Title: The Indians' Last Fight - Or The Dull Knife Raid
Author: Collins, Dennis
Language: English
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[Illustration: Yours Truly, DENNIS COLLINS]


THE INDIANS' LAST FIGHT

Or The Dull Knife Raid

by

DENNIS COLLINS



Copyright Reserved
By Dennis Collins

Press of
The Appeal to Reason
Girard, Kansas



PREFACE


The work of writing a book is one that requires a vast amount of
knowledge, natural ability and educational advantages, to produce
something that is reliable, as regards information imparted, unimpeachable
authority, and, at the same time, a power of expression that will present
the matter to the reader in a manner that will convey the proper meaning
of the author. I would not have undertaken the present work, were it not
that I was encouraged by the friends of former days who felt confident in
my ability to portray the scenes to be depicted in a fitting manner. I
should probably be able to perform the task before me with greater success
if I had some of the advantages of what is called Higher Education, but, I
set out on my journey through this new domain, encouraged particularly, by
a statement made by a certain ex-President, that he did not believe in all
the "Ph's", and "Ch's", that are in common use in our language; that he
believed in a plain, intelligent expression of ideas that conveys the full
meaning of the speaker or writer, without any unnecessary verbiage.

My own personal qualifications for undertaking the task before me, might
be considered too inadequate to many. True, I have not had the advantage
of a University Education, but with a solid foundation of learning laid in
the little school of boyhood in Canada, supplemented by a wide course of
reading through all the years I have spent in the West, I feel that the
difficulties before me are not too great to be overcome, especially as I
have the example of so many men before me who have become self-educated by
an earnest application of time and energy to the opportunities presented.
If I have developed any facility of expression, I must attribute it to
the wealth of good books I have had the good fortune to have at my
disposal at various times.

Another motive that has impelled me to undertake the task of presenting
the "West" to the general reader, is that there has been so much written
about it that is not veracious, and that many have a false notion of what
the term really means. I shall endeavor to set before the public a true
account of many of the recent happenings in the vast country that lies
west of the Mississippi, that they may have a better idea of its history
and its people. I have read in numerous Magazines and Journals, accounts
of the habits and customs of the Western People in general, and of the
cow-puncher in particular, with a full description of the Indian at peace
and at war, that, from the reality, it would be impossible to recognize
any of them. I am quite satisfied that the authors of the so-called
narrations did not have an opportunity of studying the subject at close
quarters, and, consequently, were not in a position to do the topic
justice. As a consequence of this unreliable mode of narration, people who
do not know, imagine that the cow-puncher was half-man and half-horse, or,
if not so bad as that, pictured him as a ranting, roaring, rollicking,
bloodthirsty, oath-emitting, unconstrained son of perdition, whose chief
occupation was murder and rapine, and whose avocation was herding cattle.
As for the Indian, he was supposed to have no other qualification for
attention than murder and pillage, totally depraved, and beyond the scope
of all civilizing influences. Such ideas are based on imaginary authority,
and are as far from the truth as it is possible for any narrative to be. I
shall endeavor to set before the reading public a proper appreciation of
both the Indian and the cow-puncher. Both had faults, but, in view of
their surroundings and circumstances of life, they both will bear
comparison with those who have had all the advantages of the higher
education, and the influence of civilization. One thing that will always
stand in their favor is that they were "men," and played the game of
life, in "man" fashion. Smallness, or rather, pettiness of character was
entirely lacking in their general scheme of life; that remained in the big
cities of the East.

Having spent more than thirty years among the cow-men and the Indians of
the different tribes, from the Dakota line to the Panhandle of Texas, I
feel that I am not presuming when I say that in that time I have acquired
considerable knowledge of both classes of men, their habits, and ideals,
and I trust that the present narrative may be interesting to all my old
comrades of the "Plains" as well as instructive to the friends of my
boyhood days in the "Land of the Maple Leaf." I have the further hope,
that if any of the readers of this little work contemplate coming west to
grow up with the country, they may find the difficulties of the way
overcome, and the rough places made smooth. They will find a generous
welcome awaiting them from the whole-souled men of the Great West, and
will discover that their lot has fallen on pleasant places.

THE AUTHOR.



INDEX


                                                          Page

  CHAPTER I       General Conditions                         9

  CHAPTER II      Santa Fe Trail                            13

  CHAPTER III     Freighting on the Trail                   17

  CHAPTER IV      No Man's Land                             22

  CHAPTER V       Cattle Round-Ups                          26

  CHAPTER VI      Good Men and Bad                          28

  CHAPTER VII     Catching Wild Horses                      41

  CHAPTER VIII    Why I Came West                           52

  CHAPTER IX      A Cow Boy Love Affair                     63

  CHAPTER X       Entertaining the Hobo                     69

  CHAPTER XI      The Man From Missouri                     76

  CHAPTER XII     Organizing in Self Defense                81

  CHAPTER XIII    A New Venture or Hard Times               95

  CHAPTER XIV     Returning to Kansas, The Phenomenon      127

  CHAPTER XV      Postmasters of Early Days                137

  CHAPTER XVI     Messiah Craze                            144

  CHAPTER XVII    Savages on Warpath                       167

  CHAPTER XVIII   The Whirlwind Raid                       187

  CHAPTER XIX     The Indian Sun Dance                     195

  CHAPTER XX      The Adobe Wall Raid                      210

  CHAPTER XXI     The Dull Knife Raid                      231

  CHAPTER XXII    The Great Awakening of the West          262

  CHAPTER XXIII   P. H. Sheridan's Arrival                 269

  CHAPTER XXIV    Capture of Comanches and Kiowas          276

  CHAPTER XXV     California Joe's Weakness                283

  CHAPTER XXVI    A Period of Unrest                       292

  CHAPTER XXVII   A Decade of War                          301

  CHAPTER XXVIII  Trouble With the Northern Cheyennes      312

  CHAPTER XXIX    Observations in Conclusion               321



CHAPTER I.

General Conditions.


Someone has said, and I think very truthfully, too, that one-half of this
world doesn't know how the other half lives, and if he had added that
one-half did not care, he would have hit the nail on the head. In order to
verify this statement, go to the frontier of any new country, and you will
readily see that the progressive, or producing class, is too busy and too
much interested in trying to make a little home, and in providing the
necessaries of life, for himself and family, to stop and inquire into the
cause of such conditions which surround him. He is busy, very busy, with
his own affairs. He must dig a well, build a dugout, and plough the sod to
roof it. He must make a storm cave, as it is one of the essentials in
Oklahoma and in Kansas, as a cyclone is liable to make a visitation, and
he himself and all that he has, may very likely be nothing more than a
memory. A storm cave is a very valuable asset, as it gives the family a
place of safety in storms, and is a very great factor socially, as the
neighbors, if there be any close enough, are most likely to drop around
should there be a threatening cloud in the sky, for the sake of mutual
encouragement and consolation. I have seen twenty-two persons in one cave
that was no larger than eight by ten feet, and all seemed to be satisfied;
at least I was.

At one time, of the early settlement of Western Kansas, Indian Territory
and Western Texas, there were no mail routes established except between
the military posts, Fort Dodge, Kansas, Fort Elliot, Texas, Camp Supply,
Fort Reno and Fort Sill, I. T. About this time, 1870, Dodge City, Kansas,
sprang into existence, and became the Mecca for the cowmen of the
Southwest, and like Rome, all roads led to it. If mail was wanted, or
trading was necessary, one had to go from fifty to seventy-five miles for
the purpose, and in no case less than twenty, as the S. F. R. R. had a
land grant of twenty miles on each side of the roadway, and one could not
homestead inside of that limit more than eighty acres, and that is why
settlers who wanted 160 acres went farther out.

In making those trips two neighbors usually went together, leaving their
families in one place until their return. Their outfit for the journey
consisted generally of a few blankets, a shot gun, a Winchester, a coffee
pot, a frying pan, tow lariat ropes to picket out the horses, and a box of
axle grease. The time required for the trip from three to five days and
sometimes longer, owing to the distance and condition of the roads. There
were no hotels on the way. In fact, there was nothing but the open
prairie, and when it came to camping out time they picketed out the
horses, gathered some buffalo chips for a fire, made coffee and flapjacks,
fried some bacon and then satisfied their appetites with the fare at hand.
Supper over, they discussed prospects for the future and then rolled up in
their blankets for a good sound sleep with nothing to disturb them but the
howling of the coyotes that were around looking for something to eat. At
times something would stampede a herd of antelopes and in their mad flight
they would create a noise like the roll of distant thunder. One thing that
was in the favor of the camper-out was that it seldom rained and any dust
that was made on the trail was blown away, leaving the way as clean as a
pavement. The wind generally blew from the South for four days at a time,
or thereabouts, at a rate of about forty miles an hour, and then returned
at the same rate from the North.

On a trip of this kind, one became the messenger and delivery boy for all
the neighbors. It was mail for one, paregoric for another, Epsom Salts for
a third, and tobacco, coffee, sugar and other commodities which they were
in need of at the time the journey was undertaken. The return of the
expedition was looked forward to with as much interest and anxiety as is
the return of the Cunard steamer at the port of New York. Each day found
the children on the hillside watching and waiting for the return of the
dear ones, and night was made hideous by the howling of the family
watchdog wailing over the absence of his master. The neighbors, too,
shared the general feeling and called several times a day to see if any
tidings had been received of them, or if there was anything they stood in
need of.

The next step in the way of progress was to sink a well. This was a
necessity of the first degree, as the early settlers were compelled to
haul water from the distant creeks, or rivers, in barrels, and the quality
of the supply was not very high class. The presence of a well near at hand
would solve the problem and at the same time save a lot of time which
would naturally be required to bring it from a distance. The task was the
work of two men, as the well had to be sunk from one hundred to one
hundred and twenty-five feet before water could be found that would meet
the needs of the situation. One man could not do the work alone, so a
neighbor lent his assistance. By means of a derrick and a cheap mule
purchased for the purpose they raised the water when the well was dug. The
animal was left at the well and each man that went to draw water was to
see to it that his muleship did not suffer from want of attention.

The above were only a few of the difficulties that the pioneer encountered
in his endeavor to get a start in life. Those who came to the country in
'79 or the early 80's found difficulties in abundance. As it rained very
little during those years, their means were soon exhausted, and a great
many were forced through necessity to abandon their claims and return East
in search of employment. All would have been compelled to go were it not
for the carcasses left by the buffalo hunters who had taken nothing but
the hide and the hump. Buffalo bones were worth about $14 per ton, and the
pioneers that remained gathered them up and hauled them to market at
Dodge City. It took from eight to ten days to gather and market a load of
bones. This source of revenue, while not very remunerative, served as an
opportunity for them to keep body and soul together. By the time the bones
began to disappear entirely, they had succeeded in getting some land in a
state of cultivation and raised a fair crop of millet, sorghum and Kaffir
corn, crops adapted to the dry climate. Besides these things, a few
chickens and a cow or two relieved the situation a great deal. Most of the
old-timers who had the courage to stay, or rather lacked the means of
getting away, are today in good circumstances, and the land that was then
almost a desert, is now as productive as any in the United States.



CHAPTER II.

Santa Fe Trail; How It Was Obtained; Freighting, Etc.


The man who enlists in the army under the influence of patriotic speeches
delivered by some great orator, accompanied by a brass band, has no
conception of the nerve, energy and enterprise that was required of the
first man who popped his bull-whip over the backs of his oxen at little
old Westport on the banks of the Missouri River, and shouted to his men,
"Come on, boys, we are bound for Santa Fe." There were no mile posts
before him to direct him on his way, and no scouts in advance to warn him
of impending dangers. There was nothing before but the open prairie,
trackless as the ocean, but onward he pressed across the unmarked plains,
over hills and canyons, across creeks and rivers, until he reached his
destination. His whole route lay through dangers from hostile tribes who,
if not on the warpath one day, were liable to be on the next. Everybody
was supposed to sleep with one eye open, otherwise he would be likely to
wake up in an unknown land, while his poor habitation of clay would be
left minus part of its thatch. Such were the conditions confronting the
heroes who opened up the trail and made it possible for the immigrants to
take Horace Greeley's advice to "Go West and grow up with the country." It
is true that there was a great profit in the freighting business in the
early days, but the difficulties and dangers were proportionally great.
The Indian was not the only risk--there was the prairie fire, the Texas
fever, and numerous other dangers confronting one at every step. When the
Texas fever seized the cattle, as the ox teams were called, the game was
up. I knew one man who drove into Dodge City with over a hundred head of
fine work oxen, and in less than six weeks he did not have enough stock
left to pull the empty wagons out of town, such was the fatal results of
the Texas fever.

The prairie fire could be handled in most cases if it caught in the short
prairie or buffalo grass. All that was necessary was to start a back fire,
drive onto the burned space and wait until the head fire had passed. But
if it caught one in the river, or creek bottoms, where the grass grew from
four to six feet high, the only hope lay in flight with the chances very
much against one.

Such were the principal difficulties to be encountered on the trail. There
were others of a less serious nature, but, nevertheless, very irksome and
sometimes dangerous, such as bogging down in the quicksand while crossing
a river, or creek. If the sand was not thoroughly packed by driving the
cattle back and forth over it before driving into it with a wagon, one was
liable to lose a wagon or two, and possibly the entire outfit.

Freighting soon became quite an important industry. New trails were laid
off from the little towns that sprang up along the Santa Fe trail to the
different ranches in the Territory and Texas. The price paid for
freighting was at one time two to three dollars per hundred pounds, to the
Panhandle ranches. I have seen a train of wagons half a mile long going to
the Panhandle. It was about this time that the great American promoter, or
capitalist, came out of the jungles with a railroad scheme, went before
Congress and begged assistance for the infant industry. The idea was to
build the Santa Fe R. R. westward from Kansas City, and they could not
afford to do it without a land grant. It is needless to say that they
received it. It consisted of each alternate section for twenty miles on
each side of the track. The same railroad at about the same period gave
birth to another railroad (they came near being twins.) That is the branch
that runs southward through Kansas and the Indian Territory, through the
richest oil field in America. It is needless to say that they got this
grant through Congress also. I may here remark that I have watched our
legislators for a number of years and have never seen them make any
special effort to protect the farmer's infant industry, though the farmer
outnumbers the promoter and the capitalist five hundred to one. The same
can be said of the mechanic's infant industry.

Moreover, it is to be noted that in a time of national distress, it is the
farmer and the mechanic who take their places in the ranks of the army to
fight the battle of the country. I have seen Congress take a hand in the
protection of the cattlemen in the Cherokee Strip, but at the same time
there was a certain Senator from Kansas who had interests there and who
wished that tract of land to remain a sort of "No Man's Land" for the sole
benefit of himself and the Cattle Syndicate in which he was very much
interested. This condition endured for fourteen years. During this time
Payne and Couch organized a colony of settlers or "Nesters" as they were
called, and set a movement on foot to take up some of that land, and
establish their homes. Although it was unclaimed land, as soon as the
settlers had their little homes built and things in shape to take up the
burden of their lives, the soldiers through the influence of the Cattle
Syndicate swooped down upon them, arrested the settlers, tore down their
houses, and drove the offending parties back across the Kansas line.
Through all these discouraging conditions the settlers maintained the
fight and finally won out against the powerful Syndicate, but at what a
cost! Payne was arrested and taken to Fort Smith, handcuffed like a
criminal, and was held there for a long time but was not given a trial, as
there were no legal grounds for his arrest. Poor Payne did not live to
enjoy the fruits of his labors for the early settlers, but he made it
possible for them to make homes for themselves and enjoy them in peace,
unmolested by the powerful Syndicate and those who were in league with
them. Were it not for the fight put up by Payne and Couch, the land now
occupied by homes of thousands of happy and contented farmers would now be
the grazing ground of cattle owned by the Syndicate. Verily the wheels of
Justice move slowly when the interests of the poor man are at stake.



CHAPTER III.

The Freight Outfit on the Trail.--The Difficulties and Hardships
Endured.--Different Kinds of Outfits, Etc.


The freighter's team was composed of from four to six yokes of oxen,
sometimes more, driven by one man called a "bullwhacker." The train
consisted of a "lead" wagon and one or two "trail" wagons. The "lead"
wagon, being the heaviest and largest, usually carried a load of about
five tons. The "trailers" were loaded considerably lighter, carrying about
two or three tons each. In ascending steep hills, or crossing streams, the
"trail" wagons were usually "dropped" if the conditions of the road
demanded it. If the river crossing was quicksandy the cattle were taken
out and driven back and forth across the stream until the quicksand was
packed sufficiently to be considered safe. This decision was left to the
judgment of the foreman, or the "boss" of the train. Then the wagons were
taken across one by one until the whole outfit was landed safely on the
opposite side.

The old-time freighter invariably crossed the streams in the afternoon or
evenings, for two reasons. First, the teams, whether oxen or mules, would
pull much better in the evening than when hitched up fresh in the morning
as they usually had sore shoulders, and in the morning were very reluctant
to go against the yoke or collar in a very heavy pull. Secondly, it might
rain during the night and the rivers or streams would become so swollen
that passing would be impossible, and they would be compelled to remain in
camp until the streams returned to their usual shallow condition.

The foreman always kept one or two saddle horses, a pair of forty-five
six-shooters, a Winchester, and a slicker, as it was one of his duties to
ride a few miles in advance of the train to pick out the crossings and to
avoid all difficulties of the journey, and to keep the teamsters posted
on the best route to follow. Very frequently the foreman kept the
commissary department of the train supplied with fresh meat, as deer,
antelope and other large game were plentiful, and the prairie was
literally covered with buffalo. It was no difficult matter to kill such
game, as they were unacquainted with the sound of a gun, or the sight of
man, which condition changed as they soon learned that the proximity of a
man spelled danger and consequently they became very wild. When a buffalo
or deer was killed, it was skinned and the hide salted and taken along for
use, or to sell. The hide of the antelope was considered worthless. The
meat that was not intended for immediate use was cut into strips, dipped
in salt water and hung on a line or the wagon bows to dry and was then
preserved for future use. Flies never bothered meat treated in this
manner. Such meat was said to be "jerked," and would remain in good
condition for use for over a year.

The outfits usually made a journey of about twelve miles a day, as it was
impossible to carry enough feed along for the stock and have at the same
time room enough for the freight. Consequently, it was necessary to graze
the stock, which required a considerable time and caused much delay. It
was necessary also to have the cattle graze during the daytime owing to
the fact that the Indians had a penchant for stampeding a herd at night
and running it off to parts unknown for their own use. As a result of this
condition, what traveling was done was accomplished in one shift, as it
would require too much time and trouble to hitch up twice in the same day.
At times, when the grazing was exceptionally good, the freighter remained
in such a place for some time, as some of the stock would be footsore and
besides the wagons needed greasing, the harness and the rest of the outfit
had to be examined and repairs made where needed, sore shoulders had to be
given medical treatment, and, in fine, everything had to be done to keep
the expedition in proper shape. The teamsters particularly spent
considerable of their spare time in looking after their own accoutrements,
as it was a matter of pride with a teamster to have his implements in
proper condition. The whip to the teamster was the same as the rifle to
the soldier. It had to be looked after with care. New tips, called
"poppers," or "crackers," had to be provided. The lash, usually about
twelve feet in length, required considerable skill in the handling of it.
A green hand was as likely to wrap it around his own neck as to hit the
object intended to receive the blow. The whip in the hands of an expert
was a different weapon, and he could perform wonders with it. I have seen
drivers wrap the tip of their whip around the neck of a prairie chicken or
a grouse and jerk it into the wagon without leaving their seats. If it
were necessary some of them could tear a patch of hide off the side of a
refractory mule with the deftness of a surgeon.

In going into camp there was one rule that the old-timers always lived up
to rigidly, and that was to form a corral by driving one part of the
wagons to the right and the other part to the left, making the two lead
wagons meet and forming a circle with the trail wagons six or eight feet
apart. The space thus left open served the purpose of a gate, and they
usually made their beds inside the corral. The stock was usually held
inside the corral for the night, or if permitted to graze were driven in
to be hitched. If any of them proved unruly, they were usually roped and
drawn up to the wagon while being yoked and harnessed. In case of an
attack by the Indians the corral offered a good protection for the men as
well as the stock.

The third trail wagon attached to some of the teams was never as heavy nor
loaded as heavily as the others, but was used as a sort of trap-wagon or
"catch-all" for all the extras that were brought along to supply the place
of any of the parts that were broken or suffered damage. Each man looked
after his traps and particularly his own bed, consisting of a blanket.
When not in use it was rolled up and carried in the trap wagon.

With each large outfit there was a night herder, or a horse wrangler. It
was his duty to go out with the stock during the night and bring them into
the corral in the morning. In case the Indians were on the warpath or were
reported near at hand, he had to stand guard over the outfit, as the stock
in such a case would be left in the corral until daylight. This system was
maintained by all outfits, whether they drove oxen or mules.

The cowman's outfit was entirely different. He never used more than two
wagons, one the lead wagon, and the other the trail, to carry his supplies
and cooking utensils. He always used mules or horses in preference to
oxen, as oxen were too slow for the needs of his business. The trail wagon
was used principally for carrying bedding. In the rear of it there was a
cupboard, or grub box, built about three feet in height and fastened to
the wagon by means of bolts. The door of the cupboard, instead of swinging
as in ordinary articles of the kind, swung downwards and was used as a
dining table. The interior of the cupboard was so arranged that the dishes
could be safely stored away together with some canned goods, if it were
possible to obtain the latter, as they were seldom seen in the early days
along the trail. Outside of the necessary articles required for the
journey, nothing else was carried, so that the cowman and his party had
little opportunity to enjoy any luxuries. As supply points were few and
far between, the price of goods, especially bacon, baking powder, salt,
tobacco and other essentials was very high. The lead wagon was used for
general supplies, and it required an abundance of the same to carry the
outfit from one replenishing point to another. I am speaking here of what
is called "through herds," that is, herds on the way to market.

