreading
another "Custer massacre." I afterwards learned the Indians had seen
the dust raised by General Crook's forces, and had reported that the
Sioux were coming.

These manoeuvres I witnessed from my position with considerable
amusement, thinking the command must be badly demoralized, when one man
could cause a whole army to form line of battle and prepare for action.
Having enjoyed the situation to my heart's content, I galloped down
towards the skirmish line, waving my hat and when within about one
hundred yards of the troops, Colonel Weir, of the Seventh Cavalry,
galloped out and met me. He recognized me at once, and accompanied me
inside the line; then he sang out, "Boys, here's Buffalo Bill. Some of
you old soldiers know him; give him a cheer!" Thereupon the regiment gave
three rousing cheers, and it was followed up all along the line.

Colonel Weir presented me to General Terry, and in answer to his
questions I informed him that the alarm of Indians which had been given
was a false one, as the dust seen by his scouts was caused by General
Crook's troops. General Terry thereupon rode forward to meet General
Crook, and I accompanied him at his request. That night both commands
went into camp on the Rosebud. General Terry had his wagon train with
him, and everything to make life comfortable on an Indian campaign. He
had large wall tents and portable beds to sleep in, and large hospital
tents for dining-rooms. His camp looked very comfortable and attractive,
and presented a great contrast to that of General Crook, who had for his
headquarters only one small fly tent; and whose cooking utensils
consisted of a quart cup--in which he made his coffee himself--and a
stick, upon which he broiled his bacon. When I compared the two camps, I
came to the conclusion that General Crook was an Indian fighter; for it
was evident that he had learned that, to follow and fight Indians, a body
of men must travel lightly and not be detained by a wagon train or heavy
luggage of any kind.

That evening General Terry ordered General Miles to take his regiment,
the Fifth Infantry, and return by a forced march to the Yellowstone,
and proceed down that river by steamboat to the mouth of Powder river,
to intercept the Indians, in case they attempted to cross the
Yellowstone. General Mills made a forced march that night of
thirty-five miles, which was splendid traveling for an infantry
regiment through a mountainous country.

Generals Crook and Terry spent that evening and the next day in council,
and on the following morning both commands moved out on the Indian trail.
Although General Terry was the senior officer, he did not assume command
of both expeditions, but left General Crook in command of his own troops,
although they operated together. We crossed the Tongue river to Powder
river, and proceeded down the latter stream to a point twenty miles from
its junction with the Yellowstone, where the Indian trail turned to the
southeast in the direction of the Black Hills. The two commands now
being nearly out of supplies, the trail was abandoned, and the troops
kept on down Powder river to its confluence with the Yellowstone, and
remained there several days. Here we met General Mills, who reported that
no Indians had as yet crossed the Yellowstone. Several steamboats soon
arrived with a large quantity of supplies, and once more the "Boys in
Blue" were made happy.




CHAPTER XXXI.

DANGEROUS WORK.


One evening while we were in camp on the Yellowstone at the mouth of
Powder river, I was informed that the commanding officers had selected
Louis Richard, a half breed, and myself to accompany General Mills on a
scouting expedition on the steamer Far West, down the Yellowstone as far
as Glendive Creek. We were to ride on the pilot house and keep a sharp
lookout on both sides of the river for Indian trails that might have
crossed the stream. The idea of scouting on a steamboat was indeed a
novel one to me, and I anticipated a pleasant trip.

At daylight next morning we reported on board the steamer to General
Mills, who had with him four or five companies of his regiment. We were
somewhat surprised when he asked us where our horses were, as we had not
supposed that horses would be needed if the scouting was to be done on
the steamer. He said we might need them before we got back, and thereupon
we had the animals brought on board. In a few minutes we were booming
down the river, at the rate of about twenty miles an hour.

The steamer Far West was commanded by Captain Grant Marsh, whom I found
to be a "brick." I had often heard of him, for he was and is yet one of
the best known river captains in the country. He it was who, with his
steamer the Far West, transported the wounded men from the battle of the
Little Big Horn to Fort Abraham Lincoln on the Missouri river, and on
that trip he made the fastest steamboat time on record. He was a skillful
and experienced pilot, handling his boat with remarkable dexterity.

