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

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

Author: Buffalo Bill


        
Release date: November 1, 2003 [eBook #10030]
                Most recently updated: October 28, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE OF HON. WILLIAM F. CODY, KNOWN AS BUFFALO BILL, THE FAMOUS HUNTER, SCOUT AND GUIDE ***

                    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 _Début_--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 _début_ 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 Cañon, 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
canõn 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 K

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