While provisions were scarce and difficult to obtain, it is a remarkable
fact that the ranchers never tried to improve the situation in any
appreciable degree. They never planted a garden. No vegetables ever
appeared at mess excepting, once in a while, potatoes and onions.
Nevertheless, all kinds of garden produce might have been had at a very
small outlay, and with very little labor, but the average, and you might
say, all the cowboys had an aversion for anything that had the appearance
of farming, which they considered degrading. I have been at a number of
ranches that maintained from twenty-five to thirty thousand head of cattle
and did not see a pound of butter or a drop of milk on the table. Eggs,
chickens and fresh pork were unknown to them. In fact, they produced
nothing but cattle and considered everything else unimportant.

When the railroad was extended to Dodge City, that place became the
shipping point for the beef-cattle of the whole Southwest. When that
assembling point was established to supply the Eastern market, it relieved
the tedium and difficulties of an overland journey to Kansas City. As a
consequence of this, the cattle industry in Indian Territory received an
impetus, and many cattlemen moved into that district from Colorado and
Texas, and established themselves along the North and South Canadian
rivers and their tributaries. Quite a number of them became very wealthy
in a few years owing to the rise in the price of beef and the low cost of
production. While some of them grew wealthy through taking advantage of
the natural resources, others lost all they possessed owing to the severe
winters, lack of protection for their stock and an insufficient supply of
food for their herds. The result of their misfortune was that they slipped
back among the vast army of the luckless ones and were seldom heard of,
while those who had the foresight to provide against all the contingencies
of the uncertain climate by putting up hay in the summer time and
protecting their ranches from the destructive prairie fires, prospered
handsomely.



CHAPTER IV.

No Man's Land.--First Settlers.--Branding Mavericks, Etc.


About the year 1878, as the last buffalo was about to disappear, the
hunters were compelled to seek some new field of labor, or devote their
attention to some other occupation. It was about this time that the first
house was erected in what is now called Beaver City, the county seat of
Beaver county, Oklahoma. At that time the county was unsurveyed, and a
man's possessions were limited to what land he could use, or furnish
cattle to graze upon, as there was plenty for everybody, and no need of
disputing ownership.

I shall briefly mention a few of the earliest settlers.

Two ex-hunters, Jim Lane and Nels Cary, brought their families and built a
sod house. With an eye to business, they put up hay and built corrals for
the accommodation of freighters and cattlemen. Seeing their way open to
further development, they put in a stock of groceries and provisions of
all kinds, and were soon doing a flourishing business by providing for the
wants of man and beast.

The Healy Brothers came from Galveston with their herds of cattle, and
located their ranch on the North bank of Beaver Creek, where their efforts
were crowned with success.

The Kramer Brothers, Lou and Frank, with a brother-in-law, Mr. Hooker,
established a ranch west of Beaver City and also another one on Clear
Creek, where they devoted their time and attention to the improvement of
their stock by raising thoroughbred cattle.

The Cader Brothers, formerly engaged in the hunting business, chose for
themselves a ranch on Paladuro Creek and met with great success, if rumor
is to be believed.

Colonel Hardesty, more familiarly known as Old Jack, established two
ranches, one in Beaver county and another on the Cimmaron river, which
were known as the "Hardesty" and "Smith" ranches, and at one time claimed
to have forty thousand head of cattle.

Another successful ranchman of those early days was John George, who is
still residing in the district where he met with such success. After the
opening of Oklahoma Territory for settlement, he was chosen to represent
his district in the Oklahoma legislature, and was one of the very few
members thereof who gave complete satisfaction to his constituents. He was
a staunch Democrat, an honest and upright man, just the kind that was
sorely needed in the Territorial Legislature at that time, and of which
there was a lamentable scarcity.

Fred Tainter, of Boston, Massachusetts, established a ranch on Cottonwood
Creek, and bred a fine grade of stock. He remained in those parts for
years.

There were many others who succeeded in attaining success in the business
of raising cattle, but I mention only a few of the most successful ones.

I here mention another branch of the ranching business that met with great
difficulties in its day and which, to the cowman, was most unwelcome. The
Tarbox Brothers, Rufe and Wall, moved in with a drove of sheep from
Colorado and settled on the Cimmaron river. A sheepman is always received
with scant courtesy in a cattle country. There has always been ill feeling
between the sheepman and the cattleman, and in the trouble that generally
ensued on their meeting, the sheepman was the one to move to other
quarters. In fact, even if the cattlemen were left out of consideration,
the sheepmen would be compelled to move by force of circumstances, as
sheep are very destructive feeders, and soon ruin the range for themselves
as well as for the cattle. In a very short time after their arrival,
every vestige of grass will disappear from the range, and the prairie
will be converted into a desert. The reason lies in the fact that the
sheep crop the grass into the ground and cut up the soil with their hoofs
so that the high wind which invariably blows drives the sand before it,
cutting off the new grass that may spring up. This, together with the long
dry periods, soon kills out the roots, and the prairie is left a waste.
Moreover, cattle will not eat off the range that has been grazed over by
sheep, so of the two industries it was a case of the survival of the
fittest.

The struggle between the cattlemen and the sheepmen was little, if any,
short of war. This condition existed for many years in Texas, Indian
Territory, Western Kansas, Wyoming, Montana, the Dakotas, and in all of
the states adapted to the raising of stock. The usual arguments advanced
by both sides of the question, in order to determine who was to hold any
particular section, generally sounded like the exhausts of a few racing
automobiles. One of the sufferers of misfortune due to the habitual state
of hostility between the two industries was the firm of Tarbox brothers,
who gave up the business of raising sheep, moved to Dodge City, Kansas,
where Rufe was afterwards elected Mayor.

As the most desirable location for the establishment of a ranch was along
the creeks and rivers, through the necessity of having plenty of water for
the stock, and as the rivers and creeks were few and far between, all the
choice sections were soon taken up.

As none of the ranchers cared to venture into the semi-arid plains that
lay between the far distant sources of their water supply, and being
equally unwilling to depend upon the deep wells that would be required if
they would branch out into the open flat lands around them, they left that
part of the prairie for the small farmer, or the "nester," as they called
them.

Each cattleman had his own private brand which was duly registered and was
known to every other cattleman in the entire West. They were, also, very
careful to employ the said brand on all cattle, mules and horses, and any
young stock that had been weaned and was not running with the mother was
classified as a maverick and belonged to the first man who put his brand
upon them.

There were many men who became very wealthy in the cattle country, whose
sole assets in the beginning were, a branding iron, a rope, a pony and a
saddle. They branded mavericks, and the natural increase of their original
find belonged to them also. In this way, in a very short time, they
accumulated quite a herd. Then, by establishing their headquarters
somewhere, they became full-fledged ranchers without the outlay of any
capital whatever. This was successful as long as they were not caught, but
woe to the man whose brand was upon a calf that was running with a cow
that carried another brand. The meanest way such men had of carrying on
their nefarious trade was to kill the mother cow after the calf was old
enough to live on grass, brand the calf and run it off to another part of
the range.



CHAPTER V.

The Round-Up.--Difficulties.--Some Incidents, Etc.


Every Spring and Fall occurred the general round-up, which consisted of
all the cattlemen in the country, who assembled all the cattle found on
the ranges in which they were interested. They rounded them up, or bunched
them at a common center in different districts, each ranch being
represented at each place. All the increase was branded and marked by the
owner, the ownership being decided by the brand borne by the mother cow.
The beef-cattle were cut out and shipped. Here occurred at times a
combination of forces. Ranchers two or more in number lumped their herds
together, and drove them to market, each one bearing his proportion of the
expense, and receiving his proceeds in accordance with the number of
cattle in his part of the drove.

Between round-ups it was surprising how the cattle would drift. Even
though the cowboys took all precautions, when the round-up came there was
always a great mix-up in the brands, some of the stock having wandered as
far as two hundred miles from its own ranch. These, when found, were
separated and thrown back on their own range. During the summer while the
cattle were grazing, the rancher usually put up hay for the season when
the grass would be covered with snow. As soon as the Fall round-up was
completed, sheds were erected and windbreaks made to protect the stock
from the inclemency of the "Northers" as the storms were at that time
called.

A few buffalo that had escaped the hunters still remained on the range,
and frequently furnished diversion for the cowboy during the dull season.
It was his sport and, at the same time, a test of his skill, to rope a
buffalo calf and bring it to the ranch to be mothered by an old cow that
already was devoting her time and energy to raising a young one of her
own. Then was displayed the motherly instinct for the protection of one's
own. As soon as the young buffalo was introduced to his foster-mother
there ensued a vigorous protest against the additional burden imposed upon
her by the scheming of others. Strenuosity was displayed at all angles,
particularly fore and aft, in her efforts to rid herself of the new-found
charge. She kicked and hooked and kicked again till kicking was a failure.
The more she objected, the more the self-adopted buffalo persisted in
devoting his time and attention to her. Once he had a taste of that cow's
milk he hung to her with all the persistency and tenacity of an Oklahoma
office-seeker, and she finally submitted with more or less bad grace to
the inevitable, and consented to act as mother to the mascot of the
ranch.



CHAPTER VI.

Beaver County.--Peculiar Conditions in Vogue.--Good Men and Bad.--The
Vigilantes.--Personal Experiences.


About the year 1876, if I remember rightly, the U. S. Government made an
appropriation to have Beaver county surveyed. The contract was let and the
county divided up into sections or townships, each six miles square, and
zinc monuments were erected at the corners of each, but as the
appropriation was insufficient to meet the costs of the survey, the work
was abandoned for a considerable time, and it was not till some years
later that the completion of the undertaking took place.

It soon became known that there was no law in that section of the country;
nor had the U. S. Government any control over, nor authority to arrest
criminals, nor even to prosecute them there. Consequently it soon became
the dumping grounds for fugitives from justice and criminals of all kinds.
Saloon men who had been paying license for the sale of intoxicating
liquors, ceased contributing to the general fund, but continued to deal
out their wares with impunity. One man built a still and manufactured his
own whiskey and did a flourishing business, although he had to freight his
corn from Kansas to produce his wares. To give honor where honor is due, I
must confess that he produced a very good quality.

There was considerable immigration into this county in '79 and '80, as
most of the desirable land in Kansas had been pre-empted. Hundreds of good
men and women came in and selected homes, and those who could not find
locations along the water courses went out into the flat prairie lands,
erected houses, fenced their fields to protect them against the range
cattle, broke up as much land as they could conveniently handle, and made
what improvements their means would permit. As soon as the neighbors
became acquainted with one another, they organized Sunday Schools, held
meetings at some convenient place weekly, divided the districts into
school sections and built schools. Each school house served the purpose of
a meeting house for Sunday services as well as for any other business that
required a meeting of the people. In a short time the county began to
develop the earmarks of civilization.

Following in the footsteps of those law-abiding citizens came a class of
criminals who migrated from their native heaths expecting immunity from
the punishment due to the crimes they had committed, and which caused
their departure to this haven of refuge. Nor did they abstain from their
criminal pursuits while in this "refugium peccatorum," or asylum of the
wicked. As soon as they had become familiar with the topography of the
county, and, as they were too lazy to work, they soon took up their old
practice of lying in wait for the unsuspecting and carrying off his goods
when possible. They usually drifted from one ranch to another pretending
to look for work, and imposed upon the hospitality of the rancher, who
provided for their wants free of charge as long as they cared to remain. I
may here remark that the hospitality of the Western people has never been
surpassed, and I may say, never equalled. A cowman considered himself
insulted if one should leave or pass his ranch at meal time without
partaking of his hospitality. Not only this, but as nothing was ever
locked up, it was considered the proper etiquette if no one were at home,
to enter and help oneself to his supplies and to make oneself perfectly at
home. No one was ever asked whence he came or whither he was going. If he
volunteered the information without being asked, it was received, and if
not given the result was the same, namely, no questions asked. In this way
it was a very easy matter for the criminal to gain an intimate knowledge
of conditions, which they used to their own advantage later on to the
detriment of people generally. They did not confine their depredations to
Beaver county only, nor to No-Man's Land, but thoroughly organized
themselves into bands and extended their nefarious business to Western
Kansas, Indian Territory, and West Texas. Those who actually stole stock
from the farms and ranches, usually took them a few miles and passed them
on to their companions in crime, so that no familiar face was absent from
the scene of the theft, and thus they avoided suspicion. When a settler's
stock was stolen, he very seldom had the slightest idea of the direction
to be taken to recover them, and in most cases was financially unable to
make an extended search in any direction. Many a time the loss of a few
head of cattle meant all that he had, wiping out his whole accumulation of
years of hard work and privation and just at a time when he began to see
better times ahead as he was getting something to work with. This
condition of affairs could not be permitted to continue, and while the
means employed by the settlers to terminate this organized pilfering, and
at the same time make some return to the culprit for the wrongs suffered
at his hands, may seem hard to the people who were never subjected to
conditions such as prevailed in that country, they were as a matter of
fact nothing more nor less than cold-blooded Justice. Those who are
ignorant of the conditions must remember that the loss of a milch cow
meant the principal part of his family's support, and his wife and
children were thus put in a state of actual want thereby, and as there
were no means of obtaining legal redress for such losses, they had the law
of self-preservation to guide them and from it there was no appeal.

At this point the idea forced itself upon the settlers that they must
organize, as it was a physical impossibility to combat a well-regulated
band of outlaws single-handed; so, after calling a meeting of the best
citizens and discussing the matter carefully, it was decided to organize a
Vigilance Committee and see what effect the hanging of a few of the
"rustlers" would have upon the remainder of them, and at the same time how
it would affect the welfare of the settlers. The moral effect of the
organization of the Committee resulted in checking to a certain degree the
depredations of the criminals, but it did not wipe it out entirely. A
great many of the more timid ones abandoned their evil ways, but the more
daring were willing to take a chance and abide by the consequences, which
several of them experienced. The Vigilantes occupied the positions of
Sheriff, Judge, Jury and Executioner, and when a culprit was caught
red-handed his case was summarily disposed of in about thirty minutes,
except for the funeral and burial services, which were left usually for
anybody that cared to participate in them.

I had a ranch in Texas during those troublous times, and was one time
wintering a herd of cattle near Fowler City, Kansas. Consequently I had to
make a number of trips through that unsettled district, sometimes on
horseback and at others in a buckboard, and it seemed almost invariably my
good or bad fortune, as you wish to call it, to enter some place or other
at a time when a tragedy was being enacted.

I was once crossing in a buckboard in the direction of Englewood, Kansas,
with a consignment of eggs that were beginning to suffer breakage owing to
the roughness of the journey, and I began to look for a place to dispose
of them to some settler. I soon reached a place that bore the sign,
"Groceries," and there sold my eggs, bought some tobacco and a few other
necessaries. While talking to the store-keeper, I noticed a group of men
at another sod building, and I inquired of him what they were doing. "Oh,
nothing much. They have just been hanging a man over there." I asked him
what the unfortunate had done. "Well," said he, "he has been stealing
horses." I went out to water my horses just as a part of the group were
passing. Recognizing two of them I inquired of them what the fellow had
done and where they had arrested him. They replied he had been stealing
horses both in the neighborhood and in Clark county, Kansas. The sheriff
had followed his trail and caught him South of where we were then, and was
taking him back to Kansas. He was bringing him through that section and
they took him away from the sheriff and hanged him. I asked him if he did
not think the punishment rather severe. He replied that he did not think
so, and besides there was no use of letting the sheriff take all the
trouble of bringing him back to Kansas where the judges would turn him
loose in ninety days and then he would be back at his criminality again.
Mike Shrugrue was the name of the sheriff who had the prisoner in charge,
and a braver man was not to be found in the State of Kansas, but he could
not stand off the Vigilantes. To attempt anything of the kind was to
invite disaster. It would be only throwing away another life needlessly,
as the one was doomed under any circumstances.

The difference between the Vigilantes and a mob must be thoroughly
understood to be appreciated. The one stood for law and order, was
organized from necessity, as there was not any law than theirs, and was
approved of by the residents of the country in which they operated in the
interests of justice; the other, the mob, is a hot-headed, angry, or
rather frenzied crowd that usually defeats the claims of justice by taking
the law into its own hands in most cases where the law would handle the
case in a more satisfactory manner, if allowed to take its course. This
mode of procedure is always condemned by the better class of citizens,
while the actions of the Vigilantes, who were, with few exceptions, of the
better class, were performed usually through stern necessity, rather than
from anger. The trial given was usually very short. In most cases the
guilt was very clear, as the criminal was nearly always taken manifest,
as he was usually taken in the act of committing a crime. If the prisoner
had a plausible story to tell, it was investigated before any further
proceedings took place. If he happened to be one of the notorious class of
criminals, which was commonly the case, the culprit was given short
shrift. Neither mode of procedure is to be recommended as the safest
course to attain the ends of justice.

The greatest difficulty to be met with in the interest of justice, was in
handling the cases of "rustlers," as there were always some of the same
ilk on hand to prove a complete alibi. Fifty men could be assembled on a
day's notice to prove that the accused was a hundred miles away from the
scene of the crime when it was committed. As a consequence of this, most
of the accused were released, or, if caught red-handed in their rascality,
were admitted to bail, which was furnished by their companions in crime,
and then they forfeited the bail and took leave to parts unknown.

My next experience occurred not long afterwards while making a trip from
Timms City, Texas, across the country to the Fred Taintor ranch. On this
occasion my family accompanied me in the then up-to-date means of travel,
namely, a lumber wagon. The trail was in good condition and we were making
good time. One day, about dinner time, I was keeping a lookout for a good
camping place for the purpose of supplying the needs of both the family
and the cattle. It was impossible to build a fire, as the wind was blowing
a gale, and the prairie was very dry and a fire would likely spread and
lay waste the whole county. Seeing the impossibility of camping, though I
had found a suitable place, I determined to push on to some ranch where
our wants would be supplied. I knew where a man by the name of Kingston,
from Illinois, had put up a small frame building and had laid in a stock
of groceries. I finally reached the object of my search and when
approaching the store I had to pass another building occupied by a family.
As I was passing a woman stepped out and asked me if I was going to the
store. I replied that I was, and told her what my business was there. She
informed me that it was of no use as Mr. Kingston had been murdered the
evening before. She showed me where they were burying him at that moment.
She also informed me that one of the bullets fired at Mr. Kingston had
passed under the cow she happened to be milking at the time. It is
needless to say that I did not tarry long in that neighborhood, but went
on until I finally reached the Taintor ranch, where the latch string
always hung on the outside of the door. The reception we had and the
supper provided soon made us forget that we had had no dinner. After a
good night's rest we proceeded on our way to sunny Kansas.

In the meantime I had learned the circumstances leading up to the Kingston
tragedy. It appeared that Mr. K--had received through the mail a draft for
several hundred dollars and the Postmaster had mentioned the fact to a
neighbor. The conversation had been overheard by two cut-throats who
waited until they thought it had been cashed and then hatched up a plan to
murder him for his money. It seemed from the appearance of things inside
the house that they had intended to hang him so as to give it the
appearance of suicide and then get away with the cash. The room was not
ceiled and a rope was found hanging over a joist with a noose in one end.
While making their preparations it seemed that he had broken away from
them and had reached the prairie in front of the store, where they shot
him.

Someone has said that the way of the transgressor is hard, and in this
instance it proved undoubtedly correct, for the Vigilants set out after
those men, ran them down in the brakes of a creek and sent sixteen bullets
through one of them; the other escaped and made his way to Dodge City,
Kan., where he proceeded to fill up on whiskey and made other arrangements
to take in the town. The City Marshall's opinion was that the town was too
small for two men to run at the same time, especially as one was a
stranger who had not been duly elected for the position. As a result, a
gun argument was introduced to settle the question and the bad man was
killed in the first round. His funeral occurred next day with all the
ceremonies befitting a man of his calling and he was interred on
"Boot-hill" without flowers on his casket, or tears shed over his demise.
It turned out afterwards that Mr. Kingston had not cashed the draft, so
all the money that the rogues obtained by murder and robbery was what was
in the cash drawer at the time.

The Vigilants, for the time being, performed valuable services for the
settlers and were largely instrumental in driving out of that country a
lot of thugs, thieves, and cut-throats, who were preying upon the people.
But, strange to say, time proved that some of themselves were not entirely
above suspicion, as the following incident will show. One day as I was
riding along the divide between Kiowa Creek and the Beaver, I met a man
whom I recognized to be Jake Smith. I use the name Smith for convenience,
as that was not his name, and I do not care to use his rightful cognomen
as he left that country shortly afterwards, went over to Kansas, married a
nice girl, went into business and became a leader socially and a pillar in
the Church, is generally respected and is living an upright life. Knowing
him well, I hailed him.

"Well, Jake," I said, "your horse looks pretty well jaded, you must have
had a long ride."

Said he, "Oh, that's nothing. I must ride to Alpine tonight as there is to
be a meeting of the Vigilants at eight o'clock and I want to be there."

"Do you belong to the Vigilants?" I asked.

"Why, yes," he replied. "I was one of the first to join them and have been
working with them ever since."

"Well, Jake," said I, "you're a jewel, a regular diamond. You know that
you have been stealing cattle and branding 'mavericks' ever since you
landed in this country, and all the old-timers know it, and now you are
running your horse to death to catch a rustler. That is a great joke!"

"I see plainly that you do not understand," said he. "The situation is
this: I had to join them for self-protection and also to look after the
interests of my friends. Talk of running my horse to death! I have just
been returning a favor. I have just been up to the head of Clear Creek to
tell Slim Jim to skip, because if they catch him he will stretch hemp for
stealing Old Dusenberry's mules, and besides, Slim ain't no bad fellow
when he has a good paying job."

I have never had the pleasure of meeting Jake since, but if I ever visit
Kansas I shall be certain to call and see him to find out how he managed
to keep from stealing his own goods and hiding them out in the canyons,
through force of habit after having resolved to leave other men's chattels
alone.

It seemed to be the custom whenever a small settlement was formed, for
some one to put up a grocery store, locate a postoffice and call it by
some high-sounding title and establish the nucleus of a city. For
instance, there was Boyd City, Beaver City, Benton City, Alpine City,
Neutral City, and Gate City, mostly located on the divides, or flat
prairie lands on the established trails. "Sod Town," whose name was not so
high-sounding as descriptive, soon sprang into existence as the Monte
Carlo, or sporting center of the whole country. It was there at round-up
time, each spring and fall, that the boys were accustomed to meet and run
their horses, discuss matters of common interest, and, in general, to have
a good time. As nearly every ranch had a fast horse or two, also a prize
roper, whenever the convention took place, things were bound to be lively
and at times quite a little money changed hands on the result of a horse
race, or other contest of skill.