While Richard and myself were at our stations on the pilot house, the
steamer with a full head of steam went flying past islands, around bends,
over sand bars, at a rate that was exhilarating. Presently I thought I
could see horses grazing in a distant bend of the river and I reported
the fact to General Mills, who asked Captain Marsh if he could land the
boat near a large tree which he pointed out to him.

[Illustration: SCOUTING ON A STEAMBOAT.]

"Yes, sir; I can land her there, and make her climb the tree if
necessary," said he.

On reaching the spot designated, General Mills ordered two companies
ashore, while Richard and myself were ordered to take our horses off
the boat and push out as rapidly as possible to see if there were
Indians in the vicinity. While we were getting ashore, Captain Marsh
remarked that if there was only a good heavy dew on the grass he would
shoot the steamer ashore and take us on the scout without the trouble
of leaving the boat.

It was a false alarm, however, as the objects we had seen proved to be
Indian graves. Quite a large number of braves who had probably been
killed in some battle, had been buried on scaffolds, according to the
Indian custom, and some of their clothing had been torn loose from the
bodies by the wolves and was waving in the air.

On arriving at Glendive Creek we found that Colonel Rice and his company
of the Fifth Infantry, who had been sent there by General Mills, had
built quite a good little fort with their trowel-bayonets--a weapon
which Colonel Rice was the inventor of, and which is, by the way, a very
useful implement of war, as it can be used for a shovel in throwing up
intrenchments and can be profitably utilized in several other ways. On
the day previous to our arrival, Colonel Rice had a fight with a party of
Indians, and had killed two or three of them at long range with his
Rodman cannon.

The Far West was to remain at Glendive over night, and General Mills
wished to send dispatches back to General Terry at once. At his request I
took the dispatches and rode seventy-five miles that night through the
bad lands of the Yellowstone, and reached General Terry's camp next
morning, after having nearly broken my neck a dozen times or more.

There being but little prospect of any more fighting, I determined to go
East as soon as possible to organize a new "Dramatic Combination," and
have a new drama written for me, based upon the Sioux war. This I knew
would be a paying investment as the Sioux campaign had excited
considerable interest. So I started down the river on the steamer
Yellowstone _en route_ to Fort Beauford. On the same morning Generals
Terry and Crook pulled out for Powder river, to take up the old Indian
trail which we had recently left.

The steamer had proceeded down the stream about twenty miles when it was
met by another boat on its way up the river, having on board General
Whistler and some fresh troops for General Terry's command. Both boats
landed, and almost the first person I met was my old friend and partner,
Texas Jack, who had been sent out as a dispatch carrier for the _New
York Herald_.

General Whistler, upon learning that General Terry had left the
Yellowstone, asked me to carry to him some important dispatches from
General Sheridan, and although I objected, he insisted upon my performing
this duty, saying that it would only detain me a few hours longer; as an
extra inducement he offered me the use of his own thorough-bred horse,
which was on the boat. I finally consented to go, and was soon speeding
over the rough and hilly country towards Powder river; and I delivered
the dispatches to General Terry that same evening. General Whistler's
horse, although a good animal, was not used to such hard riding, and was
far more exhausted by the journey than I was.

After I had taken a lunch, General Terry asked me if I would carry some
dispatches back to General Whistler, and I replied that I would. Captain
Smith, General Terry's aid-de-camp, offered me his horse for the trip,
and it proved to be an excellent animal; for I rode him that same night
forty miles over the bad lands in four hours, and reached General
Whistler's steamboat at one o'clock. During my absence the Indians had
made their appearance on the different hills in the vicinity, and the
troops from the boat had had several skirmishes with them. When General
Whistler had finished reading the dispatches, he said:

"Cody, I want to send information to General Terry concerning the Indians
who have been skirmishing around here all day. I have been trying all the
evening long to induce some one to carry my dispatches to him, but no one
seems willing to undertake the trip, and I have got to fall back on you.
It is asking a great deal, I know, as you have just ridden eighty miles;
but it is a case of necessity, and if you'll go, Cody, I'll see that you
are well paid for it."

"Never mind about the pay," said I, "but get your dispatches ready, and
I'll start at once."

In a few minutes he handed me the package, and mounting the same horse
which I had ridden from General Terry's camp, I struck out for my
destination. It was two o'clock in the morning when I left the boat, and
at eight o'clock I rode into General Terry's camp, just as he was about
to march--having made one hundred and twenty miles in twenty-two hours.

General Terry, after reading the dispatches, halted his command, and then
rode on and overtook General Crook, with whom he held a council; the
result was that Crook's command moved on in the direction which they had
been pursuing, while Terry's forces marched back to the Yellowstone and
crossed the river on steamboats. At the urgent request of General Terry I
accompanied the command on a scout in the direction of the Dry Fork of
the Missouri, where it was expected we would strike some Indians.

The first march out from the Yellowstone was made in the night, as we
wished to get into the hills without being discovered by the Sioux
scouts. After marching three days, a little to the east of north, we
reached the buffalo range, and discovered fresh signs of Indians, who had
evidently been killing buffaloes. General Terry now called on me to carry
dispatches to Colonel Rice, who was still camped at the mouth of Glendive
Creek, on the Yellowstone--distant about eighty miles from us.

Night had set in with a storm, and a drizzling rain was falling when, at
ten o'clock, I started on this ride through a section of country with
which I was entirely unacquainted. I traveled through the darkness a
distance of about thirty-five miles, and at daylight I rode into a
secluded spot at the head of a ravine where stood a bunch of ash trees,
and there I concluded to remain till night; for I considered it a
dangerous undertaking to cross the wide prairies in broad
daylight--especially as my horse was a poor one.

[Illustration: CLOSE QUARTERS]

I accordingly unsaddled my animal, and ate a hearty breakfast of bacon
and hard tack which I had stored in the saddle-pockets; then, after
taking a smoke, I lay down to sleep, with my saddle for a pillow. In a
few minutes I was in the land of dreams.

After sleeping some time--I can't tell how long--I was suddenly awakened
by a roaring, rumbling sound. I instantly seized my gun, sprang to my
horse, and hurriedly secreted him in the brush. Then I climbed up the
steep side of the bank and cautiously looked over the summit; in the
distance I saw a large herd of buffaloes which were being chased and
fired at by twenty or thirty Indians. Occasionally a buffalo would drop
out of the herd, but the Indians kept on until they had killed ten or
fifteen. They then turned back, and began to cut up their game.

I saddled my horse and tied him to a small tree where I could reach him
conveniently in case the Indians should discover me by finding my trail
and following it. I then crawled carefully back to the summit of the
bluff, and in a concealed position watched the Indians for two hours,
during which time they were occupied in cutting up the buffaloes and
packing the meat on their ponies. When they had finished this work they
rode off in the direction whence they had come and on the line which I
had proposed to travel. It appeared evident to me that their camp was
located somewhere between me and Glendive Creek, but I had no idea of
abandoning the trip on that account.

I waited till nightfall before resuming my journey, and then I bore off
to the east for several miles, and by making a semi-circle to avoid the
Indians, I got back on my original course, and then pushed on rapidly to
Colonel Rice's camp, which I reached just at daylight.

Colonel Rice had been fighting Indians almost every day since he had been
encamped at this point, and he was very anxious to notify General Terry
of the fact. Of course I was requested to carry his dispatches. After
remaining at Glendive a single day I started back to find General Terry,
and on the third day out I overhauled him at the head of Deer Creek while
on his way to Colonel Rice's camp. He was not, however, going in the
right direction, but bearing too far to the east, and I so informed him.
He then asked me to guide the command and I did so.

On arriving at Glendive I bade good-bye to the General and his officers
and took passage on the steamer Far West, which was on her way down the
Missouri. At Bismarck I left the steamer, and proceeded by rail to
Rochester, New York, where I met my family.

Mr. J. Clinton Hall, manager of the Rochester Opera House, was very
anxious to have me play an engagement at his theatre. I agreed to open
the season with him as soon as I had got my drama written; and I did so,
meeting with an enthusiastic reception.