Among the famous horses of that day that I recall, were "Old Pumpkin," a
general favorite, "Stick-in-the-Mud," "Greasy Heels," "Wobble Shanks," and
"Sore Toes" with a dozen or so of others to select from, and each and
every one had its backers and admirers.

Frank Biggers, Jim Mahoney, Sour-dough-Charlie, Heel-Fly Bill, Snake
Eater, and Bull Joe were generally the leading spirits at the race course,
and as Frank Biggers was a lover of fair play, he was usually chosen to
act as judge; besides, he had a manner of enforcing his decisions which
commanded respect and the compliance of the wildest and wooliest of the
assembly.

For the benefit of the readers who are unaccustomed to the ways and
phrases of the Western people, I shall here state that the nicknames of a
great many of them were acquired from their calling, or from some incident
or occurence on the range. If one were to drop into the Panhandle country
and inquire for Mr. Chas. Deitrich, Mr. Joseph Parish, or some others who
were mostly known by nickname, I doubt very much if the inquirer would
find his man, but if he were to ask for Sour-dough Charlie, or Bull Joe,
any one could tell them at once where to find them or what their business
was. Some of the names allotted to individuals may seem rude to the elite
of the East and give the impression of vulgarity and rudeness, but on
acquaintance one would find them good, kind, and obliging men as ever
saddled a broncho or branded a maverick. The congregation at Sod Town was
composed of men who knew one another and any money won or lost was taken
as a matter of course, and there was no grief over spilt milk. Theirs was
a vigorous life and healthy outdoor sport appealed to them. When their
sport was over, they were off to the ranch again in good spirits.

Among the early settlers of Sod Town were two young men, named Ellis and
Fiske, who opened a Grocery and Supply store. They kept a large stock of
provisions, as well as, boots, shoes, slickers, and other articles adapted
to the trade of the cattlemen. In a short time they built up a good trade
and were liked by all. One night, two bad men, or would-be road agents,
called at the store and rapped for admission. This was not at all out of
the ordinary as the cattleman's business kept him at all hours. It was
nothing unusual for him to rout out the store-keeper at any hour of the
night and have his wants supplied. On the night in question, when Ellis
heard the rapping, he donned his trousers and fortunately had his
six-shooters in his waistband. As soon as he opened the door of his store
he was commanded to put up his hands. He proceeded to do so, but in the
act of raising his hand he drew his gun and shot one of the bad men,
wounding him badly. Both turned to flee. Ellis pulled down on them in
their flight, and by the aid of light from a prairie fire that was burning
at the time, fired at the fleeing bad men and killed outright the man he
had wounded at the door. The other villian made his escape into the
darkness. Of course, Ellis was arrested and taken before the U. S. Court
for that district and was honorably discharged. He should not have been
arrested for a case of that kind, but there were milage fees to be
considered, and the marshall seldom if ever overlooked an opportunity of
the kind for increasing his wealth. I have never heard of any other bad
men calling on Ellis and Fiske in search of assistance in a financial way,
especially in the manner mentioned above.

Sour-dough Charlie had a little ranch of his own on Wolf Creek where he
kept a few horses. He raised a few colts each year, and to fill in his odd
time he tanned deer skin, made gloves for the cow punchers, and at times
used to cook for a round-up as he was an artist in that line of work as
well as being a very entertaining fellow. His chief work of art was the
construction of sour dough bread and he had the reputation of being a
master in the work. One afternoon a cow-puncher pulled up to the wagon and
called for his chuck-a-way, and said he wanted it at once as he had to
return to the herd and stand guard while his partner came for his supply.
The cook told him he would have to wait for awhile as he did not have
things in shape to get an extra meal. Without further parley and without
any warning the puncher picked up a crock full of sour dough and struck
the cook over the head with it. The contents spilled over his head and ran
down into his eyes and mingled with his whiskers. Right then and there was
originated and conferred upon him the title of "Old Sour-dough Charlie," a
name that will remain with him as long as he lives.

Nicknames and titles, in this county, amount to about the same thing
although conferred in different ways according to conditions. The man who
succeeded in accumulating a herd of cattle amounting to one or two hundred
was given the name of Captain. If he acquired five or six hundred, he was
addressed as Major, and a man who through good management and perseverance
numbered his stock by thousands became the "Old Colonel." There was one
very noticeable change in the habits, manners, customs and character of
the men who had acquired the title of Captain, Major, or Colonel, and that
was shown in their dress. The styles of their garments differed, they
dispensed with the snake-skin band, they changed their underwear,
frequently had their whiskers trimmed and hair cut, and occasionally
became a power in local politics. The question was never asked when and
how these men became possessed of such large herds in such short time, but
to the old-timer it was plain that the Old Colonel was a great business
man, or was an expert with the lariat and an artist with the branding
iron.

How different is the conferring of titles in foreign lands, especially in
Great Britain, where titles have to be ratified by supreme authority and
approved of by local potentates, and even there we find some titles
resting on tottering foundations and others hang by a very slender thread
which is liable to part at any time and leave the possessor in a pitiable
mass of social wreckage. The ceremonies on such occasions are calculated
to dazzle the eye and deceive the judgement of the spectator. The
sleight-of-hand performer and the street fakir practice the same system
and the man with the three-shell game and the three card monte man are all
on the same level, but Royalty claims age and dignity wherever you find
it. When Capt. Drake returned to England after his expedition of murder,
plunder, and piracy, and his arrival was announced to the Good Queen Bess
who was on the throne at the time, she at once called for a royal banquet
to be held on board his vessel. After rounding up all her Royal
roustabouts, flunkeys, and followers, she proceeded direct to the ship
where she was going to preside in state until she had knighted the Capt.,
whose hands were still red with the blood of his murdered victims. When
the time for the ceremony was at hand, at a motion of her magic wand the
Captain dropped to his knees at her feet to receive the power and
authority to take and keep any property on the seas that he felt like
confiscating; which meant any that he might be able to lay his hands on.
The ceremony consisted of laying the sword of authority across his bald
pate and telling him that henceforth he was at liberty to do as he pleased
and that he should remain her loyal subject. She then commanded him to
arise and he did so, but was so dazzled with the great honor conferred
upon him that I do not suppose he could tell whether he was a duck or a
drake.

  A prince can make a belted Knight,
  A Marquis, duke, and a' that,
  But an honest man's aboon his might,
  Good faith he muna fa' that.

The price of titles, like other commodities, depends greatly upon the
locality where they are granted. In England, the title cost Sir W. Raleigh
his head; in Texas, a title cost Sour-dough Charley but a few loaves of
bread. Imagine the difference.



CHAPTER VII.

Wild Horses; Traits; Difficulties of Catching Them; Preparations for the
Same; Personal Experiences.


My experience has taught me that there has not been another animal on the
plains as inquisitive and suspicious as the wild horse, or mustang, as it
is called. The early horse hunter took advantage of this characteristic
inquisitiveness to approach sufficiently close to effect his capture. This
was done by placing a wagon sheet, or a bed quilt on a stake and then
hiding in the bushes or grass in the vicinity. The hunter was compelled to
remain perfectly quiet in his lair as the slightest sound at times would
stampede the horses and render his quest futile. The mustangs, on
discovering the strange object in their neighborhood would commence to run
round and round in circles, reducing the radius of the circle each time
until finally they were within a distance of about two hundred yards of
the object of their curiosity. Then they would stand perfectly still and
that was the time there was need of caution on the part of the hunter, as
the breaking of a twig, the sound of a voice, or any slight noise that
would be likely to reach their ears, would start them off in wild affright
to return no more as long as there were any indications of disturbance in
the neighborhood. If the hunter remained quietly in hiding and gave no
sign of his presence in any manner, their curiosity would bring them back
again to make a further exploration of the strange phenomenon. In this
manner the old horse-hunter used to entice them close enough to "crease"
one of them, as it was called. This "creasing" consisted in taking a very
careful and deliberate aim with a rifle and shooting the horse in front of
the withers, through the top of the neck close to the spinal cord. This
stunned or shocked him so that he would fall in his tracks, paralyzed for
the time being, giving the hunter time, if he moved swiftly, to run from
his hiding place with his hobble-rope and hog-tie him before he recovered.
It frequently happened that the hunter arrived there too late as the horse
often recovered from his shock and was up and away before his arrival; or,
the shot being badly aimed, reached a vital spot and the horse would be
dead before he could get the hobbles on him. If everything worked out
satisfactorily, and the mustang was secured, he would place a "Hackamaw"
on his head in such a way that it could not be shaken loose in the
struggle that was bound to follow. I shall here explain that a Hackamaw is
a sort of halter, or headstall, made of the end of a lariat rope and put
on in such a manner that it holds the head of the mustang firmly without
the danger of choking the animal. When the animal was secured, the hunter
gave his partner a signal to bring up the saddle horses that were held at
a distance and out of sight so as not to scare the herd before capture.
The fun commenced in earnest when the hobbles were removed and the
captured mustang was permitted to rise. The first thing on the program was
to try to escape back to the herd. That failing, he would go on the
war-path and it took a skillful horseman and active ponies to bring him
under subjection. It usually required, at least, two, each with his lariat
attached so as to prevent the mustang's reaching the other. Several hours
of hard fighting then ensued, but in the end when the mustang was
conquered he made the toughest and wiriest of cow-ponies.

It very frequently happened that two of these bands of wild horses met and
then trouble began. Every herd was headed by a stallion that exercised
supreme authority over the whole band at all times, and never allowed any
intruder to trespass on his rights and privileges. As a result, when two
herds encountered each other, war was at once proclaimed by the two
stallions for the complete control and management of both herds. Never did
knights of old covered with armor, go forth to battle with more dignity
and determination to protect their lady loves, or to maintain the honor of
their own good names, than was displayed by those mustang stallions. With
ears turned back and their noses to the ground, they dashed forth to the
deadly conflict. The meeting of the two champions was of the fiercest
nature. At times they fought standing on their hind feet with their teeth
sunk in each others neck, and at others they waged their mortal combat
standing on their fore feet using their hind feet as weapons of offence.
Sometimes these battles terminated fatally to one or both of the
contestants, but more frequently ended when one of the struggling brutes
became so exhausted that he was unable to continue the fight, and
acknowledged defeat by retreating to the protection of some canyon or sand
hill with his little band of mares and colts, provided the other stallion
did not have sufficient energy left to run them into his own harem leaving
his defeated adversary to a lonesome existence on the bleak prairie.

I had an old friend at one time who followed up the pursuit of catching
wild horses for a living, and for patience and perseverence he never had
an equal among his contemporaries. He met disaster and disappointment with
unflinching energy and returned to the conflict with unabated courage.
Though the renumeration was small, there was a fascination about the work
that he could not resist. Before entering upon an expedition of this kind,
he fitted up a camping outfit consisting of a few blankets, a tarpaulin,
slicker, coffee pot, skillet, knife, fork, hobble ropes, a supply of
lariat ropes, a winchester, six-shooters, and some bacon, the latter being
taken along for grease to be used in cooking, as fresh meat was to be had
at all times. The prairies were alive with antelope, turkey, deer, and
occasionally a stray buffalo was discovered. Such buffalo, deer, and
wolves as were taken, were skinned and the hide salted for sale on the
market. He used no wagons in his business, but took two mares with him,
one to be used as a saddle pony and the other for the purpose of serving
as a pack animal. His favorite pony was called Topsy, and was the mascot
of the expedition. He had raised her and trained her from colthood and she
was trained to such a degree of perfection that she would obey the sound
of his voice, whistle, or signal given by the waving of his hat, and never
did a railway engineer, or brakeman respond with greater promptness than
did Old Topsy when she received the signal from her master. At the word of
command she would lie down or rise, and owing to this peculiarity of her
training she was frequently used as a wind shield during a cold storm from
the north, her master making his bed beside her for protection.

Preparations for these trips were usually made in the early autumn, during
the month of September, as the heat of the summer was somewhat lessened by
that time, and he generally managed to set out when the moon was new so as
to travel by night if necessary. He was so thoroughly acquainted with the
country that he knew every creek, and canyon, every spring and waterhole
where the mustangs were accustomed to get water. He was not compelled to
scour the country for his quarry as every wild horse within a range of
five miles seemed to know by instinct the arrival of his pack animals and
ponies. Such uncertainty of knowledge did not satisfy them, but to satisfy
their curiosity they came along on the run to make an investigation into
the character of the intruders who had so uncerimoniously intruded into
their domain. By the time the huntsman had unpacked, had his camp-fire
built, and was preparing his meal, they would be encircling his camp,
running, romping, and playing. The stallion usually took the lead in these
diversions with the mares and young colts by their side trying to keep up
to his advance. Finally they would come to a standstill and remain
perfectly quiet until some noise would startle them and off they would go
pell-mell only to return and repeat their investigation into what was the
new element that was disturbing the peaceful possession of their range.
This hunter's method was different from what was usually followed by
others. It was not his intention to excite or disturb the wild horses in
any way; on the contrary his object was to get them accustomed to his
presence, get them acquainted with the domestic mares, and render them
peaceful and quiet. In a few days his object would be accomplished, and
then he proceeded to set the herd in motion to drive them back to the
settlements where they could be corraled and handled. He never permitted
them to get a moment's rest, day or night, once he had them in motion, and
as little chance to graze as possible. In the mean time he saw to it that
his own mares had every advantage possible. In a few days, such a system
could not but have its effect on the mustangs and they would as a
consequence become more docile. Gradually he got closer to them without
the danger of stampeding them, until within the course of ten days or two
weeks they showed unmistakable signs of weariness and weakness which
allowed him to get in closer touch with them. In fact, so much was he in
their presence that they came to look upon him as one of the herd. Then
took place the working out of his design. He headed Old Topsy for home
over the hills, through the canyons and creeks, never stopping for
anything, gradually moving along, slowly and quietly nursing them into
captivity. Such was the care that he exercised that he made no more than
five or ten miles a day on his straight course. At times, before the herd
became too wearied, the flight of a bird or the barking of a coyote would
stampede them and thus he would lose five or ten miles that he had gained
with so much difficulty. On he went after them, doing over again all that
had been done before. In case there were no unforeseen difficulties, or
accidents, he would finally drive them into the neighborhood of some good
strong corral where, with the permission of the proprietor, he would run
them in until such time as he would be able to hobble the leaders, which
usually required a week or more.

A mustang is so sensitive and observing that I sometimes thought he could
count the buttons on one's clothes. In fact, I know, that should one
change his clothing while breaking one of them, he would have all the work
to do over again until the mustang became accustomed to the change. He
received everything with suspicion and even a fence-post would call for an
investigation. The corral was a new world entirely for him and it took
days of patience and perseverence to induce him to enter it. Old Topsy
would go in and out and make herself at home, but not so with her
associates, at least for quite a long time. Finally they would venture in
little by little, the hunter permitting them to pass in and out several
times before putting up the bars on them. As soon as the mustangs found
themselves unable to get out they became badly frightened and excited,
especially during the absence of the hunter. His return seemed to pacify
them very much. He had to manage them with great judgement until he
managed to hobble the leaders, which, as I said before, took days to
accomplish.

It is true that he could have roped and hobbled them in a short time once
he had them in the corral, but this was not the way with my friend. He
said often times that once he had gained their confidence, he could not
betray it. After the mustangs had been corraled for some time and had
grown accustomed to the presence of men, then the interesting work took
place. They had to be broken to the saddle and bridle and ridden by
somebody, and I wish to state that it was a work that required an expert,
all green-horns and tenderfeet barred. Around all ranches was to be found
a man whose sole occupation was to do this work. He offered to accomplish
the task of reforming the wild mustang at from two to five dollars a head,
and he usually had the work assigned him. By the time they were broken
they were usually sold at a fair price for that class of stock while the
hunter made preparations for returning to the plains for another lot of
mustangs, a work which he seemed to enjoy.

These mustangs did not command a very high price as most of them were too
small for cow-work, and too light for single drivers. Sometimes one could
pick up a team of these ponies and find them the toughest and wiriest
animals that were ever hitched to a buckboard. They could travel from
sunrise to sunset at ten miles an hour and never turn a hair. But viewed
from all angles the business was not a financial success and the men
engaged in it never cleared up any great amount of money, as I proved to
my own satisfaction later on.

Before what is now called Meade County was established, there was nothing
there but the open prairie. A fence was an unknown thing except where some
settler had built one around a stack of hay to protect it from the range
cattle that were roaming the plains in great numbers in those days. It was
necessary for him to do this as a small stack of feed would be a tempting
morsel, in cold weather, to the thousands of cattle wandering loose and in
search of fodder. In case they did succeed in reaching the tempting
supply, it lasted about as long as a water melon at a negro picnic. It had
been reported on what I considered reliable authority that there was a
black stallion running on the flat between Crooked and Sandy Creeks, about
nine miles southeast of the present county seat of Meade county, Kansas.
The cowboys had often tried to capture him, but in every instance failed.
He was described to me as standing about fifteen hands high, which was
exceptionally large for a mustang, with long flowing mane and tail, and he
could trot faster than any cow-pony could run. After weighing the matter
carefully for some time I decided to go out and capture him. From the
description given, he was just what I wanted for a saddle horse. I
determined to have him provided I could enlist the services of G. W.
Brown, an old Indian scout, and former companion of the buffalo range. He
was, moreover, an expert with the lariat rope and was considered one of
the best trailers in the country. The other man I wanted, and whom I
finally succeeded in getting, was C. M. Rice, formerly of Jasper, Ind., a
veteran of the Civil war, an old and experienced plainsman who knew every
creek and trail in the country. After discussing the matter carefully in
all its different aspects, we decided to capture him regardless of trouble
and expense attached to the undertaking, even though it took all summer.
We had to take a camp wagon, grain and provisions enough to last several
weeks, as we would not be able to return for more if we happened to run
short. We took our favorite saddle ponies and started early so as to get
in operation as soon as possible. It was our intention to locate him early
in the morning and have the whole day for the first run. We were fortunate
in finding him shortly after daybreak, but his looks were rather
disappointing as he did not seem as large as he had been pictured to me by
the cowboys. However, we were there to capture him and determined to do
so. One thing favored us and that is one of the peculiarities of the
mustang, he will not leave his range unless driven from it. He will take
his departure very reluctantly and will return at the earliest
opportunity.

Our first night was one of rest, with nothing to disturb us but the
howling of the coyotes and the bawling of the cattle. Morning found us up
early and ready for the chase. We knew it would be useless to try to catch
him on a straight run as he would have, at least, half a mile start on us.
We decided to run him in a circle, keep inside of his course, and keep him
on the run until he became jaded and exhausted and then let him get a
chance to drink his fill of water as he would surely be very thirsty after
a long gallop. The consequence of this strategy would be that the mustang
would become stiffened and it would be easy to run him down and rope him.
After making the first large circle, C. M. Rice, seeing his horse lathered
with perspiration that trickled down from the flanks of his horse, his
favorite Old Tom, decided to return to camp and prepare something to eat
for himself and us on our return. If we did not return by night-fall he
was to keep the camp-fire burning to act as a beacon for our guidance. In
order to save our horses, Brown and I decided that one of us should keep
on the chase whilst the other rested his horse. This gave each of us
chance to refresh our mount with water and grass until it came his turn to
take up the pursuit. In the meantime the mustang was not allowed to have a
respite from his exertions, but was kept on the move until about three or
four o'clock in the afternoon. Nature asserted herself in his case and
frequently, after that time, he would stop to look around and see if his
pursuers were likely to give him a chance to rest and refresh himself. It
was plainly evident that the pace was telling on him, but he found that
his pursuers gave him no opportunity to rest his weary legs. Closely and
more closely they came in spite of all he could do to ward off their
unremitting pursuit. The moments he took to stop and look around offered
us an opportunity to draw closer. Then we both took up the chase at the
same time. We divided our forces, one going on one side of him and the
other on the opposite. By this time we were within twenty rods of him. By
this strategy we headed him for Gypsom Creek in the hope that when he
reached it he would stop and drink his fill. That would give us an
opportunity of roping him. Everything worked out as we had planned. When
the thirsty brute reached the water he drank abundantly of the refreshing
fluid. It seemed as though he would never stop. When finally he had his
fill we ran him off to the mouth of a canyon where, if once we could get
him to enter, there would be no opportunity of his escape as there was no
outlet at the other end. I say none, or rather should have said there was
one but it was practically out of the question for him to make it. It was
about a mile away and the road was filled with boulders and sand heaps and
was up hill all the way, and we knew that in his present condition his
wind would be gone before he could again reach the open prairie. Now came
the opportunity to rope him if he was to be captured at all, as there was
nothing left for him to do but choose between the rough boulders and
ledges of the other end of the canyon, or strive to evade us by seeking
safety in the way he entered. Brown went around and awaited his arrival,
while I followed as best I could until I saw him disappear at the head of
the canyon. Then I retraced my way and rode around on the divide so as to
be in on the final chase. When I came in sight of Brown, I saw that he had
him roped securely, but on reaching him I discovered that he had captured
him in a prairie-dog town and in the struggle that followed the roping he
had jumped into one of the holes and broke his leg between the knee and
the fetlock, and the bones were protruding through the flesh. Under those
conditions, as he would be of no value to me, and also, as it would be
inhuman to turn him loose to suffer and starve, or become the food of
mountain lions, or coyotes, I thought it best to end his misery without
further delay. This being done, we tightened up our saddle cinches and
returned to camp very weary and much wiser than when we set forth in the
morning. Thus ended my first, last, and only chase after a wild mustang
stallion on the plains of Kansas. As per agreement, Rice had kept the camp
fire burning and had, moreover, prepared a supper of hot beans, biscuits,
antelope steak, and coffee, which was a feast fit for a king and one which
I think no guest of Delmonico ever appreciated more.

The next morning we arose and went to look after our ponies. What a
pitiful sight we beheld when we came upon them in the secluded place where
we had tethered them! They were gaunt, covered and caked with
perspiration and dust of the preceding day's chase.

We gave them a good rub-down and plenty of food and water, which refreshed
them very much. After a good breakfast, we took a farewell look at the
camp and returned to the ranch. The black stallion with his flowing mane
and tail became a matter of past history of the plains. In conclusion I
shall say that my two companions of the chase of thirty-two years ago are
still both hale and hearty business men in the Queen City of the Canadian,
El Reno, Okla.



CHAPTER VIII.

Further Reflections on Western Life; Also on the East; Why I Came West;
Some Men I Have Met; Cowboy Acquaintances, etc.


When commencing to write this semi-historical work, it was my intention to
confine myself to the early settlement of "No-Man's-Land," but find that I
must include the Panhandle to Texas and the South-western part of Kansas,
as the soil, climate, and social conditions were almost identical. The
industries of all three localities were very much the same, excepting that
the Panhandle was much better adapted to cattle raising than to
agriculture. In fact, farming was looked upon by cattlemen as too menial
an occupation for them to engage in, and, consequently, they knew little
about it and cared less. Their indifference to agriculture was such that
they would prefer literally to starve to death than endeavor to gain
subsistence from the soil. The difference between the old-time cow-puncher
and the Chyenne Indian as agriculturists was very little. The former might
do a little at farming if he knew how, and the latter might know how if he
would only do a little at it. It seemed to be the height of the average
cow-puncher's ambition to ride on a fifty-dollar saddle, wear a ten-dollar
Stetson hat, a pair of silver mounted spurs, a pair of ten-dollar
high-heeled boots, leather leggings, a slicker and a forty-five calibre
white handled six-shooter. This made a complete outfit to suit his vanity.
Riding broncos, roping wild cattle, running races, and branding mavericks
were his principal business and amusement. Attending the spring and fall
round-ups, and driving beef stock to market rounded out his season's
work.

It is true that there are some exceptions to the general rule. As an
example, about twenty-eight years ago I became acquainted with a green
cow-puncher, fresh from some Texas town, a tall, fair-haired lad, who was
rather reticent, but very punctual in his work. He was the first out in
the morning, last in at night and was ready for anything that was to be
done in the meantime. His manner lacked the boisterousness of the
swaggering swearing, blow-hard that was very frequently encountered in the
days work. It was apparent to all that he was a man of reliability and
integrity. He was employed by R. M. Wright and Martin Culver to
superintend the "W-L" ranch. He was successful in his management and at
the same time displayed an honesty that was something new to some of the
settlers in his neighborhood. He never permitted a man to rope an animal
until he was certain of the brand, and knew to whom the property belonged.
Such a man was certain to rise in the world and today one would find it
difficult to recognize in Mr. R. A. Harper, president of the First
National Bank, Meade, Kansas, the stripling greenhorn of thirty years ago.
Another of the old-time successful cow-punchers, who fought the battle of
life alone and single-handed as cowmen, farmer, merchant, sometimes
overtaken by adversity but never discouraged, who plodded on until he
reached the top of the financial ladder beyond the reach of want, is Mr.
C. M. Rice, of El Reno, Okla.

The majority of the early settlers who stayed throughout the first hard
times, managed to do fairly well, accepting the changed conditions as law
and order moved in, while a few developed foolish notions about the
curtailment of their freedom, as they called it, and resented the
encroachment and manifested their disposition by holding up trains, or
other depredations. Such a course of conduct invariably proved a failure
and brought disaster upon the defenders of such a cause. The state prisons
are still harboring some of those misguided men, protecting them from
themselves as well as defending society at large from their peculiar
notions. It may seem strange to the reader, but the greater part of the
so-called bad men of this country came from the East where they first
conceived a false impression of the wildness of the West. The origin of
their idea arose from the reading of a poor class of literature. Such
reading created in their young minds the idea of being "bad men of the
West" and they were not long in putting the idea into practice. Just to
mention a few of the most notorious, I shall set down the names of Billy
the Kid, from New York, Dutch Henry from Michigan, Sam Bass from Indiana.
I might mention dozens of others whose careers of iniquity did not last as
long as those mentioned above. As for the real Western-bred bad men, they
were very few in number and were usually driven to it by being credited
with the crimes of others.

One of the principal causes of the development of the outlaw was, as I
said above, the publication of fiction and falsehood in such papers as the
New York Weeklys and dime novels. These were scattered broadcast over the
country in cheap editions and the result was the creation of false
impressions of the West, and at the same time inflamed the imagination and
corrupted the minds of many of the then rising generation.

Well do I remember my introduction to the name of Buffalo Bill. It was in
the columns of the New York Weekly, in 1874, when in a lumber camp in
Northern Michigan, that I read of his alleged engagement with the chief of
the tribe of the Sioux Indians. It ran as follows, as near as I can
remember it: "They met on the plains and each measured his chances to
overcome his adversary, etc." It would take no great philosopher to tell
that the Indian with no weapon but the bow and a bunch of arrows, stood
but a very meager chance with Bill armed with two six-shooters and a
winchester. "At the first crack of Bill's trusty rifle the wily savage
toppled over and fell to the ground. Then, as if by magic, about fifty
braves galloped out of a canyon and set out to capture the heap-big pale
face who had slain their chief. That purpose was more easily planned than
accomplished, for at the psychological moment Bill was re-inforced by his
favorite scouts, Little Buckshot and Hotfoot John. After a brief
engagement in which they killed about fifteen warriors, they retreated to
headquarters for more re-inforcements." This is but a sample of the lies
that filtered through the columns of the Eastern papers regarding the
Indian outbreaks of the West, and the worst part of it was that such trash
was believed by thousands, myself among the number.

Whenever I read of the hair-breadth escapes of "Dare-devil Dick,"
"Shuffle-foot Sam," "Moccasin Mike," and "Goodeye, the Scout," I felt that
I would like to take a hand in some of those adventures, having had a
rather fair training in Canada by attending the county fairs, and having
had the advantage of a course of training in collar-and-elbow wrestling
under Prof. John Lennon. Besides these advantages I was rather proficient
in the hop-sted-and-leap, high jumping, high kicking, foot racing, but not
in shin kicking.

Shin kicking was introduced into Canada by Cornishmen. As I have never
seen it practiced in this country I shall endeavor to describe it for the
advantage of the reader. Like all games of competition it had its
champions. On occasions of merriment it was customary to indulge in this
sport, though I do not think that everyone will agree with me that it was
a sport. When the crowd had assembled and some preliminary feats of skill
were performed, then a man with a voice on him like the Bashan bull would
announce in stentorian tones that the champion shin-kicker was requested
to appear. A ring was immediately formed by the bystanders locking arms.
Into this ring so formed the champion threw his hat as a challenge to all
and each. After fifteen minutes delay if no one appeared to take up the
challenge, the champion retained his title by default, and to add to the
occasion a prize of some kind was added as a reward for his willingness to
entertain them by his skill. If an opponent stepped into the enclosure,
judges were chosen and preparations made for a battle royal. First, the
shoes of the contestants were examined by the judges to see that there
were no spikes, nor toe-plates, and to see that the shoes were the common
clog type. Then their trousers and drawers were rolled back above the
knees leaving the leg bare from the knee cap to the shoe top. Things were
then ready for the performance. They caught each other by the shoulders
and at the dropping of a hat, or other signal, the Battle was on. Kicking
as high as the knee was called a foul and judgement rendered accordingly.
It required great skill and agility to take part in a contest of the kind.
From what I can hear, the game has fallen into oblivion as times have
changed the notions of games of the kind. For myself I did not indulge in
it very freely as I felt that my legs lacked sufficient side action to
permit me to become sufficiently expert at it, to issue a challenge to the
champion.

Returning to the thread of my story, I must say that after reading several
numbers of the New York Weekly, I came to the conclusion that Buffalo Bill
was getting short handed, and that unless he received some help rather
soon the Indians would drive him out of the country and the advantages
already gained by his prowess would be lost to succeeding generations.
With such ideas running through my head, I bought a railway ticket and
started West to look over the field and see for my own satisfaction how
things were getting along. I stopped off at Leavenworth and made the
acquaintance of several military men stationed at the fort. They seemed to
know nothing of the Indian troubles as published in the Eastern papers.
Thinking, perhaps, that they might not be well informed on the matter, I
left that place and set out for Topeka. I was certain that the officers
there would know something definite about affairs of the kind. I made
inquiries and soon found that they, like all politicians, were too busy
fixing political fences to pay any attention to such matters. The nearer I
approached the seat of war, the less I heard about it. I continued my
journey and finally reached Dodge City, Kansas, and secured lodging in the
Western Hotel, managed by a genial host, Dr. Gallard.

As I arrived there after dark I did not venture out until I had a good
night's rest and a hearty breakfast. Next morning I took up my position on
the porch to take in a view of the surroundings, and I confess they looked
strange and weird to me. I had been told that Dodge City was the
ante-chamber of the Infernal Regions; that the temperature began to rise
at Great Bend and did not return to normal until one crossed the Colorado
line; that the population was made up of cut-throats and thieves; that
vice and crime walked brazenly in the streets, while virtue and innocence
were unknown in that region of iniquity. Funerals were reported to me to
be held every morning, to bury those killed during the preceding night.
The cemetery where the unfortunates were to find their last resting place
was called "Boot Hill," because those who were buried there were laid to
rest with their boots on. The above impression is only a sample of what I
had gleaned from the Eastern journals. From where I took my stand I could
see thirty or forty cow-ponies tied to the hitch racks. Each pony wore a
good saddle with a Winchester in a scabbard hanging at the side. After
viewing the situation for some time, and not hearing any shooting, nor
seeing any funerals, as everything appeared peaceful and quiet, I decided
to take in the sights, although I confess I had a rather creepy feeling
when I ventured out. I felt somewhat encouraged, as I remembered I was
wearing a Stetson hat, and a pair of high-heeled boots, which, from the
reports I had received, were considered the passport to the best society
in those days. I crossed the railroad tracks which ran up Main street,
and took my course along the sidewalk, encountering in my way men with
their pant-legs in their boots, wearing wide-leafed sombreros with
snakeskin bands around them, with wide cartridge belts around their waists
supporting six-shooters large enough to kill a buffalo. Everyone I met
seemed to be peaceable. The only representative of the weaker sex I
encountered was a lady dressed in fine style with her face painted and
powdered, her hair done up a la mode, and decked out in a mother-hubbard
large enough to cover a corn shock.

To my great surprise I spent the first day in Dodge City without any
evidence of shootings or funerals, and in my meanderings about the place
formed the acquaintance of men who afterwards proved themselves to be as
high-principled as could be found in the whole country.

The horses that I had seen hitched to the racks, were all ridden across
the river to the different herds to stand guard over the cattle and
prevent stampedes. Some of the herds were waiting to be shipped, while
others were rounded-up to drive them to the branding pens, after which
they would be turned back to the range. In this way the natural increase
of the herd was maintained for the owner.

Next morning I set out with a better opinion of the town and of its
inhabitants. I found the same ponies tied to the same racks, and the
streets full of wagons, some loading for the different ranches, others at
the shop for repairs. I found the river banks on both sides lined with
campers, a mixed lot of immigrants, looking for land, freighters resting
their stock, horse traders, Mexicans, and a multitude of others with their
old-time prairie schooners. Everybody was busy, some greasing their
wagons, others mending harness, repairing ox yokes, or oiling and
refitting six-shooters and Winchesters. The stock had all been turned
loose in the care of herders who remained with them to keep them from
straying off, and who would bring them in when they were required. The
old familiar camp kettle and coffee pot were kept simmering over a slow
fire so as to have everything hot at meal time. When the noon hour
arrived, the tail gate of the wagon, which was the door of the grub-box,
was let down to form a table. Each man found for himself a plate, knife,
fork, and tin cup to help himself when the meal was ready. As soon as
dinner was over, they scattered again through the town, some to the
saloon, others to the dance-halls, others to their trading, or to make
arrangements for their next load of freight. After spending some time in
observing all that was to be seen, I returned again to the town. As I was
walking up the street I overheard a conversation between two cow-punchers
whom I afterwards found to be known as "Broncho Jack" and "Slim Jim." They
were arguing about Slim's ability to ride a broncho called "Gabe," that
Jack had brought to camp that morning. This argument led to the general
result--not a fight, as I supposed it would, but to a bet. The
conversation ran about as follows:

S. J.--Say, Jack, I see you bringing in Old Gabe this morning. What are
you dragging that old skate around for? Why don't you shoot him, or don't
you want to waste a cartridge? Going to sell or trade him?

B. J.--Oh, I just brought him in, as I thought some tenderfoot might want
to take his lady-love out for a ride, and Gabe would afford some fun.

S. J.--You don't suppose any tenderfoot, nor anybody else wants to be seen
riding that old crow-bait around with a young lady? He can't travel fast
enough to work up a sweat.

B. J.--Can't he? He has enough life and vinegar in him to throw any
puncher on the "81" ranch, and don't you forget it!

S. J.--Oh, pshaw! Jack, you talk like an old parrot my mother used to have
down in San Antonio. He would repeat anything he heard and when he could
not hear anything, he talked to himself.

B. J.--Money is what talks in Dodge City, and I'll bet you five dollars
you can't ride that broncho two blocks without getting thrown.

S. J.--I'll take that bet if you'll make it three blocks. I don't care
about short rides. Why, I can ride all over the old goat and make
cigarettes while doing it.

B. J.--Say, Slim; that old horse will throw you so high that the sparrows
will build nests in your leggins before you come down.

S. J.--That will be all right! Where have you got that old mouse-colored
critter, and where do you want the money put up?

B. J.--He's around here in Cox's corral, and we can put the money up in
Kelly's hands.

S. J.--All right! Let's go and put the money up and get down to business.

I went along to see the fun, and especially to see how it would terminate.
We entered a saloon finely furnished, with a mirror behind the bar that
cost more than the average 160-acre farm in that country. We approached a
big, two-fisted, well-dressed man who stood before the bar. Jack addressed
him as Mr. Kelly, the man decided upon to hold the stakes. He explained
his mission and asked him to hold the money pending the test of
horsemanship. Mr. Kelly replied, "I'll hould anything yese give me, but I
would loike to know what will be done with the money in case the young man
is kilt." "Oh," says Jack, "just treat the crowd and let the balance go to
the house." "All right," said Kelly. Slim agreed to the proposal.

B. J.--Well, Slim, you had better take a cold drink before you start, or
make arrangements to have some one throw you a bottle of water, as the old
pony will throw you so high that you may die of thirst before you come
down.

S. J.--Never mind! I'll take that drink after the job is done. Let's go
and get busy.

By this time quite a crowd had collected and set out to see the fun. I
joined them for the same purpose. It was but a short distance to Cox's
corral. When we arrived there, Slim said to Jack, "Go in and rope your old
dry land turtle. Bring him out here and I'll see what I can do for him."

Jack went in and pitched his rope on a sleepy-looking, pot-bellied,
dun-colored pony that would weigh in the neighborhood of eight hundred
pounds, and led him into the street. Slim procured his saddle, bridle, and
blanket, and proceeded to saddle him. He first put on the bridle and then
put a gunny-sack over it. The purpose of this was to blindfold him till
the saddling was complete. When the saddling began, Old Gabe stood
perfectly quiet, except to take a few short steps, apparently to make sure
that all of his four feet and legs were there. As soon as he was saddled,
Slim said to Jack, "When I crawl his hump, you take off the gunny-sack and
I will take a little ride." As soon as the sack was removed, Old Gabe put
his nose to the ground and went to bucking and bawling like an old cow. He
bucked about six or eight rods, but found he could not throw Slim in that
manner. Then he stood straight up on his hind feet and fell over
backwards. As soon as he struck the ground, Slim was standing beside him.
When he regained his feet Slim was on his back, and then the bucking and
bawling began in earnest. He did the figure eight several times, jumped up
and turned half-way 'round and repeated the same, going in the opposite
direction, alternately. When he found that this was not successful he
headed for an alley close by, bucking and bawling all the time. He worked
like a cyclone among a lot of oil barrels and dry goods boxes,
wheel-barrows, and obstacles of all kinds that littered the alley. He
drove his way through that strange assortment of difficulties until he
reached the open street. Then Slim, by means of the application of spurs
and quirt got him into a gallop. Then I knew that the battle was over and
Old Gabe had met his master. Slim rode back to the crowd and dismounted,
and he and Jack went over to Kelly's to collect the wager. Then the
bantering was continued, as follows:

B. J.--Well, Slim, how does it go?

S. J.--Oh, not bad. I guess I'll take that cold drink you spoke of. I feel
a little thirsty.

B. J.--Yes, and I reckon you feel a little bit sore, too.

S. J.--Oh, shucks! he was a little bit fussy, but he is nothing like those
outlaw horses on the 81 ranch.



CHAPTER IX.

Getting Acquainted With the West--The Character of the Cow-boy--A
Cow-boy's Love Affair, Etc.


Next day I began to breathe easier as I had not witnessed any shooting
scrapes, nor funerals, so I felt rather safe in walking the streets,
although I was rather suspicious of anybody I met wearing a six-shooter.
Nevertheless, I kept on the move, endeavoring to find where I could locate
a good homestead, as that country was nearly all open and unsettled. In my
wanderings I happened into Cox's feed yard where Broncho Jack kept his
horses. I entered the camp house and found Jack and Slim Jim sitting on a
bench and there was every evidence to show that they had been indulging
too freely in "Kelly's Sovereign Remedy for a Sour Disposition." They
seemed very confidential in their conversation, and I could not help
overhearing it. It ran about as follows:

S. J.--Jack, do you know that old nester that settled on the flats out on
Crooked Creek?

B. J.--No, I don't know him, but I heard there was a fellow out there
going into farming and raising fine stock.

S. J.--Well, he's there all right, and has two of the prettiest daughters
I ever saw.

B. J.--What has that to do with you?

S. J.--It has this to do with me. I am done ranching. I am going to drop
off this old broncho and will step right in between the old man's plow
handles and there I'll stay until removed by death, or the County Sheriff.

B. J.--Have you had any introduction to those young ladies, or what is the
matter with you? Have you taken leave of your senses and gone wild?

S. J.--I never had an introduction to them, but I met them at the
post-office and they had a nosebag full of letters and a wheel-barrow full
of papers and books. Oh, I tell you they are educated, or what would they
want with all that printed stuff. I am going farming, that is what I am
going to do.

B. J.--Now I know you are daffy. Talk about farming, don't you know it has
not rained out there in the last eighteen months. I met a traveling
evangelist the other day who told me that he almost had to forego the
pleasure of immersing a class of six cow-punchers for want of sufficient
water to perform the ceremony. He was afraid that if it did not soon rain
he would lose them sure as he would not be able to get them again if they
went back to the ranches before they received his ministrations.

S. J.--Oh, that is all right about the rain! The old man does not need
rain. He has a wind-mill and a trough to water his stock, and I can tell
you that his stock is first class. I saw some of them and the milch cows
had bags on them the size of washtubs and the teats hung down like
baseball bats. He is well fitted in every way. He has a top buggy with a
high back and a low seat all for himself. He wears a white shirt just as
some folks do in Texas when they are running for office. I met his boy on
the train a day or so ago and he shows good raising. He had shoes and
stockings on, and he is no more than fifteen years old. He also had on a
collar and tie and did not swear once while I was talking to him. I asked
him where his pa had got the big stock and he said that they came from
Ohio, and that they were Poland China or something like that.

B. J.--Let me tell you, Slim, if that old man is from Chicago and is a
Republican, he has no use for a cow-puncher or a Democrat, no more than a
pig has for side pockets. He would not want you to picket your horse on
the trail in front of his place, nor to holler in his rain barrel, much
less going to call on one of his daughters. Why, they scare the
children back there and compel them to be good by telling them that the
nasty, old, long-haired cow-puncher will take them away to the ranch where
there is nothing but wild cattle, cow-punchers, tarantulas and centipedes,
and a lot of other reptiles.


[Illustration: CHEYENNE INDIAN GIRL.]


S. J.--Well, I have to leave you Jack, and the next time I see you I shall
be on my honeymoon trip. I am now on my way to the farm to see the lady
that I expect to soon be Mrs. Slim Jim.

B. J.--Good-bye, Jim. Good luck to you!

About two weeks afterwards, Broncho Jack and I were seated on the bank of
Crooked Creek discussing the situation, whether the opportunities for
making money were better in hunting or picking bones, catching mustangs,
or blacksmithing. I came to the conclusion that the last was the most
conducive to wealth just then, and later on opened up a shop there. During
our conversation Slim Jim rode up. Throwing the reins over his pony's
head, he dismounted and shook hands. Slowly he rolled a cigarette and
began to unbosom himself to Jack.