My new drama was arranged for the stage by J.V. Arlington, the actor. It
was a five-act play, without head or tail, and it made no difference at
which act we commenced the performance. Before we had finished the season
several newspaper critics, I have been told, went crazy in trying to
follow the plot. It afforded us, however, ample opportunity to give a
noisy, rattling, gunpowder entertainment, and to present a succession of
scenes in the late Indian war, all of which seemed to give general
satisfaction.

From Rochester I went to New York and played a very successful
engagement at the Grand Opera House under the management of Messrs.
Poole and Donnelly. Thence my route took me to all the principal cities
in the Eastern, Western and Middle States, and I everywhere met with
crowded houses. I then went to the Pacific Coast, against the advice of
friends who gave it as their opinion that my style of plays would not
take very well in California. I opened for an engagement of two weeks at
the Bush Street Theatre, in San Francisco, at a season when the
theatrical business was dull, and Ben DeBar and the Lingards were
playing there to empty seats. I expected to play to a slim audience on
the opening night, but instead of that I had a fourteen hundred dollar
house. Such was my success that I continued my engagement for five
weeks, and the theatre was crowded at every performance. Upon leaving
San Francisco I made a circuit of the interior towns and closed the
season at Virginia City, Nevada.

On my way East, I met my family at Denver, where they were visiting my
sisters Nellie and May who were then residing there.

Some time previously I had made arrangements to go into the cattle
business in company with my old friend, Major Frank North, and while I
was in California he had built our ranches on the South Fork of the
Dismal river, sixty-five miles north of North Platte, in Nebraska.
Proceeding to Ogalalla, the headquarters of the Texas cattle drovers, I
found Major North there awaiting me, and together we bought, branded and
drove to our ranches, our first installment of cattle. This occupied us
during the remainder of the summer.

Leaving the cattle in charge of Major North, I visited Red Cloud Agency
early in the fall, and secured some Sioux Indians to accompany me on my
theatrical tour of 1877-78. Taking my family and the Indians with me, I
went directly to Rochester. There I left my oldest daughter, Arta, at a
young ladies' seminary, while my wife and youngest child traveled with me
during the season.

I opened at the Bowery Theatre, New York, September 3d, 1877, with a new
Border Drama entitled, "May Cody, or Lost and Won," from the pen of Major
A.S. Burt, of the United States army. It was founded on the incidents of
the "Mountain Meadow Massacre," and life among the Mormons. It was the
best drama I had yet produced, and proved a grand success both
financially and artistically. The season of 1877-78 proved to be the most
profitable one I had ever had.

In February, 1878, my wife became tired of traveling, and proceeded to
North Platte, Nebraska, where, on our farm adjoining the town, she
personally superintended the erection of a comfortable family
residence, and had it all completed when I reached there, early in May.
In this house we are now living, and we hope to make it our home for
many years to come.




CHAPTER XXXII.

CONCLUSION.


After my arrival at North Platte, I found that the ranchmen or
cattle-men, had organized a regular annual "round-up," to take place in
the spring of the year.

The word "round-up" is derived from the fact that during the winter
months the cattle become scattered over a vast tract of land, and the
ranchmen assemble together in the spring to sort out and each secure his
own stock. They form a large circle, often of a circumference of two
hundred miles, and drive the cattle towards a common centre, where, all
the stock being branded, each owner can readily separate his own from the
general herd, and then he drives them to his own ranch.

In this cattle driving business is exhibited some most magnificent
horsemanship, for the "cow-boys," as they are called, are invariably
skillful and fearless horsemen--in fact only a most expert rider could be
a cow-boy, as it requires the greatest dexterity and daring in the saddle
to cut a wild steer out of the herd.

Major North was awaiting me, upon my arrival at North Platte, having with
him our own horses and men. Other cattle owners, such as Keith and
Barton, Coe and Carter, Jack Pratt, the Walker Brothers, Guy and Sim
Lang, Arnold and Ritchie and a great many others with their outfits, were
assembled and were ready to start on the round-up.