"Say, Jack," said Slim, "you remember what you told me in the camphouse in
Dodge City the day I left you. You recollect saying what a consarned fool
I was about that young lady, and what you thought of the old man? Say, I
hope to die and go to heaven if every word of what you told me was not
true. I have ridden for two days to tell you what kind of a durn fool I
am. You are a fortune teller, a prophet, a prognosticator. I had not
ridden out to Five Mile Creek until he got to soliloquizing with myself.
You know all cow-punchers do that out on the prairie! Well, I got to
fixing up how to act, what to do and say when I got out there where the
young lady lives. I had read a society book that some fellow from back
East had left at the ranch once. There was some of it torn out, but there
was a lot of it left and I learned a whole lot out of it, and I was going
to govern myself accordingly. It said that a young man in company after
taking his seat, should sit erect and throw his head back, keep his knees
close together, and that chewing tobacco or smoking cigarettes was not
good form. Under no circumstances should the young man wear spurs, carry a
gun, especially in the company of the young lady with whom he is anyways
intimate. I guess that book was written for the Texas trade, as there was
a proviso that gun-wearing would be permissible if there were other
gentlemen present. If there was anything about the disposal of the hands,
it must have been torn out or I forgot it. It was most likely torn out, as
that crowd of boys at the ranch would tear the leaves out of their
mother's Bible to make a cigarette. I can ride a horse or throw a rope,
but what to do with my hands when I entered the house was beyond me. I
knew how to hold my head, chest, and knees, but I could not for the life
of me figure out what to do with those hands. I felt as if each hand was
as big as a ham and the nearer I approached the house, the larger they
seemed to grow. I felt pretty much like a Hottentot. He is usually
pictured with a very depleted wardrobe. He has no books of instruction on
the art of going into society, and I am of the opinion he had just as much
trouble with his hands as I had. I guess he just folded his hands across
his manly chest and backed in. By the time I arrived at the Mulberry Ranch
I had decided to do all I knew and trust to luck for the rest. When I had
staked out my pony, I went in and slicked up some. I washed, combed my
hair, brushed my clothes, and then took about three fingers of old Tom
Duggan's best bourbon, not as a stimulant, but to put some color in my
cheeks. As soon as the bourbon began to show some of its efficacy, I put
on a couple of rings I had bought in Dodge and headed for the old man's
ranch, letting my hands take care of themselves. In my generosity of
feeling I pictured myself being invited to supper and perhaps even being
requested to spend the night at the old man's. With an eye to putting an
appearance on things I was going to try to trade some long-horned stock
for some of his short-horns. I was in terror lest the young lady I was yet
to choose, would smell my breath, and if the old man and his family were
prohibitionists, I knew it would be all up with my chances. However, I was
encouraged in the knowledge of the fact that this was to be my first call
and I was not likely to get within breath-smelling distance of the lady of
my choice. Regardless of consequences, I turned in and rode up to the
hitching post, dismounted, took off my spurs and my gun, and then set out
for the house. It seemed miles from that hitching-post to the front door.
I finally covered the distance and rapped gently on the panel as I did not
want them to think I was one of those rough, roaring, cow-punchers--the
kind you mentioned. I listened attentively for one of those gentle
footfalls, or the sound of an angelic voice bidding me to enter. I
imagined once I heard the rustle of a silk dress but I am satisfied now
that I was mistaken as I believe the sound was caused by the girls husking
roasting ears for supper. You know that husking green corn makes a kind of
squeaking noise. I did not have long to wait as I heard the sound of
footsteps--the kind a bull moose makes when in trouble. The door was
thrown open savagely and I was confronted by an old man who weighed about
two hundred and fifty pounds. He had a face like a full moon with side
whiskers to match and a moustache that resembled a second-hand shoe brush.
He wore a white shirt with a home-made collar that reached to his ears. I
tell you he was a fierce looking object. He stared me straight in the eye
and said, "What can I do for you?" Now, Jack, you know that I am a fairly
good talker, but right there my voice failed me. I could not utter a word
if my life depended upon it. To make matters worse, he kept those two big
eyes on me just like a dog setting a quail. My throat became all tied up
in a knot, but after a pause I pulled myself together and asked him if he
was bothered by any range cattle breaking through his fences. I thought I
would get him into conversation in that way, and said that the range
foreman had asked me to make the inquiry. He turned and slammed the door
in my face. My love that a few moments before threatened to burn a hole in
my shirt, was turned to hate. I detest that old man, and what makes my
hatred more intense is the fact that when I was riding away I saw the
girls laughing and making fun of me. I have come to the conclusion that I
had better stick to the ranching as I never did care much for farming
anyway. As for society and things like that, I abominate them."



CHAPTER X.

What One Sheep Rancher Did--Entertaining a Hobo--A Practical Joke.


About the year 1877, an extensive sheep ranch was established in the
Panhandle by a Mr. Southerland. He came from California and bought up the
range in the neighborhood of the Adobe Walls, for the purpose of
transferring his flocks from that far off State, where the grazing was
getting very scarce, to the northern part of Texas, where there abounded
better opportunities for pasturage. He was not the only one to cast a
longing eye upon that territory, for many cattlemen from the same State as
Mr. S--, also visited the Panhandle district looking for grazing grounds.
As Mr. S. was the first to acquire rights there, the story in this chapter
will deal with his men and his flocks.

When he returned to California after securing the title to the property,
he sent his step-son, Bill Anderson, in charge of the drive from his
native State to the new range. Besides the thousands of sheep that were in
his care he brought along a few hundred head of horses and burros with
enough Mexican help to make the drive successful. Of course, there was
quite an outfit of mules and wagons to transport the equipage of an
expedition of this kind. There was no opportunity of going to the corner
grocery for supplies, nor was there any chance of securing them along the
way, as the journey led over hills, mountains and canyons, amongst wild
tribes of Indians, from California to Texas. It was a tremendous
undertaking, but Bill was equal to the occasion.

He was a man of iron nerve, a good shot with either six-shooter or
winchester and his skill and daring in roping wild animals excited the
admiration of even the hardiest of his followers. It was a common thing
for him to ride into a herd of buffalo, rope and hog-tie one, and then
turn him loose again, just, as he used to say, to show the boys how it was
done. Along with his great physical courage and fortitude, there existed
another quality often found in men of rugged health and spirits. Bill was
a practical joker, and in the pursuit of his endeavors to provoke a laugh
he spared neither age, sex, nor previous condition of servitude. It seems
to me that I can hear his merry laughter ringing in my ears though many
years have passed since I had the pleasure of being in his company. His
was a sunny disposition and the dark side of a cloud never appealed to
him. He saw the brightness ahead long before it was visible to others.
Such was the leader of the expedition that set out from California, and
many a merry yarn or joke lessened the burden of the long drive.

At the outset of the journey, the Mexican herders were started off with a
supply of bacon and coffee, besides having burros laden with bedding and
other utensils. He divided the whole flock into smaller sections, each
with a herder in charge. They moved along in close proximity to one
another for the sake of company as they would likely be out on the road
for weeks, and would return to camp only when in want of provisions. If
fresh meat were wanted, all they had to do was to kill a lamb, or procure
some of the wild game that infested the way, such as antelope, wild
turkeys, prairie chickens, quail and other game. Their horses did not
require much attention as there was plenty of grass and water was easily
located.

Thus they kept on their way during the long weeks, day succeeding day with
the same monotonous routine. Finally they reached their range in safety,
glad that the long and tedious journey was completed. Here they made their
first improvements in the way of a settled habitation. They constructed a
dugout and covered it over with poles and willows. On these they piled a
layer of soil to turn the rain. The furnishing of the dugout was of the
simplest kind. A split log to sit on, a table made in the same way with
sapplings for legs, was all they had in the way of household furniture.
Their bedchamber consisted of the open prairie with the blue sky above
them for a canopy. This done, they were at home for friends and neighbors.

Among the members of the outfit that followed Anderson from California,
was a faithful and trusted employee named James Farrell. He had been with
them for years and was one of the family. He was a shrewd man and one hard
to deceive. One thing he felt proud of was that Bill Anderson never
succeeded in working off a practical joke at his expense. He boasted of
the fact that Bill had often tried, but always failed and he felt
confident that he would never succeed. And thereby hangs the following
tale:

One day as Bill was sitting in front of the dugout doing nothing in
particular and having lots of time to do it in, he spied a man in the
distance coming toward him on foot. This was something very unusual in
those days, as a man on foot in the prairie is very much like a man in the
middle of the Atlantic, he feels as though he is twenty miles from nowhere
and does not know how to get there. Bill came to the conclusion that the
man afoot was some cow-puncher that had been thrown from his horse. He
soon discovered his mistake, for the stranger proved to be a veritable
hobo. He gave no information regarding himself, and it was impossible to
find out anything about him, whence he came, or what profession he
followed to gain a livelihood. He manifested an interest in only one thing
and that was when meal time came. Then he was a whirlwind of energy. He
had been invited to take a supper with the outfit, and Bill even went so
far as to divide his blanket with him, favors which the hobo appreciated
so much that he continued to stay for meals and share the proprietor's
blanket. Time passed on, as time usually does, and the sign of taking his
departure. In fact he seemed so much at home that it seemed impossible to
drive him away. Weeks went by, but still the hobo was not accused of
showing any inclination to work except when the table was to be cleared of
provisions. However, all good things come to an end, and Bill felt that he
had done all that the laws of Western hospitality required and felt
impelled to do something to rid himself of his unwelcome guest. He thought
the matter over carefully. If he offered the hobo a job, the latter turned
the subject of conversation into politics or something else. It was
useless to hint to the star boarder that the climate of other localities
might be better for his health. He seemed proof against hints,
invitations, or even mildly expressed wishes that he would take his
departure. Nothing but personal violence would rid them of his company,
and they were loath to do that. Bill began to worry over the matter. He
went around with a thoughtful look as though he had something serious on
his mind. Finally he determined to lay the matter before Jim to see if he
could not suggest some way to be rid of a guest, who was not only a burden
but a nuisance. After some reflection, it was decided that Jim was to act
crazy, and some time or other when all were assembled at the table, at a
given sign, he was to give a jump, knock over the table, stick his dirk
into one of the rafters of the dugout, and grab his gun and begin to shoot
up the place. Of course, he was not to kill anybody, but the purpose was
to stampede the hobo and set him on his way over the hills to other
localities where he might have an opportunity of showing his staying
qualities.

The next day it happened that Bill and the hobo were down at the corral to
brand some colts. It dawned upon the proprietor that right here was a
brilliant opportunity for a practical joke and at the same time put an end
to Jim's assertions that he could not be tricked by any practical
jokesmith on either side of the Rockies. It made Bill smile. He took a
look around to see if Jim was in the neighborhood and found him sitting
at the door of the dugout braiding a lariat. With an air of simplicity,
and trustfulness he told the hobo that he had something to tell him; that
he was thinking of telling it to him some time ago, and that was as good
an opportunity as would present itself to him to do so. "You know," said
he, in a guileless manner, "Jim has been with me for a number of years and
I have found him one of the best fellows that I have ever known. He is
trusty, and is a good judge of stock. I can rely on him at all times and
he takes as much interest in the work and the ranch as I do myself.
However, he has been a cause of much worry to me. I do not like to tell my
troubles to others but I find I must tell it to someone. I have taken
quite a shine to you and I feel that the confidence I place in you will
not be abused. Well, to bring the matter to a focus, I must tell you that
Jim is subject to spells, and when in that condition is likely to be quite
dangerous. The cause of his condition is this. A few years ago, out in
California he was thrown from his horse and in falling his head struck a
stone. He was quite delirious for a long time. He grew out of his
condition after a year or so, but at certain periods he has a return of
his old illness and is likely to turn things topsy-turvy before we can get
him quited. We have tried everything in the medical line, but it was no
use. We found out by accident, one day, that the only thing that would
restore him to his senses was a jar on the head. He had one of his spells
and made an attack on one of the hands with a knife. The man in
desperation let fly at Jim with his fist and knocked him senseless for
about ten minutes. When he recovered from the blow, he was as rational as
any of us. I know it is painful for us to have to lay violent hands on the
poor fellow, but it must be done, and besides, Jim is very thankful for
our doing it, as he has a very tender heart and would not for anything in
the world be the cause of injury to anyone. The reason I am telling you
this is that I may have to be away some time or other and as you are
pretty well acquainted with the run of things around the ranch, you will
know what to do if the poor fellow has one of those sudden attacks. You
may not feel like doing it, but he will thank you for it when he has
recovered, and besides, Jim thinks a lot of you. When I was leaving
California I promised my poor old mother that I would look after Jim and
see that no harm came, to him on account of his weakness."

When Bill returned to the dug-out, it would not take a mind-reader long to
figure out that there was something going to happen. He kept his face
straight, but he could not conceal the merry twinkle of his eye. He kept
the cause of his merriment to himself, but frequently he would take a look
out of the corner of his eye at Jim and if Jim was not looking, a smile
would spread over his countenance. The thought of working a practical joke
on Jim was too much for him at times and he would have to go outside to
conceal his feelings.

Things went along thus for a few days, but the tension became too great
for him to control himself any longer. One day, at dinner he gave the
pre-arranged signal to Jim. With a yell Jim jumped up upset the table and
spilled the contents all over the floor of the dug-out, grabbed his dirk
and stuck it into the rafter of the dug-out, then pulled his six-shooter
and let blaze. He ploughed up the earthern floor with some of the bullets,
others he sent flying through the roof. All the while he was yelling like
a Comanche Indian on the warpath. By the time he had emptied his gun, the
place was filled with smoke. At the first shot Bill and the others filed
through the door, or rather threw themselves through it, but the hobo
mindful of the instructions given him some time before, worked his way
around through the smoke until he came within arm's length of Jim. He
summoned up all his strength and let fly one of his fists. It was a mighty
blow, delivered with care. It landed on the side of Jim's head and sent
him reeling and senseless into a pile of gunny-sacks lying in the corner.
With an eye to the necessity of further ministrations if necessary, he
stood looking at the poor fellow lying there. In a minute or more, Jim
opened his eyes and reached for his gun. It was empty of course, and he
reached for his cartridge box also. Bill looked in through the door when
he heard no noise. He saw what Jim was doing and also noted by the flare
in his eyes that there was going to be moments of activity there as soon
as he succeeded in getting the chambers of his 45 filled. He took one look
at the hobo, and uttered the word "run." Without waiting any further
instructions, the hobo fairly flew through the door and bounded away like
a cat pursued by a bull dog. Jim dashed for the door with his weapon ready
for vengeance. He saw the fleeing figure bounding over the prairie and let
fly at him with the six-shooter. Happily for all concerned, he was too
excited to take aim, and consequently all of his shots went wild. Every
shot seemed to increase the speed of the swiftly running hobo. He was over
the hill and far away in about the shortest time he ever made. Jim looked
around the end of the dug-out and found Bill and his companions rolling on
the ground and holding their sides with laughter. He realized immediately
that there was something strange about the whole affair. It seemed more
than he could stand. "Bill Anderson," said he, "I believe you are at the
bottom of all this. If I were certain of it I would send you back to
California on a pair of wooden legs, but out of respect for your good old
mother whose feeling I would not like to hurt on account of a 'bloody
spalpeen' like you, I want to warn you never to do the like of it again."
Jim never afterwards made the boast that he could not be tricked by any
one on either side of the Rockies.

Bill sold out the ranch sometime afterwards for $125,000, and the last I
saw of him he was setting out for Old Mexico.

If Jim ever had any more crazy spells, I never heard of it.



CHAPTER XI.

The Man From Missouri; An Attempt at Dry Farming, etc.


While out hunting one day, about 18 miles south of Dodge City, I chanced
to meet a stranger who inquired the way to the nearest horse corral. In
the twinkling of an eye I took an inventory of his outfit, and I must say
that it was good. He had a fine team of young mules, a three seated spring
wagon covered over, harness all covered over with brass mountings. His
wife and children who were with him were well-dressed and he himself
showed traces of being well bred and was rather a good talker. His
conversation showed refinement, though at times he sandwiched in a mild
cuss-word to emphasize his statements. From his bearing I could see that
he was rather high-strung. Before giving the required information I
ventured to ask if he was going to take up land for the purpose of
farming. He said that that was his intention. I looked the family over and
felt sorry for them, knowing what they would have to endure on a claim. I
had not the same regrets for proprietor of the outfit as I felt that a
little experience and exposure was what was needed to round out his
character. The more I explained the general conditions of the neighborhood
of his destination, the more he seemed determined to go. I explained to
him that others from the different states of the East had tried to raise
crops and made a failure of the venture, and returned to their several
homes disgusted with the West. "Oh, pshaw!" said he, "I have heard that
same tale of woe more than a dozen times during the last three days, and
the land-agents in Dodge City told me that yarn was fabricated expressly
by the cow-men to discourage the farmers from settling on the range and
cutting off their supply of pasture." "Moreover," said he, "I have a
little provision made for the future and can stand it as long as any of
them."

During my interview with that gentleman, I learned that his name was
Waugh, that he was a native of Pennsylvania, and had been living in
Missouri on a rented farm during the preceding two years. He had become
dissatisfied with the state and had come farther West to improve his
fortunes. I ask him if he did not think it better to return to Missouri
where his children would have the advantage of schools, and he and his
wife would be able to enjoy some society rather than establish a home on a
raw prairie. He replied, "I see, stranger, that you have never lived in
Missouri. I tell you those folk back there don't know the war is over yet,
and besides one's standing in society depends upon how many hounds one
keeps and, also, on the length of one's whiskers. Why, don't you know that
there was only one razor in the neighborhood where I lived and that was
owned by the school teacher. He was some up on social niceties. Once in
awhile he used to go to St. Joe to have his hair cut and the back of his
neck shaved and this caused some of the patrons of the school to threaten
to take their children away from him if he did not stop such unwarranted
proceedings. I am sure they would have done so if they had known that he
used to go down to the creek every Saturday night to take a bath. No
Siree, I do not want any more of Missouri in mine. The first year I worked
there I did fairly well. I made about half a crop. The next year was a
complete failure. I raised nothing, absolutely nothing, and when I saw the
hens bringing leaves from the timber to build nests, I told Hannah to put
out the fire and call the dog and we would start for Kansas."

The next time I met Mr. Waugh was one afternoon about three months later.
I noted that his mules had fallen away in flesh, and on inquiring about
his general condition, he stated that things were in poor condition. He
said the grass had been poor and that it was impossible to procure corn
for the cattle. In fact he had not plowed nor put in any crops. He
informed me that it had not rained since he had taken up his claim and to
plow was out of the question. The only line of work open for him was to
gather buffalo bones. He said that things had come to such a pass that he
had to exchange some of his belongings for others not as good. His spring
wagon had to go for an old lumber-wagon as he could not use the spring
affair in the work of gathering the bones. In this trade he received a cow
to boot.

When next I met him he had traded off his mules and brass-mounted harness
for a one-eyed mule and a pony, receiving boot on that occasion also in
the shape of a sewing machine and a shot gun, with a set of chain harness
thrown in for good measure. He said he preferred the chain harness as the
dry weather did not affect the corn-husk collars and if it rained he could
throw it on the ground and it would suffer no injury from the moisture.
Shortly after this he came to my blacksmith shop to have the wheels of his
wagon set. Before that he used to soak them in the bed of the creek, but
as the water in the creek bottom failed, he had to bring them to me to set
them.

The last time I had the opportunity of meeting Mr. Waugh, he was camped at
the creek with his family. He was busy at the camp-fire cooking his meal
at the time. After the usual greetings, I ventured to ask him how he liked
farming. He seemed very despondent. "Don't talk to me about farming in
this desolate country," said he. "It has not rained enough between here
and the head of the creek since I have been here to wet a postage stamp.
Moreover, there are skunks enough up there to drive the Standard Oil Co.
out of business, and coyotes without number. They gave us no rest. They
would steal a chicken out of the pot while it was boiling on the fire."
"Why," he continued, "You know old man Spriggins up there? Well, only
last week his chickens got so all-fired hungry that they went out on the
trail and tried to hold up a bull-train to get some corn. I would not have
believed myself if I had not seen it. I tell you those chickens were
getting desperate and you would have believed it if you had seen that
Shanghai rooster strutting back and forth in front of those oxen and
crowing. When the old man saw it himself he went down to John Conrads and
traded his old fiddle and a cultivator for some Kaffir corn."

"Well," said I, "you filed on a claim, didn't you?"

"Not that any one knows of," said he. "I caught on to that game in time to
save my fourteen dollars. It is nothing but a gambling game anyway, and I
believe that the same law applies to poker and other games of chance,
ought to reach Uncle Sam for trying to unload a lot of worthless land on a
lot of poor suckers that can't help themselves. Why, he don't take any
chance at all. He simply puts up one hundred and sixty acres of parched
vacancy against your fourteen dollars that you can't remain on it for five
years without starving, to comply with the contract he makes with you. I
tell you he has a dead sure thing here in Kansas. He has made some good
winnings. Some of those claims he has won back five or six times each and
he still holds the land waiting for another sucker to come along."

Well, then, I said, you are not inclined to engage in agriculture, nor to
remain in this part of the country, are you?

"Not if I know myself," he replied, "and I think it about time I was
becoming wise. You told me the whole unvarnished truth about this country
the first time I met you and if I had taken your advice I would not be in
this disagreeable fix."

Here he took a side glance at his one-eyed mule, which seemed to raise his
temperature to about 160 in the shade. He then raised his voice to
correspond with the temperature, and striking his hands together said;
"any gosh-durned country that gets so dad-burned dry that it will take an
antelope--and he is the fastest animal there is--twenty four hours solid
traveling to find a drink of water, is a little too dry for me. I am going
back to Pennsylvania. That state will be good enough for me for all the
time to come."

He hitched up his one-eyed mule and made ready to go. I bade him good-bye.
He nodded, clucked to his mule and rode away.



CHAPTER XII.

Colonization Indian Scares; Organizing in Self Defense, etc.


In the autumn of the year of 1878, a gentleman by the name of John Joplin
was sent out from Zanesville, Ohio, to select a suitable place in Western
Kansas for the purpose of locating a colony. The intention was to start a
co-operative business in farming. After surveying the country at large, he
came to the conclusion that the Crooked Creek valley, Meade County, where
I was living at the time, was the most desirable for the purpose. He
returned home and gave a glowing report of what he had done, and his
efforts and report received the approval of the future colonists. They
made their arrangements and moved westward in the following spring. When
they had reached their destination, they learned that Chief Dull Knife, a
leader of a band of northern Chyenne Indians, had left the reservation at
Ft. Reno where he and his followers were held as prisoners of war.
Followed by a numerous retinue of tribesmen he started for the Black Hills
and had passed through the Crooked Creek Valley, killing the settlers.
They continued on their way, killing, burning, and destroying everything
and everybody in sight until they were re-captured at Ft. Robinson,
Nebraska. From there they were brought back and placed on the reservation
once more.

The particulars of the Dull Knife Raid will be given in another chapter.

Needless to say, these reports caused considerable excitement in the
valley. Every few days rumors were circulated that the Indians were
returning, or would return as soon as the grass had begun to sprout
again. Hardly had one rumor died until another was put into circulation.
Excitement reached such a degree that all deemed it necessary to organize
for protection. A meeting was called which all the settlers were invited,
or requested, to attend. The Colonists assembled at the dug-out of a Mr.
M. B. Wilson, one of the leading spirits of the movement, to devise ways
and means for protection in case the Indians should return. After a
general discussion of the prevailing conditions, it was unanimously agreed
that we should appeal to the Governor of Kansas for fire arms, as there
were few of us that had any, many had none, and some had no money to
purchase them, and some that did have them, had very little knowledge of
their use. Our secretary was instructed to write to the governor, explain
the conditions of affairs, and request him to send us the necessary guns
and ammunition with which to protect ourselves against the Indians in case
they should make another descent on the valley, which they would likely do
as they were threatening to leave the reservation and go on the warpath a
second time. After a good deal of correspondence and red tape we succeeded
in getting the governor's attention, and he kindly informed us, after
several week's delay, that if we wanted any assistance from the state, we
should join the militia. He informed us that when we were duly sworn in,
he would send the necessary arms for protection of our homes and families.
To the disinterested reader this action on the part of the governor may
seem magnanimous, but to the settler whose family was living in a dug-out
with nothing to protect them but a fire shovel or a hatchet in case of an
Indian raid, it looked very much like a case of criminal neglect. Another
meeting was called, and it was well attended. There were many women
present who seemed anxious to organize a company for the protection of
their homes. After some discussion it was decided to organize and join the
militia. Among those present was a veteran of the Civil war. He was
elected Captain on his war record--one of the home-made kind, as none of
his comrades of the war recollected any time or place where he performed
any deed of valor--as he would most likely know the best thing to do at
the proper time. To hear the Captain tell of his numerous exploits, the
number of men took prisoners of war, how he had on several occasions
leaped over the breastworks of some beleagured fort in the midst of a
shower of grape and canister, and tore down the Confederate flag, one
would think that he, Capt. Milligan, bore a charmed life. It seemed
strange to me that such a thoughtful man as Abe Lincoln did not send
somebody down south to assist the Captain as he seemed to be doing all the
heavy fighting himself. Such was our captain, the last and the greatest of
the Milligans up to that time, and it would require a remarkable scion to
eclipse his record, if one hundredth part of what he said was true.

Returning to the thread of my story, and I hope you will pardon the
digression but it would be impossible to pass over the merits of our
worthy Captain without bringing to the notice of the world at large his
claims to the honor conferred upon him, we elected G. W. Brown First
Lieutenant, Mr. Gantz, Second Lieutenant, and C. M. Rice, Sergeant. The
above officers were veterans, or had been scouts, and the remainder
required to complete the contingent had no military experience whatever.
We instructed the secretary to notify the governor that we had organized
and were ready to be sworn into the State Militia. We did not actually
want to join the militia, but would rather join the Women's Relief Corps,
or the Suffragette Movement, or the Populist party, anything to get the
guns and ammunition. (The swearing part of the program did not play a very
important part as there had been enough swearing done along the Creek
already over the Governor's indolence and failure to send the relief
requested, yes, enough to have sworn in seven regiments with some to
spare.)

As the assemblage was about to disperse, some one called for a speech.
Others called on Capt. Milligan to harangue the multitude. This was kept
up until the Captain, with all the dignity of a well trained
parliamentarian, condescended to make a few remarks to show his
appreciation of the favor conferred upon him, etc. He selected a small
knoll from which to deliver himself of the sentiments that filled his
manly breast. He assumed the pose of an orator of the old school and
delivered a discourse in something like the following words:

"Fellow Citizens, Ladies and Gentlemen: We are now on the eve of a
terrible conflict to decide whether the white man with tens of thousands
of years of civilization, culture and refinement behind him, or the wily
undomesticated, uncivilized, uncouth, uncultured, unrefined, undressed
savage will rule the plains. Whether the untutored savage will continue to
water the virgin soil of the rolling prairie with the blood of the best of
our citizens, or whether the white man shall give to the unlimited area of
the plains the advantage of a training developed by centuries of progress
in the arts of peace and agriculture. (Cheers, and hurrah for Milligan). I
am here to state my views and express my sentiments on the question that
each and every one of us is debating in the depths of the individual
heart." It was quite evident that the Captain was laboring under
difficulties, as he delivered the above in a very hesitating manner. What
he lacked in fluency of speech, he made up by violence and frequency of
gestures. He swung his arms and stamped his feet to emphasize the degree
of his perturbation while contemplating in advance the horrors to which
they were to be subjected. He became so wrapped up in his subject and was
so earnest in his endeavors to move his hearers, that he did not realize
that he was standing on a hill inhabited by a colony of red ants; nor was
he aware that a regiment of them had set out to explore the depths of his
unmentionables and were at that very moment making rapid progress through
the recesses of his underwear. Suddenly he became aware of something
peculiar about his feelings and to cover the difficulty under which he was
laboring, and at the same time to prove to his hearers that his reputation
was above reproach and his patriotism beyond question, he accentuated his
remarks by more violent gestures than before, striking himself on the
thighs and even reaching beyond the limits to which gestures were supposed
to extend, realizing that farther speech with decorum was out of the
question he was compelled by force of circumstances to desist from further
efforts. He made an assault on his personal enemies as best he might under
the circumstances in such a public place. He squeezed and pinched, slapped
and crushed, but the greater the efforts he made, the more they seemed to
be impelled to greater efforts of offense. He rolled up his trouser legs,
as far as public decency would permit, but exposure only drove the enemy
to seek more advantageous hiding places. He could not ask his friends to
help him because it seemed such a personal affair, and besides, they were
at that moment helpless in their efforts to stifle their laughter. In his
desperation he started for the creek, which, fortunately for him, was
close at hand. A clump of hackberry and plum bushes screened him from the
multitude, and in the friendly cover offered him by nature herself, he
began to put the enemy to rout. However, mindful of the position to which
he had been elected, and the duty incumbent on him of stirring them up to
the proper degree of patriotism, he sent word that he would return shortly
to continue his harangue. More than half an hour elapsed before he
returned, and to guard against more interruptions, we pulled an old wagon
to the fore and fixed it up in proper shape for him to continue his
remarks.

Upon his arrival he was assisted by Sergeant Rice and Lieutenant Brown to
mount the newly made rostrum. After apologizing for his abrupt departure,
he continued his address as follows; "Ladies and Gentlemen: I am ready
for the worst if it must come. A brave man dies but once, whilst the
coward dies every time danger approaches. There is no use of being timid
nor chicken-hearted in the present cause. I do not encourage cruelty, but
we must stand firmly together to defend our rights and protect our
families and firesides. (Cheers). For my part I want to emphatically say
that no invader can leave his moccasin track on my threshold, nor disturb
the peace of my household until he has crossed over all that is mortal of
Capt. Milligan. Do you think that I would sit silently and submissively by
and see him shoot down the old family watch-dog, work him up into
bouillion, and eat his repast in the shadow of my "sorghum stack." I say,
No! a thousand times, No! I would prefer to meet their leader in single
combat on the open prairie and when I had driven him from the field of
battle, follow him to his tepee, destroy his totempole, tear his wampum
belt from his body and carry it away as a trophy of the expedition."
(Tumultuous applause.)

As it was getting rather late, and many had long distances to travel
before reaching home, the Capt. closed his harangue, thanking them for
their attention and assuring them that their interests were his interests,
and that he was willing to go to extreme lengths to defend their rights,
and homes.

In a few days we received word that the Governor had instructed Adjutant
General Noble to proceed to Dodge City and thence to Crooked Creek where
he was to receive the oath of allegiance of the colonists, and deliver the
guns and ammunition, and give us such instructions as he deemed necessary
for us in our line of duty. On the following Thursday he arrived and went
through the formality of enlisting us and delivering to us the weapons of
war. Henceforth we were full-fledged members of the Kansas State Militia.
After turning over to us the arms and ammunition, he delivered a short
talk in which he instructed us in our duties to the State and to one
another.

When the arms were distributed, it was found that there was a surplus
left, which came in handy to shoot antelope with afterwards. These guns,
in the meantime, were left in charge of Lieut. Brown. The Adjutant-General
then bade us good-bye and departed for home.

We immediately set to work to provide for our defense. After some
deliberation, we concluded to provide a fortification in which to place
the women and children and all those who might happen to be in the
neighborhood in the time of danger. As funds were lacking, and rock, or
timber was not to be had, we decided to build it of sod. The following
Saturday was the day set aside to vote on the proper location of our
future fortification. On the appointed day, all assembled. They expressed
their willingness and eagerness to do anything to further the project. One
thing each one was determined on was to have it built as near his claim as
possible. It did not take long to arrive at a conclusion regarding the
position in which the fort was to be built. As it was impossible to
satisfy everybody, we abandoned the project entirely, and it was further
decided that each one was to take his share of the guns and ammunition and
take care of himself. Another subject that gave us much concern was the
matter of drilling. The adjutant had told us to become familiar with the
use of the arms, to meet at least once a week and drill to render
ourselves fit for duty. When the time arrived for our first lesson in the
"manual of arms," it was found that there was not a man present who knew
anything about it. The old scouts who were present, knew all about how to
ride a horse, and to lie down in a buffalo wallow and take a shot at an
Indian if one came in sight, and they were, besides, first class hands at
discovering watering places and the like, but in the matter of drill they
were entirely unsophisticated. Even Capt. Milligan, if he ever knew
anything about the matter, declared he had forgotten it entirely. He felt
sure, however, that it would be impossible to perform the proper
manoeuvers with those short-barreled guns, and that if the Governor would
send some with long barrels that he would be right at home in the matter.
As no one seemed capable of conducting the class, we settled the
difficulty in the same manner as we did that of the fort, by abandoning it
also. It was unanimously agreed that in case of trouble, each should go to
the aid of his neighbor if assistance were needed. This was very
satisfactory for me especially, as I was fortunate in the possession of
splendid neighbors, Sergeant Rice living on one side of me, and First
Lieut. Brown on the other. Both were possessed of abundant fighting
material at all times, and knew how to use it in an emergency.

Things seemed to drag along in the usual way, everybody settling down to
his own affairs and everything would have gone along tranquilly enough
were it not for the numerous cowboys passing through the settlement,
spreading reports as they went, that the Indians were mixing war medicine
and would shortly make a descent upon the palefaces. It was a source of
great delight to them to stampede the settlers by disquieting reports, and
then have a good laugh about it. Their efforts at fun kept the settlers in
a state of ferment.

It happened that Capt. Milligan's claim was located on the south side of
the settlement and nearest to the Indian Territory. As he was rather
nervous and always on the alert, he kept inquiring continuously of the
cowboys, of the possibility of an Indian raid, and, of course, they filled
his anxious ear with war news. Nearly every other day I noticed the
Captain calling on either Sergeant Rice or Lieutenant Brown, and as he had
to make a ride of ten miles or so to make the visit, I concluded that
there was some significance to these numerous calls. However, as they were
my superior officers, I did not feel at liberty to make any inquiries
about the Captain's frequent visits. I did not have to curb my curiosity
very long before acquiring the desired information. In a few days I saw
the Captain riding up in my direction on his old bald-faced horse and
could see at a glance that his arrival was something of importance as he
was riding straight up in his saddle with as much dignity as it was
possible for one horse to carry. Upon his near approach I felt that I must
do something to acknowledge the presence of my captain. Not being versed
in military etiquette, I doffed my Stetson hat. As I was leaning against
the fence, with a spade in one hand and my hat in the other, I realized
that my appearance lacked something of the military precision required in
a subordinate, and I apologized for my lack of training in the case. He
dismounted from his horse and condescended to shake hands with me and said
that the salute was only a matter of form anyway; that he understood my
position exactly; that he was a recruit once himself; that on such
occasions as this he could overlook little technicalities of the kind, but
on the field of glory he would have to be more exacting with his men. I
then invited the Captain to take a seat on a cottonwood log near at hand
so that we could discuss matters pertaining to the Company more at leisure
I congratulated him on the choice of officers which he had made.

"Yes," said he, "they are all good men and true, but if I had it to do
over again, I would try to have you act as First Lieutenant of the
Company. Brown is a good man and a good scout and has seen some service
with the Indians, but he lacks aggressiveness. I want men who are
aggressive and who will go into battle as if they are going to breakfast.
By the way," he continued, "I dropped over to see you and to leave orders
for you to go down into the Indian Territory and size up the situation.
Find out if the Indians are in an ugly mood, and if they are likely to
make a raid in the near future. Then report to me on your return and I
will take some steps in the direction that will be best for all concerned.
The cowboys have been circulating some reports concerning an intended
raid, but I do not know whether any credence is to be placed in them or
not. Consequently I decided to come over to see you and send you down to
look the field over, and then I would feel more satisfied, and know just
what action to take in the matter."

I asked the Captain how he expected me to go down there, and who would
bear the expense of my journey.

"Oh," said he, "you can take your own horse, and I suppose the State will
be responsible for any bills you make whilst under my orders." I then
asked him what I should do for food for myself as well as for my horse. A
broad smile lit up his countenance and he replied, "Don't you know that
the cowmen will be more than pleased to have a soldier stop at their
ranches for the feeling of security his presence will engender? Your board
and horse-feed will not have to be considered at all. You can go to the
R-S ranch, the Doc Day ranch, the Y. L. ranch or the Driscoll ranch, and
they will receive you with open arms. I can assure you that no charges
will be even mentioned."

During this short interview I discovered a nigger in the Captain's
wood-pile. The fact was that the cowboys had him half scared to death by
telling him all kinds of Indian war stories. The particular reason he had
in calling on me, was to have me go down to the Territory, and if I was
not scalped while on my mission, and if I found that the Indians were
really going on the warpath, I should report to him without delay so that
he might be able to withdraw his precious(?) person from the zone of
danger and escape to Fort Dodge. I told the Captain that he was somewhat
mistaken in the estimate a cowman places on a soldier as a means of
defense where the Indians were concerned. I assured him that I had learned
their personal views on the subject, and they had arrived at the
conclusion that the soldier was a detriment and an encumbrance to them in
case of trouble with the Indians, and, moreover, they felt quite capable
of taking care of themselves in times of danger from such sources. I went
on to tell him that if he were anxious to have an investigation of
conditions made, he might come over to my place in a day or so and we
would go down together and make the inquiries proper to the occasion, and
that I would feel safer with him than if I were alone. I immediately saw
that the Captain was getting an attack of what the hunters call
"buck-ague." "Thunder and turf," he exclaimed, "I cannot go. I am subject
to orders from the Governor, and I should be in a queer fix if I were
called to duty in some other part of the State while I was down in the
Territory. However, I can order Corporal Copeland to go with you." I told
him that the Corporal had no horse, and it would not be right to send him
on foot. I also informed him that he would have to look around and make
some other arrangements, as my horse was too old, and his knee was sprung
from roping cattle, so that an Indian war horse could catch him without
any trouble. Conditions being such, I told him I did not think I would go.
"What!" he shouted, "you do not mean to disobey orders!" His eyes bulged
out until they looked like old English watches, and his chest measurement
seemed to increase perceptibly. He jumped up from his seat on the log and
started for his horse, saying on his way, "If you persist in disobeying
orders, I shall be forced to disarm you and court-martial you for
insubordination." "Well," said I, "you will raise the deuce
court-martialing me, when there is only five or six members of the Company
who can read or write and they are all on my side." I heard nothing more
from the Captain for several days. Finally I received a letter from him
telling me that he had written to the Governor regarding my disobedience.
I replied to his message, saying that if the Governor was as tardy in
taking action on my case as he was in sending arms and ammunition, I
should die of old age before the matter would be adjusted. I also informed
him that I had received word that the Indians would be in our neighborhood
in a few days, and that he should see to it that means were taken for our
defense. Next day I received another note from him in which he told me
that he had changed his attitude toward me, and that I should call on
Sergeant Rice and Lieutenant Brown and tell them to report to him for duty
at once, and I was to accompany them. The message I received by special
delivery. I made a visit up the creek to see my friends, Rice and Brown,
and reported the change that had taken place in the Captain's attitude,
and also showed them his request and instructions, asking at the same time
their opinions on the matter. Brown replied, "O pshaw, that does not
amount to anything. Those cowboys over on Sand Creek have the old Captain
about frightened to death, and I think we had better remain where we are.
There's not an Indian in the country, and I do not think there will be."
We acted on Brown's suggestion and remained where we were.

At this time the cowmen were holding their Spring round-up on Sand Creek,
to cut out and take back to their ranches the cattle that had drifted off
during the winter, besides branding the calves before turning them loose
again on the range. There were about one hundred cow-punchers at the round
up, all well mounted and well armed. Each man had from three to five
horses in his mount, all in good shape because they had been grain fed for
the occasion. Their arms consisted of Winchesters and six-shooters. There
had been so many rumors circulated about the possibility of an Indian raid
that all went prepared for any emergency. One day while they were all
lying around awaiting the arrival of the round-up herds from the
Southeast, a happy thought occurred to them to put to the test the bravery
of Captain Milligan, of which they had heard much, thinking at the same
time to have some sport at his expense. They formed a company of about
thirty, dressed up like Indians, or near enough to the real thing to be
mistaken for them at a distance. The leader was fitted with a red saddle
blanket decorated with sage brush for a war bonnet, with a few cat tails
for plumes. He looked more like a grizzly bear than an Indian, but his
appearance was well calculated to strike terror into the heart of any
civilized human being, especially when everyone was looking for trouble
from such a source anyway. The rest of the crowd dressed up as each saw
fit, carrying their hats inside their shirts so as to travel bareheaded
after the Indian fashion. When all was ready they took a direct route for
Captain Milligan's place. They all knew how to render the Cheyenne war
whoop when the proper time arrived, and the leader rode along at a
moderate pace chanting his war song. They came to a halt to decide whether
they should burn him alive, or capture him and hold him for ransom. One
man said it was useless to hold him for any ransom as he knew most of the
company, and as for burning him alive, he did not think there was a
cow-puncher in the crowd that would waste time necessary to gather chips
for the sacrifice. In the meantime the chief kept ranging around and
waving his hands, keeping his war bonnet as much in evidence as possible.
They moved up to a position within about a quarter of a mile of the
Captain's house and then gave a war whoop. By this time the object of the
joke became aware of their presence and felt his peril keenly. He made a
dash for his corral where he kept a little, old, notch-eared, sore-backed
pony that he always kept saddled for any emergency. To say that he went
rapidly, is putting it mildly--he fairly flew. When he got started the
Indians(?) made a rush to capture him, firing at him in the meanwhile.
They remained a safe distance behind so as to be sure not to capture him,
but kept up the shouting and whooping for about two miles. The Captain
took the shortest course to Fort Dodge, and the cowboys returned to camp
laughing heartily at the brave man's flight.

When the Captain had made about five miles of his hasty retreat, he
happened upon one of his neighbors, Mike O'Shea, who had begun to dig a
well. As he passed in his headlong flight he shouted to Mike, "Tell Rice
and Brown they are here, and I am going to Fort Dodge for relief and
succor." He was in too great a hurry to stop and explain the cause of his
excitement, and as Mike explained it afterwards, he said he thought he was
going for a "thafe and sucker" or something of the kind, or maybe it was
"relafe and supper, or something like that." He also noticed that the
Captain's horse was almost out of breath, and the gentleman himself was
very much excited.

Whilst Rice and Brown were interviewing Mike, another man came along and
stated that he had seen the Captain about ten miles north, and he reported
having had an engagement with the Indians that day at his claim, and said
that he had stood them off until they had retired. As he was about out of
ammunition at the time of their departure, he took advantage of their
retreat to make his way to Fort Dodge for relief and succor. He did not
say how many he had killed, but maintained that he had a very narrow
escape.

I suppose, if Captain Milligan is alive today, he does not fail to tell of
the time he stood off five hundred Cheyenne Indians, single-handed and
alone, and how, after driving them off, he beat them to Fort Dodge in
quest of aid.

A few days after the encounter with the supposed Indians, Lieutenant Brown
received the following note from the Captain:

    Fort Dodge, Kansas, April--,'79.

    Lieutenant Brown:

    Dear Comrade:--I am in receipt of a telegram from the Governor,
    ordering me to go at once to Topeka, to take charge of the
    strike-breakers. The railroad employees have gone out on a strike, and
    it will take the strong arm of the militia to hold them in check. Sell
    my land and all my effects, and forward the proceeds to my address,
    which will be, State Capitol, Topeka.

    Yours in command,
        Captain Milligan.

    P. S. Regards to all the comrades.

Thus terminated the war of 1879.



CHAPTER XIII.

A New Venture.--Hard Times.--The Territory, Etc.


For three years, from 1879 to 1882, it seemed as if the very elements had
conspired to render the attempt at settling Western Kansas futile. The
continuous drouth, together with the hot winds, made any attempt at
farming discouraging. As a consequence a great many settlers sold their
holdings for what they could get for them, and returned to their former
place of abode. The gathering of buffalo bones, which had been their chief
source of subsistence during that trying time, was beginning to fail owing
to the great number engaged in the business, and the distance they had to
be hauled and the ever receding base of supply. Many abandoned the work
entirely, and the few that remained actively engaged in that occupation
found themselves daily meeting greater difficulties. The scarcity of the
supply became so great that they would often be compelled to go a hundred
miles or more to gather a load, haul them to the nearest trail, and then
transfer them to some freighter on the way to Dodge City, the only market
for them in the country. To make the exchange and have them taken to
market usually required a division of the profits, and one can easily
imagine what a small share was left for the original collector when the
goods were sold. No matter how small the profit, on this the gatherer had
to subsist as well as supply his family with necessaries during his
absence. There was hardly sufficient remuneration in the work to obtain
the plainest of provisions.

To the young people of America who may perhaps be reading this little
story of the early settlement of the West, in the comfortable surroundings
of their own cozy homes, I will say that they know little of the price
paid to make such conditions possible. I have frequently seen, on the top
of a wagon loaded with bones, a gunny sack containing the skeleton of a
man, that had been picked up by some freighter or some cowman or some
settler, and put in the sack to be taken to Dodge City for burial. That
gunny sack contained a sermon as well as a skeleton. It told of the
certainty of death as well as of the uncertainty of life. It told the
reason why father, mother, Mary, Ellen and Julia never received a reply to
their last letter, written to John, Jake or Jim, marked on the lower
left-hand corner, "In haste, please," to be sure of prompt delivery. Quite
likely, when the poor old mother would be grieving over the long
disappointment, the girls would encourage her by saying, "Oh, that is one
of his pranks. He is just waiting until we are all quite lonesome, and
then he will come rushing in upon us to take us by surprise." He has never
returned, but the family still keeps alive the glimmer of hope that
flickers in the human breast, that they will all meet again, somewhere.