My old friend Dave Perry, who had presented Buckskin Joe to me, and who
resided at North Platte, was most anxious to go with us for pleasure, and
Frank North told him he could, and have plenty of fun, provided he would
furnish his own horses, provisions and bedding, and do the usual work
required of a cow-boy. This, Dave was willing to undertake. We found him
to be a good fellow in camp, and excellent company.

As there is nothing but hard work on these round-ups, having to be in the
saddle all day, and standing guard over the cattle at night, rain or
shine, I could not possibly find out where the fun came in, that North
had promised me. But it was an exciting life, and the days sped rapidly
by; in six weeks we found ourselves at our own ranch on Dismal river, the
round-up having proved a great success, as we had found all our cattle
and driven them home.

This work being over, I proposed to spend a few weeks with my family at
North Platte, for the purpose of making their better acquaintance, for my
long and continued absence from home made me a comparative stranger under
my own roof-tree. One great source of pleasure to me was that my wife was
delighted with the home I had given her amid the prairies of the far
west. Soon after my arrival, my sisters Nellie and May, came to make us a
visit, and a delightful time we all had during their stay. When they left
us, I accompanied them to their home in Denver, Colorado, where I passed
several days visiting old friends and scenes.

Returning to Ogallala I purchased from Bill Phant, an extensive cattle
drover from Texas, a herd of cattle, which I drove to my ranch on the
Dismal river, after which I bade my partner and the boys good-bye, and
started for the Indian Territory to procure Indians for my Dramatic
Combination for the season of 1878-79.

_En route_ to the Territory, I paid a long promised visit to my sisters,
Julia--Mrs. J.A. Goodman--and Eliza--Mrs. George M. Myers--who reside in
Kansas, the state which the reader will remember was my boyhood home.

Having secured my Indian actors, and along with them Mr. O. A. Burgess, a
government interpreter, and Ed. A. Burgess, known as the "Boy Chief of
the Pawnees," I started for Baltimore, where I organized my combination,
and which was the largest troupe I had yet had on the road; opening in
that city at the Opera House, under the management of Hon. John T. Ford,
and then started on a southern tour, playing in Washington, Richmond and
as far south as Savannah, Georgia, where we were brought to a sudden
halt, owing to the yellow fever which was then cruelly raging in the
beautiful cities of the "Land of the cotton and the cane."

[Illustration: ONE OF THE TROUPE.]

While playing in Washington, I suddenly learned from a
reporter--Washington newspaper men know everything--that my Indians were
to be seized by the Government and sent back to their agency. Finding
that there was foundation for the rumor, I at once sought General Carl
Shurz, Secretary of the Interior, and asked him if he intended depriving
me of my Indian actors. He said that he did, as the Indians were away
from their reservation without leave. I answered that I had had Indians
with me the year before and nothing had been said about it; but
Commissioner Haight replied that the Indians were the "wards of the
government," and were not allowed off of their reservation.

I told the Commissioner that the Indians were frequently off of their
reservations out west, as I had a distinct remembrance of meeting them
upon several occasions "on the war path," and furthermore I thought I was
benefitting the Indians as well as the government, by taking them all
over the United States, and giving them a correct idea of the customs,
life, etc., of the pale faces, so that when they returned to their people
they could make known all they had seen.

After a conversation with the Secretary of the Interior, the Commissioner
concluded to allow me to retain the Indians, by appointing me Indian
Agent, provided I would give the necessary bonds, and pledge myself to
return them in safety to their agency--which terms I agreed to.

From Savannah, Georgia, having changed my route on account of the yellow
fever, I jumped my entire company to Philadelphia, and at once continued
on a north-eastern tour, having arranged with the well-known author and
dramatist, Colonel Prentiss Ingraham, to write a play for me.

The drama entitled "The Knight of the Plains, or Buffalo Bill's Best
Trail," was first produced at New Haven, Conn.; it has proved a great
success, and I expect to play it in England, where I purpose to go next
season on a theatrical tour, having been urged to do so by my many
friends abroad.

After a successful tour of six weeks on the Pacific Slope, thus ending
the season of 1878-79, I am at my home at North Platte, Nebraska, for the
summer; and thus ends the account of my career as far as it has gone.

THE END.





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