Confronted with such conditions as mentioned above, with no indications of
any relaxation of the drouth that was compelling even the big ranchmen to
look around for water, we saw a very gloomy outlook for the future.

After weighing the matter carefully, I decided to make a change in my
business affairs. I took into my confidence a cow-puncher named Bill
Wagner, who is now living in Meade, Kans. Having fully discussed the
situation from all points, we determined to embark together on a course
that would at least promise us some profit from the undertaking. We made
up our minds to go down into the Territory and trade with the cattlemen
who were coming North with their herds from Texas, on their way to Montana
or Wyoming, either to sell or turn loose to graze on the Northern range.
We rounded up a few saddle horses, among which was my old favorite Jimmy,
and set out for Dodge City to purchase the supplies necessary for the
journey. I also wanted to deposit some money and dispose of some mules
that I would not need, on my trip. On my arrival at Dodge City I formed
the acquaintance of James Langton, who introduced me to a Mr. R. M.
Wright, of the firm of Wright, Beverly & Co., who were engaged in a
Wholesale Supply business. I found Mr. Wright one of the most genial men
with whom I ever did business. Having previously sold my mules, I
deposited my money with the firm I was introduced to. I told Mr. W. that I
intended to go down into the Territory on a trading expedition. I
explained to him that the cattlemen would be on the trail, and as there
were no stores to be found between the Red river on the North line of
Texas and where we were then standing, there would be a good opportunity
to trade provisions for some cattle that had become sore-footed on the
way, with a good profit for me. He agreed with me that it was a golden
opportunity, and added as an encouragement, "You will do well, if the
Indians do not scalp you in the meantime." I replied that as conditions
existed on Crooked Creek, a man would be no worse off dead in the
Territory than living where I had been. I saw very little difference.

I loaded my wagon with what goods I thought would be most in demand by the
cattlemen. I selected a considerable quantity of tobacco, bacon, baking
powder, canned goods of several kinds, a coil of rope, cartridges of
different calibre, coffee, sugar, and some other things--all necessary on
the trail. I also bought a tent and cooking outfit. The latter consisted
of a coffee-pot, skillet, frying-pan, coffee-mill, six knives and forks,
six tin plates, six cups and saucers, the latter of tin, in order to
provide against the possibility of our having some company on the road. By
the time I had my trading done, Wagner was ready and waiting. We hitched
up and pulled across the river, where we encamped for the night. Part of
the horses we hobbled, and two we kept picketed in order to guard against
being left on foot the next morning if anything should stampede our stock
during the night. When the stock had been cared for, we proceeded to make
arrangements for ourselves, and while Wagner cooked the flapjacks I was
looking around for sleeping accommodations, as it was difficult to find a
place level enough to suit the purpose. The making of our beds did not
cost much effort, but one had to guard against sand-burrs, cactus,
tarantulas, rattlesnakes and centipedes.

The next morning found us up early after a good sound sleep, and hustling
around to get ready for the first day of our new venture. When we had
tended to the wants of the stock and ourselves, we hitched up and started
off at a slow pace, as the team was not accustomed to the heavy work, and
it would take some time for them to become inured to the hardship of the
trail. Out across Five Mile Creek and up the divide along the old Camp
Supply route until we reached the summit, we made our toilsome way. We
reached the apex about noon time and halted for dinner. After giving the
horses a good rest, we proceeded on our way, and as our route now lay down
grade we made better time. Evening found us at Mulberry Creek, where
Johnny Glenn and Dutch Pete kept a road ranch. This roadside caravansary
served as a halting place for the stage coach, and furnished refreshments
for passengers when needed. As there was a good camping ground there, we
unhitched and turned the horses out to graze and made preparations for our
own accommodation. When we had eaten supper, we brought the horses in for
the night, and then after chatting and smoking for some time we turned in
for a good night's rest. Early morning found us on our way again towards
the South. We kept rumbling along until we reached the division point of
the stage line, where horses were changed by the driver, P. G. Reynolds.
This location, I believe, is not very far from where the present town of
Ashland, county seat of Clark county, is situated. Here we stopped and had
dinner at what was called the Widow Brown ranch. From this place we
proceeded down the Bear Creek trail and reached the Cimmaron River that
same evening. The river being up, we could not cross, and we camped on the
North bank not far from where an old German named Clem maintained a road
ranch. The river as I said was full and this may seem strange, as it had
not rained in this section for more than three months. The cause of the
rise lay in the fact that there had been considerable rain in Colorado.
This added to the snow melting on the mountains made the river rise to its
full capacity. Here we had to remain for three days, waiting till the
waters would subside enough to permit a crossing. We were not the only
ones that met with an obstacle in our progress by the river's behavior,
but it proved a boon to us as well as adding to our store of knowledge. On
the other bank of the river were cowpunchers with their herds waiting to
cross also. It was amusing and instructive to us to watch them in their
efforts to induce the leaders of the herds to take to the water. When a
puncher succeeded in getting the leaders into the stream, he would ride or
swim his pony alongside of them to keep them from milling, or drifting
down the river. It was very exciting to watch those herds crossing the
swollen stream with the cowboys yelling and whooping among them. It seemed
as if pandemonium had taken a holiday. By the time the last of the herds
had crossed, the river had subsided somewhat, and we pulled over to the
opposite side without any great difficulty. It was with a sigh of relief
we reached the solid footing on the other bank.

Then we were in the Territory and bade farewell to civilization until we
returned to the North bank of Cimmaron River. We left the Camp Supply
trail and went Southward to the old Custer trail, which was being used by
the cowmen at that time. We did not stop at noon time, but kept on our
way, intending to make a short drive and camp where the grass had not been
eaten off by the trail herds, and where there was a supply of water for
our stock. About four o'clock in the afternoon we found a satisfactory
location and went into camp. We turned the horses loose to graze. They
needed it, as they had been living on rather short rations since we had
started on our jaunt. For ourselves, we built a fire of cow-chips and made
out a supper on bacon and flapjacks. This done, we looked over our outfit
and made what repairs were necessary for the next day's drive. Everything
being attended to, as security demanded, we turned in for the night,
intending to make a permanent location the next day. As this was my first
night in the Territory, I must say that I felt very lonesome. It was a
fine moonlight night, and the stars seemed to flicker and dance for my
special benefit. I could see the handiwork of the Great Creator all over
the firmament as far as the eye could reach, and my admiration for the
beauty of the planetary system was unbounded. When I arose in the morning
and threw the saddle on my old favorite pony, Jimmie, to get an idea of
the lay of the land, things seemed to look different. When I had returned
to camp after my survey of the neighborhood, I had come to the conclusion
from the general appearance of the country and the great contrast with
what I had viewed from my bed at the wagon, that some Spirit of Evil had
been brooding over things in general, and while in that mood had laid the
country round about in waste, and Nature was doing her best to restore it
to its primitive beauty. We travelled that day until we discovered what we
considered an ideal spot to locate our store. It was not far from the
trail, and there was plenty of good grass and water for our stock. We set
to work to arrange things for our purpose, and it was not long before we
had things in shape to do business. Our tent-store was, fortunately,
placed about half a mile from where the cowmen used to halt and bed down
their herds for the night. The presence of those men served the purpose of
breaking the monotony of our surroundings, for it was a pleasure to hear
them singing as they rode around their herds at night to render them quiet
and keep them from drifting off during the night. Not only did they help
to pass away the time for us, but it gave us an opportunity to do a little
business also.

When we had located and arranged things to our satisfaction, we spent some
time riding around looking over the situation and conjecturing the
prospects. We found very few range cattle in our vicinity, which I
afterwards learned was due to the fact that the ranchers kept their cattle
away from the trail so that they would not become mixed with those on the
drive, or become infected with the Texas or splenic fever. For the purpose
of effecting this, they maintained men along the trail to turn back any
range cattle that showed a tendency to wander in the direction of the
through herds. During our ride we killed a brace of wild turkeys, and this
gave us a welcome change from the monotony of rusty bacon.

Things did not look very prosperous as yet, and began to think that I had
made my journey to no purpose, and would likely have to haul my load back
to Kansas again. While in this frame of mind, and not being very cheerful
over it, sitting in the shade of my tent, a man rode up to my emporium of
commerce. We passed the usual salutations and had a chat. In the midst of
our conversation he informed me that he had met a man who would likely
purchase some of my wares. I could hardly realize the gist of his remark,
as it was such a surprise, although I was there for the purpose of selling
goods. I managed to recover from the shock with considerable alacrity, and
invited him into my tent. He looked over my stock of goods, and before he
left me he had purchased more than half of it, and gave in payment an
order on Wright & Beverly. He said that his herd would be along in the
evening, and he would have the grub wagon load up the purchases.

That evening the herd came along, and as the place was the bedding ground
for the through herds, they made the necessary preparations for putting in
the night. When the cowpunchers had eaten supper, they came over to our
tent to purchase supplies of tobacco and cartridges. As there was nothing
else to do, and as we had been getting rather lonesome in our retired
place, we spent the evening agreeably, spinning yarns, relating
experiences of the trail, etc. In the meantime the grub wagon arrived and
was loaded with the goods purchased earlier in the day. Before bidding us
good night, the boys invited us to take breakfast with them on the
following morning. We accepted, and shortly after daybreak we heard the
cook's cheerful announcement that "chuckaway" was ready. As the wagon was
near our tent we did not have far to go, and before we reached it all
hands were up and dressed and ready for the morning repast. We were
somewhat surprised to find that the cook had fried salt bacon for the
boys. In explanation of this he said that they were tired of fresh meat.
We were weary of salt bacon, but good manners forbade our saying so, and
we did our share with as much gusto as possible. A little fresh beef would
have been much to our liking just then. By the time breakfast was over,
the horse wrangler had arrived with the saddle stock. Ropes were
stretched, one from the front wheel and one from the rear wheel of the
wagon, and the horses driven in between them, where each man roped his
mount for the day. The cook and the wrangler then attended to their own
wants. After covering the camp-fires with soil to prevent the fire from
spreading over the prairie, they were ready to set out on their long jaunt
to Montana, or some other feeding ground. We bade the boys good-bye and
returned to our store to await new arrivals.

As the business of the preceding day had been more than I expected from
the general survey of things when I first arrived, I soon saw that if I
had another customer of the same dimensions of the first one, I would have
very little with which to do business. I determined to send Bill to Dodge
City for another load of provisions. I made out a list of what I wanted,
greased the wagon and started him off. Under favorable conditions, he
should make the trip in about eight or ten days, but if the roads became
bad, it would require a much longer time. Before he left I had him make a
good store of biscuits for me, as I was not able to turn out an article of
the kind that would coincide with the digestive powers of any human being.
I gave him strict orders, among the other things, not to forget to bring
something to read, as there was nothing at hand for that purpose except a
Patent Medicine pamphlet, and I had read that so often and so thoroughly
that I had some of the symptoms of seven different maladies that were
therein pronounced fatal. If I had been in the neighborhood of a drug
store at the time I should have bought a supply of the cure-all regardless
of results. Living as I was at the time, alone, I escaped the consequences
of both the cure-all and the diseases mentioned in the pamphlet. When Bill
was well on his way, I meandered around into the tent and out again, down
to the creek and back again; in fact, I was just like a stray colt, did
not know where to go, nor what to do. I soon discovered what my malady
was. It was lonesomeness in its direst form. It settled on me like a fog
settling over a marsh. It penetrated my very being. Everywhere I went I
could feel it. Whatever I saw seemed tinged with it. I tried drinking
strong coffee to drive it out, but that was no avail, so I saddled old
Jimmie and took a ride over the prairie. On my way back to camp I killed a
wild gobbler, thus providing myself with fresh meat. The cleaning and
cooking of my prize relieved the monotony a trifle. I don't know whether I
cooked him according to the recipe in the latest cook book published, but
in any case he tasted fine. My pony seemed to realize how lonely I was,
for whenever I went out of my tent he endeavored to come to me, and
strained at his rope to approach as near as possible. I went over to him
and he put his head on my shoulder and seemed to say, "It's all right,
Dennis, Bill will be back in a few days and then you will have company. In
the meantime I shall try to keep you from becoming too lonesome." Needless
to say, I put in considerable time with old Jimmie, currying him and
fixing his water and feed in the best manner possible. I loved old Jimmie,
for he was my friend. I knew not at what hour, nor what moment, my life
would depend on his fidelity, and I knew that I could rely upon him to the
last breath.

One day followed another without any perceptible difference between one
and the other. In my surroundings I lost track of the time. I was longing
for the return of my partner, and continued to picture the progress of his
journey, where he was, what he was doing, etc. I felt like Robinson
Crusoe, and in some respects his plight was more endurable than mine. He
declared himself the monarch of all he surveyed, and his right there was
none to dispute. Not so would he have issued his declaration if he were
living in the Territory at the time, as his right would likely be disputed
by the first man that came along, and as for there being a monarchy at the
time, it was not thinkable, at least under the conditions in which I was
living.

That was a time when every man was supposed to remain silent about what he
had heard, and have very little to say about what he saw. Horse stealing
had become quite an industry at the time, and was carried on by bands of
outlaws between Arkansas, Missouri and Colorado. As there was no
telephone, telegraph or mail facilities, they were comparatively free from
detection, especially as they travelled through the most unfrequented
parts of the country. Their route brought them through the section where I
was camped. One day I saw five of them coming in my direction, attracted
by the sight of my tent. When they arrived where I was sitting, I invited
them to dismount and come into my tent. They did so. They inquired if I
had any tobacco, and I told them that was one of the commodities I was
dealing in at the time. As that was all they wanted, they bought several
pounds and then prepared to depart. I invited them to remain to dinner and
they accepted the invitation. When they had consented to be my guests, I
told them I had everything to make a first-class meal, but was short on
biscuits, and could not make them as I did not know how, and I said I
would be pleased if one of them would make them. One of them remarked,
"Now, Jack, there is a job for you." I pulled out a sack of flour, a can
of baking powder, gave one of them the coffee mill to grind some coffee,
took a bucket and started for the creek for a pail of fresh water. The
rest of them busied themselves building a fire of cowchips, and things
began to take on the appearance of home. When Jack had his biscuits ready,
I brought out my select assortment of tin-ware, passed around plates,
knives, forks and whatever else was necessary, and we all set to work with
a gusto. The gobbler, biscuits and other edibles did not last long, as
each of us seemed to have a first-class appetite. While eating and joking
at the same time, I told them of the reason of my asking them to remain
for dinner, namely, that I was out of biscuits and that I was tired of
living on crackers, and I knew there would be some one in the crowd who
would be able to make them. I saw, besides, that their horses were jaded,
and told them they might as well remain for a time to rest their stock. In
all my joking and talking with them I took particular care not to ask them
whence they came, nor whither they were going, nor what their business was
in that part of the country, as that would be the height of impropriety.
After we had chatted for a considerable time, they took the saddles off
their horses, picketed one or two, and turned the others loose to graze.
My loneliness was fast disappearing as the result of companionship of my
fellowmen, even if they were a gang of horse thieves, and as a result I
began to feel better and things began to wear a different aspect. I
recalled a statement made by some one that it was not good for man to be
alone, and I found it true, and made a resolution that I would never be
left alone again in the future.

That night I saddled up old Jimmie, and taking one of my visitors, went
out in search of some wild turkeys. I had previously seen a flock in the
neighborhood, and had a fairly good idea of where they were roosting. As
soon as the moon had come up we began looking around among the trees that
grew along the bank of the creek, and to our great delight discovered a
few. We secured two of them and returned to camp. Next morning, Jack, who
had been delegated to cook for us during his visit, was up and had the
game dressed in the most approved fashion, and had also turned out a new
supply of biscuits. When I rolled out of my blanket, I discovered that my
company was made up of early and energetic risers, and I was delighted to
know that the cook had done so well, and showed my appreciation later. The
rest of the group had gone off in search of their stock, and were then
returning. Breakfast was ready by that time, and we all set to without
much preliminary apology for poor appetites, for we had good ones. The
service was rather plain; a tomato can served the purpose of a sugar bowl,
a sardine can for a salt cellar, and other utensils were provided in the
same manner. During the meal one of the boys asked me which was the best
way, through No Man's Land to Colorado. I divined immediately that they
were horse thieves, for I had only a suspicion of it before. I gave him
some kind of an answer, and I do not know whether it proved satisfactory
to them or not. Breakfast being attended to and the dishes washed and put
away, they made preparations for departure. They thanked me for my
kindness and assured me that they would be glad to meet me at any time or
place. When they had gone I began to feel the loss of company again, but I
also began to realize the danger I had encountered owing to their brief
stay, for if a posse of officers had happened along while they were my
guests, it would have been hard for me to explain my compromising
position. As it is usually the innocent bystander that gets hurt, I
suppose I should have been the one to suffer, as there would have been
some very warm work for a while. There was one thing impressed itself on
my mind very much during the stay of my visitors, and that was the absence
of vulgar or profane language. That went to prove that they had had good
training by good parents who would have been proud of their personality,
though they could not approve of their occupation.

When they had gone over the hill on their way, I thought I would improve
my time by writing a few letters. I improvised a table for the purpose by
bringing into service a cracker-box. The remainder of my office fixtures
were in keeping with my desk. However, I was not ashamed of my
surroundings, and sat down to write with all the dignity of an Indian
chief sitting in council. It dawned upon me suddenly that it might be
weeks before I would have an opportunity to post them, and as I was doing
it to ward off another attack of lonesomeness, I decided that a good walk
over the surrounding neighborhood would serve the purpose as well. In my
travels I discovered a cloud of dust rising on the horizon, and came to
the conclusion that there was another herd coming along the trail, and it
would only be a matter of a few hours before they would arrive at the
regular halting place. I returned to camp and made out a lunch from the
remnants of the breakfast, and then saddled old Jimmie and set out to meet
the oncoming herd. I wanted to get acquainted with them as much as
circumstances would permit, find out if they had any lame cattle they
thought would be unable to make the journey to Dakota, Montana, or
wherever they were going, and what would be the possibilities of a trade.
If they would not ask too much I felt that I could make a little money by
doctoring them myself and disposing of them afterward. When I came up to
the cowmen they seemed to look at me with suspicion, as they did not
expect to find a white man in that section of the country. When I
explained to the foreman the nature of my business in that part of the
Territory, he seemed very much pleased to meet me, and to know that I was
selling goods that he needed, as he had not had a chew of tobacco since
he had left the Red River, nor lard enough to grease a skillet. I looked
over the herd and made an estimate of the number of lame cattle they had.
I rode back to my camp thinking over the situation, and when they arrived
later I figured up what I was willing to pay for the lame and footsore
cattle they had in the group. As soon as they arrived, the foreman rode
over to my tent to look at the goods I had in stock. He purchased about
what I had remaining after the previous sale. While talking on things in
general he remarked that he would have to remain where he was for a day or
so in order to let the stock rest, as he had driven them rather rapidly
owing to the fact that the Comanches were troublesome to him while he was
passing through their reservation, and he had to hasten along in order to
get away from them. That determination to rest was as pleasing to me as it
was to the cowpunchers, and the cattle showed it was agreeable to them, as
they looked exhausted, which was inevitable after a long and furious
drive. I sauntered over to where the cowboys were gathered around the grub
wagon, and soon was on friendly terms with them as far as short
acquaintance would permit. I heard the cook complaining about the dog,
saying he would have to get rid of him as he was always nosing into
everything, and had become a nuisance. I told him that I would gladly take
him for the sake of his company, and he was handed over to me. I did not
know that I was adding to my misfortunes or afflictions when I received
him, though I might have suspected it from the ease with which the cook
parted with him.

Next morning found me riding around the herd in company with the foreman,
looking over the lame cattle, or drags, as they called them. I examined
them very carefully, and made a dicker for about fifteen head. He agreed
to have his men help me rope and brand them, to cross out the road brand,
and also hobble them and help me doctor their sore feet. We built a fire
to heat the branding irons, and soon everything was ready for the
operation. I placed my brand upon them, a ladder on the left side and a
crop off the left ear. While the irons were hot, I cauterized their sore
feet, and applying tar and turpentine, wrapped them up in gunny sacks and
turned them away from the herd to graze along the creek. Many hands make
light work, and we were through with our task before noon. To complete the
transaction, the foreman wrote out a bill of sale for me, giving a general
description of the cattle and the road brands, signed it in the presence
of witnesses, and turned it over to me to secure me against all claims for
the stock I had purchased. This being done, I wrote out a check for him,
and the sale was complete. I began to feel as though I were somewhat of a
cowman myself when I looked down toward the creek to where my stock was
grazing. I soon found out that I had much to learn.

A Bill of Sale was necessary in a cow country, and it was my only
protection against the claim of some other cowman who might assert that
the stock had broken away from his herd in a storm, and might say that I
had caught and branded them. If the case were so, I might not only have
the cattle taken away from me, but I would be lucky if they did not treat
me as a cattle thief. But with the Bill of Sale safely tucked away in the
safety deposit vault, which in this case was a cracker box, I felt easy
about the matter.

Our business being completed, we sat around chatting and narrating
experiences on the plains. Even this palled on us after a time, and one of
the boys, in order to relieve the tedium of the delay, proposed a horse
race. That suggestion seemed to please them generally. The proposal was
greeted with enthusiasm, but it was a difficult matter to arrange the
proper distance, or the amount of the wager. I was asked if I would care
to take part in the race, and I replied that I could not say until I had
seen who and what I was to compete with. That morning I had noticed on my
trip around the herd that their horses seemed pretty well jaded from
their long trip from San Antonio to the North side of the Territory, and
did not seem equal to a very long race. Just then one of the boys came up
with a bunch of horses, and one of them was roped. They began to saddle
him and one of the boys asked, "Are you going to run old Pinkeye? If you
are, I am willing to bet a dollar on him if Slim Jim rides him." The boys
continued to parley about what they would and would not do, and finally
they asked me to match my horse against Pinkeye with Slim Jim for rider. I
consented to make the match if we could arrange the preliminaries. I said
I would ride a half mile or a quarter mile dash, whichever they preferred.
They asked me who would ride my horse, and I remarked that I thought I
would perform that duty myself. A knowing look and an incipient smile
lighted up their countenances when I volunteered my information. One of
the wise ones asked me where I came from, and I told him Maidstone Cross,
Canada. Right there he set me down for a tenderfoot, and was out to have
some sport with me. As far as they were concerned the race was as good as
won, and all that remained was the shouting. Of course, we should have to
go through the formality of a race, but that was of minor importance as
far as the wager was concerned. If ignorance is bliss, they had a right to
be supremely happy. They did not know that my pony, Old Jimmie, had not
missed a feed of grain during the past six months, and likewise they were
not aware of the fact that I had handled horses all my life and had spent
the preceding four years on the plains. Yes, Jimmie was the dark horse of
the race, as he was in prime condition, and had just enough exercise for
the past few weeks to keep him in splendid shape. Of course the race
looked bad for me, as I weighed two hundred pounds and Slim about one
hundred and thirty. The odds seemed so much in favor of Slim, that I
demanded twenty-five yards start for a quarter of a mile race, and I
wagered a side of bacon against a three-year-old steer. We finally
compromised the matter by my being allowed twenty yards start, and the
bet to remain as it was. I saddled up Old Jimmie and we then made the
necessary measurements, starting point, etc., in proper form. The signal
for starting was to be a shot from the foreman's gun. The crowd would
decide the winner, as they were to congregate at the winning post. We drew
up to the mark and announced that all was ready. The gun flashed and we
were off. When about half the distance was traversed, I looked back and
discovered that Pinkeye was not making as good a run as I expected, so I
slackened my pace a trifle and crossed the line a winner by about five
yards, which would show that Jim and Pinkeye had gained about fifteen
yards in the struggle. Then the air was rent with shouts and whoops for
the victor. Roars of laughter followed one another at Jim's discomfiture,
and he came in for some real joshing. "Oh, shucks! Jim, you can't ride and
Pinkeye can't run fast enough to catch a milch cow. Next time you ought to
race with a bull train."

After the first round of excitement and merriment had subsided, they
proposed another race for the same wager. They wanted to make it an even
start, but I would not agree to that, but they finally consented to give
me ten yards start. Back we went to try it over again. By this time Old
Jimmie began to do some fancy side-stepping and prancing, just to show
that he had imbibed enough of the spirit of the race to make him feel
good, and I was satisfied that he was in better fettle than at the opening
of the first heat. The foreman called, "All ready," fired his gun and away
we went again, Slim Jim pouring the rawhide into Pinkeye. This time I did
not hold back, especially as I heard Jim urging his pony by words and
quirt, but I had no fears about the outcome, as Old Jimmie would not
permit anything to pass him as long as he was able to throw a hoof
forward. When we reached the line, we were in about the same relative
positions as when we started. He had not gained a yard on Jimmie. The
usual whooping and yelling took place again. As it was getting late, I
thought it best to get my two steers, brand and hobble them and put them
with the rest of the little bunch I had bought earlier in the day. The
boys good-humoredly branded them and the foreman wrote out another Bill of
Sale which I tucked away with the other. As there was nothing else to do
after the racing was over, I took a couple of the boys and we went out and
brought in a few wild turkeys which the cook dressed and cooked for the
evening meal. The rest of the evening we spent in chatting about life on
the trail.

Next morning they set out on their long drive to Montana. I rode with them
a few miles, bade them farewell, and returned to my duties at the camp.
When I reached my tent, I found that the old dog, Nero, had declared
himself dictator, and positively refused to let me enter. I could hardly
blame him, as there had been so many around since I acquired possession of
him that he could not figure out to whom he belonged. I went to my saddle
and took down my lariat rope and gave him a liberal application of it, and
established order once more on the premises. To rehabilitate myself in his
affection I brought him out a good meal of bread and cold turkey. With
nothing else at hand to require my attention at the tent, I rode down to
where my herd was feeding to see if any of them had wandered off. They
were all there and I felt satisfied.

On my arrival at the camp on my return, I found a man sitting on his horse
awaiting my coming. He introduced himself as a line-rider of the Y. L.
ranch. I invited him to come in and make himself at home. He gave me his
name as Jack Jernigan, and said that he had been an employee of the ranch
for some time. I asked him to remain for dinner and he accepted the
invitation. I apologized for my inability to make bread. He assured me
that I need not apologize as he would attend to that part of the matter if
I would attend to the business of making a fire and getting the coffee
prepared. His visit was a welcome one as it dispelled an idea that was
forcing itself on me that I was likely to be alone for some time. His
visit was short, but as he lived in the neighborhood, he promised to come
frequently to see me, and he lived up to his promise, frequently bringing
turkey or venison with him as a proof of his marksmanship and
thoughtfulness of me in my lonesome condition. In this way our friendship
was cemented. When my visitor left me, I often experienced touches of
lonesomeness that not even the presence of Nero could abate. Instead of
being companion and comfort to me, he was just the reverse. He spent his
days chasing rabbits, and made the nights hideous with the howls he
emitted in answer to the call of the denizens of the wild. One night as I
felt very tired from a long jaunt I had taken, I decided as there was no
business to attend to, that I would have a good night's rest. I spread my
blankets and settled down to slumber. I had turned the dog loose to take a
run at leisure over the plain. I was just dozing off into slumberland when
I heard a noise approaching. I could not distinguish what it was. It
sounded like a cross between a fog-horn and a calliope. Before I could get
dressed, in fact, before I got my hat on, Nero came tearing over the plain
like a miniature cyclone. He rushed up to me and got between my legs for
protection. I grabbed my six-shooter and went on a tour of investigation.
I had hardly gone a hundred yards when I heard a coyote, and there never
crossed the Atlantic a bagpiper who could emit such a variety of sounds as
that coyote worked out of his system. He had been the cause of my dog's
commotion. I returned to the tent for my winchester, hoping to get a shot
at him, but it was of no use, he had gone away. One thing I discovered in
my midnight ramble was the fact that a mother skunk had moved into the
neighborhood with her whole family. There is one thing that a cowman
dreads very much and that is the bite of a skunk. I knew personally two
cases where men had died of hydrophobia after being bitten by the
malodorous brutes. In my state of mind, sleep was out of the question
until I had destroyed or driven away the newcomers. When I reached the
neighborhood of the late arrivals, I walked very cautiously, as a skunk is
constructed very much on the principal of a "Queen Anne" musket, there was
danger at either end, but it was hard to determine which end had the
greater executionary power. As there was very little moonlight, I could
not get a very good aim at them. When I thought I had located them
properly I began to blaze away with my winchester, and kept up the
fusilade until the chamber of the gun was empty. Next morning I was
delighted to find that I had killed four of my unsavory visitors, and at
the same time felt proud of my marksmanship in the dark. However, I had
little rest during the night as I was not sure of my shots, and I did not
like to take risks with them, so I spent the remainder of the night
soliloquizing on things in general and nothing in particular. During my
vigil I heard the wheels of a wagon rumbling along the trail and I knew it
was Bill returning with more goods. I built a fire and made some coffee
for him as I knew he must be tired after his long journey. After arranging
matters in a sufficiently satisfactory manner for the rest of the night,
we sat and talked over our experiences since we parted. We spent an hour
or so in this manner and then turned in for a good solid sleep. Morning
came and we put things in shape for business and awaited our next
customer. We went down to the creek to take a look at the stock, and it
was well we did so as some of them needed such medical attention as we
could give them. As Bill had brought some books and papers, I felt much
relieved. I discovered that, on consulting the almanac, we had done our
horse racing and trading on Sunday. However, as I was in complete
ignorance of the day, I hope it will not be held against me.

It may be of interest to the reader to know that the Comanche Indians and
Texans had not been very friendly since Texas had gained her independence
from Mexico. The Comanches claimed that the Texans had been stealing their
horses, and also their cattle, and the Texans put in a counter claim of
the same nature, and in addition to the stock the Indians were said to
have taken, they kidnapped their children whenever an opportunity
presented itself. As a proof that there was some truth in the statement of
the Texans, I will say that Quanah Parker, the late chief of the Comanches
was the son of a white mother who had been kidnapped when a child from a
Texan family. He was a good chief and held in high repute by the whites as
well as by the members of his own tribe. The result of the habit of
carrying off the white children may be seen in the features of many of the
tribesmen today. The unfriendly feeling caused by those savage incursions
exists today, and will continue to do so for ages to come. It is true they
do a little business with each other, but a close observer can readily see
that it would take a very small spark to set the flames of hatred and
vengeance aglow once more. The Texans in driving their cattle northwards
were compelled to pass through the Comanche country, and the Comanche had
advanced far enough in the white man's ways to levy tribute from them. It
was not long after a herd had passed the Red River until an Indian, or
perhaps several of them, made a visit to the cowmen and demanded "wohaw,"
or in other words, beef. That meant the delivering over of one or more
steers. The Texan understood the situation well enough to make no refusal
to demand. If he failed to comply with the demand, that night, the same
Indian would likely appear among the herd in the guise of a gray wolf, or
a cougar, and stampede the herd. Such a movement, would cost more than the
price of a brace of steers, as it would take days to collect the cattle
once they scattered, and some of the stock they might never see again.
Without much parley they turned over the stock to them and the Indian went
on his way rejoicing. The first demand did not always settle the
difficulty, as they were likely to appear again in a day or so and demand
more. Such a course of proceedings was very expensive and aggravating to
the cowmen, and as a consequence they pushed on as rapidly as possible to
get away from the dark shadow of the trail, and get over into Chickasaw,
or Caddo country to avoid further trouble. By the time they arrived at the
Cherokee Strip, where I was located, they had several lame, or sorefooted
cattle which they were willing to dispose of at a very reduced price. As I
was the only man on the ground who would take them off their hands, I came
into possession of several head of cattle. After a few weeks rest and some
surgical attention, they would again be in good condition and ready to
forward to the market. Usually I sent them to my ranch in Kansas where I
kept them until I could dispose of them to good advantage.

A few days after Bill's return, another herd happened along and I did
considerable business with them, selling what goods they needed, and
buying several head of injured cattle which I tended to in the customary
manner. It happened that they had an extra man with them and I hired him.
I put him on the wagon and sent him after more supplies. I kept Bill with
me as I was determined not to remain alone in that locality. When the herd
had gone forward on the drive, we went out to look after our own stock,
and found them as well as could be expected. Shortly after our return to
camp, we saw a horseman coming towards us, and I concluded we were going
to have some more company. When he rode up, I invited him to dismount, as
that was the custom of the country. He thanked me, but declined, saying
that he was in a hurry, that he had had some trouble with the Comanche
Indians, in which there was some shooting done, that he would like to get
a fresh horse to push on his way. I saw that he was pretty well
upholstered in the matter of armament, as he had two six-shooters in his
belt and a winchester in his scabbard and looked, as though he would be
able to protect himself. I asked him no questions as the condition of his
horse told the story as plainly as any words he might use. The spur marks
on the pony's sides showed that his vitality was about expended and that
he would not be able to go much farther. When he asked if I could supply
him with a new mount, I told him I could furnish one. I asked Bill to
change his saddle for him, and gave him some directions to guide him
towards a cow ranch. He proposed leaving his horse with me as a guaranty
that he would return mine to me. I told him that was out of the question,
that if the Comanches came along and found his horse with me they would
conclude that I had hidden him somewhere, which would mean trouble for me,
a thing I did not want just then, especially with the Indians. I told him
to take his pony along with him and if he could not keep up with the fresh
one, to turn him loose upon the prairie and some cow-puncher would take
him in and care for him until called for. He put a hackamaw on his jaded
steed, mounted his fresh pony and made ready to start. I told him not to
spare the quirt, as the horse could stand a good dash, and that he would
be at the ranch in a little over an hour if he rode steadily. He was off
in the direction I gave him, and Bill and I set in to make a checker board
to while away our idle hours. Something shortly afterward attracted our
attention, and on looking up we beheld three Comanche Indians riding
towards our tent, with their rifles across their saddles, which meant
business. I spoke to Bill and he stepped into the tent and buckled on a
pair of six-shooters. I happened to have my winchester near at hand. When
they rode up close enough for us to see plainly what they were doing, they
stopped and began to make signs. I could not understand the Comanche sign
language, so they had to resort to some other means of communication. They
drew closer and one of them said 'How,' the second one grunted something
and the third remained silent. Bill and I went on making our checker
board apparently oblivious of their presence, but all the while I kept my
eye on the rifle with an occasional glance out of the corner of my eye at
the Indians. Finally one of them spoke in broken English and asked if a
white man had been there. I told them a white man had stopped for a short
time, but went north, and I pointed out the trail. After they had sat in
silence for some time, they wheeled their ponies around and galloped off.
It would not take much of a genius to see that their visit was not a
friendly one, and that they were looking for trouble, and particularly
wanted to see a certain white man that had passed that way shortly before.
If they could not find the object of their desires, they would likely make
some trouble for some innocent party. As they saw that Bill and I were
pretty well furnished with fire arms, they thought it better to pursue the
object of the search. I knew that, by this time, the pursued was beyond
the reach of the pursuers and was likely safe among the cowboys of some
neighboring ranch, where the Indian would not follow him. The Indian had a
wholesome respect for cow-ranches and did not care to go prowling around
that locality, for at that particular time the cowman had lost all respect
for the Indian's feelings. As we did not know at what time they would
return, if they ever did, nor did we know what humor they would be in,
though we could give a shrewd guess, Bill and I thought it better to make
what efforts were necessary to protect ourselves and our stock in the
event of their returning with designs, upon us, or our cattle. We took our
blankets and guns and spent the night on the prairie near our horses.
During the vigil we were keeping we heard some horsemen passing and
concluded the Indians were returning from their white-man hunt.

Next forenoon a line rider came over to see us, bringing with him the
horse we had loaned the visitor who was in such a hurry. He said that he
had seen nothing of the Indians at the ranch. He said that the fugitive
horseman had received a new mount at his ranch and had gone on his way,
but did not fail to send back his compliments saying that he was grateful
for the kindness we had shown him and hoped some day to be able to repay
it.

That afternoon, the herd, from which the fugitive above mentioned had
taken his departure, arrived in our neighborhood, and from the boys of the
outfit I learned the particulars of the whole occurance. The foreman gave
me all the information in the case, and I shall detail it here. He said
that the Indians had met them over in the Comanche country and had made
their usual demand for "Wohaw." As he had given one steer already down in
the Red River district, he did not feel obliged to yield to their demands
for a second contribution. In order to get rid of them, and at the same
time to make a peace-offering he said he would let them have another. That
did not satisfy the Indians and they started for the herd to cut out what
they wanted. That was the thing that brought matters to a focus. They
might have known that their presence in the herd would cause a stampede.
When they persisted in doing so in spite of the warning to desist, then
came the signal for the disturbance which followed.

The first steer they cut out from the herd was met and driven back by a
young fellow by the name of McRay. An Indian tried to prevent his driving
the steer back to the herd. That spelled disaster for the Indian, for the
young fellow drew his forty-five and shot the Indian off his pony. All was
confusion for a brief space, but no more shooting took place. The Indians
picked up their wounded comrade and bore him away as fast as they could,
and then the herd moved on. McRay, acting on the advice of the foreman,
sought safety in flight towards the north. That was the fugitive that came
to my tent in search of a fresh pony. If he had remained with the herd,
serious trouble would have resulted, and if they had caught him in his
flight, he would likely have been scalped, if not subjected to other
barbarities.

I am not going to say anything about the merits of the case as it stood,
but will say that if the same conditions existed today, the same would
occur again.

As on the arrival of the former herds, we made another bargain for some of
the foot-sore cattle, and after doctoring them to the best of our ability,
we turned them in with the rest of our stock.

We did considerable business with the foreman of the outfit. After getting
what goods he wanted, he moved onward with his herd.

When they had gone, I saddled Old Jimmie and took a ride down to where our
stock was feeding along the creek, to look them over and see if they
needed any attention. They seemed in good condition, so I rode on, more
for pastime than with any object in view. When I had passed a mile or so
beyond where our herd was grazing peacefully, I saw something that I could
not account for, and proceeded to make an investigation. As I drew nearer
to the object of my curiosity I found an Indian sitting on the bank of the
creek. I was rather surprised to see that he had no pony in sight, nor
were there any other Indians in view. I approached him with the purpose of
making a closer scrutiny of this lone denizen of the plains. His wardrobe
consisted of a breech-clout, a pair of moccasins, and three feathers in
his hair. I rode up to him and saluted him with the customary Indian
"How." He made no reply, did not give even a grunt of recognition. I
studied him carefully for awhile. I noted that his hair was well braided
and hung down his back, and was tipped with strips of Beaver fur. I rode
on a short distance, and returned again to take another look at him. I
addressed him as before, with the same result. He set me thinking very
seriously as he had no fire-arms and no pony. I thought that, perhaps, he
might be one of the three that had visited me the day they chased the
cowboy.

When I returned to camp I found a visitor, a line-rider. I explained to
him and Bill what I had seen, and the line-rider volunteered the
explanation that the Indian was a runner, or what one would call a
mail-carrier and was likely carrying some message to the Caddos, perhaps,
an invitation to a green corn dance, or some other festivity. His
appearance there had no further significance, so I let the matter drop. In
the meantime, Bill was busying himself cooking some venison the cowboy had
killed, getting ready for our next repast, which was about due. While
waiting for Bill to put the finishing touches on his work of art, we
amused ourselves with a game of checkers. When luncheon was ready we
abandoned the checker board with alacrity and threw ourselves very
earnestly into the work of demolishing what Bill had taken so much care to
prepare.

A strong friendship had sprung up between Bill and Nero. It was very much
like the story of Mary and her little lamb, wherever Bill went, there was
Nero at his heels. Such devotion was very touching, but in Bill's case it
was almost too touching for it nearly cost him his life. As my partner was
not much given to riding horseback, any more than he could help, he used
to divert himself by taking a stroll over the prairie, and of course, the
dog was at his heels. It amused Bill to see the dog chasing jack rabbits,
or diving at prairie dogs, but both species seemed to have an uncanny way
of avoiding his onslaughts. He never caught any of them. One day as he was
tearing around after a rabbit, a herd of wild cattle came over the brow of
the hill. The dog was heading for them straight as an arrow; barking and
cavorting in a fashion wonderful to see. Any man who has had any
experience with wild cattle will know what danger my friend and partner
encountered at that point. Wild cattle are curious, and when they see a
man afoot, they begin to investigate immediately, and therein lies the
danger. If anything were to excite them at the moment they would trample
him to death. That was just about what was due to happen to Bill as the
dog had excited them and they were coming toward the man afoot. The idea
of self-preservation struck Nero about the same time as the cattle began
to move toward Bill, and he rushed to his master to save him. The cowboys
added to the pandemonium already turned loose, by trying to shoot Nero. I
always kept a horse saddled at the camp for an emergency, and when I heard
the commotion, I mounted and set out at full gallop to the scene of
action. I was just in time, for there was Bill hitting only the high
places in his flight for safety. I met him and he needed no invitation to
mount behind me, but caught the horn of the saddle and swung himself up
with alacrity and away we went at top speed. The danger was not entirely
passed, for there right behind us was Nero, the cause of a great part of
the trouble. Bill pulled his gun and shot the dog. That itself seemed to
check the herd, but we had a narrow escape. One stumble of the horse, and
we would both have been trampled into such small pieces that there would
be left only a damp spot on the ground where we had fallen. However, we
were safe and that was the chief thing for us. We saddled our ponies and
went to help the cowboys round up the herd that had become scattered
through the playful antics of Nero. As it was time to eat when we had got
the cattle back on the trail and quieted down, we joined the cowmen in
their meal. There was considerable joking and laughing over our
predicament, but they said not one word about the danger we encountered in
our flight before the stampede.

As this was an opportunity for us to do business again, we took advantage
of it. Bill bought some of the footsore stock, and I sold them provisions
to last them until they could find a more convenient market.

When the outfit had gone northwards, things began to assume the monotonous
routine of dull times. We did the best we could to entertain ourselves
with checkers and talking over prospects, but it was not very exciting at
best. From a business point of view it seemed a success, and we thought it
advisable to establish ourselves in a dugout and make a lengthy stay of
it. The prospects were good, the success of the past argued well for the
future, but "The best laid plans of mice and men gang aft aglee."

Next morning I rode down to take a look at our growing herd and had not
gone very far when I found that one of my cattle had been killed. I
dismounted to examine the carcass more closely and found evidence that the
cow had been killed by some wild animal. I could not say what animal had
killed her as the manner of attack was entirely different from any I have
ever seen. It was not a gray wolf, as I was familiar with their mode of
destruction. I examined the ground and found the foot-prints of two
animals, one large and one small. I followed their trail for some distance
and found where they had been rolling in the sand after their feast. I
endeavored to follow it farther, but it was soon lost in the long buffalo
grass, and I had to give up the task.

I returned to camp and reported the matter to my partner, and he said that
he would fix things for them. He concluded that if he put strychnine in
the carcass they had already killed, they would come again, and in that
way he would rid us of the intruders. We applied the strychnine in the
most approved fashion laid down by old hunters and trappers, but it was in
vain. Next night they returned and killed another steer, but did not go
near the one they had killed before. As we were looking over the result of
the night's work, a line-rider came by, and we explained the situation to
him. He said the mischief had been wrought by a cougar, or Mexican lion,
and that it was useless to try to poison him as he would not eat anything
in the nature of flesh except what had been freshly killed by himself.
Furthermore, he said, they had been attracted by our cattle because, being
footsore, they could not put up a fight to defend themselves, and thus
fell an easy prey to the marauders. We saw at once that there was only one
way out of the difficulty and that was to shoot the lions, as they seemed
to wary to be taken by poison. If we did not take that course, we would
soon be out of cattle. With that end in view we moved them up in the
neighborhood of our tent. We made a temporary corral for them, and awaited
an opportunity to send a bullet into the expected visitor. He came as
usual, but we did not get a shot at him, as he did not give us a chance. I
wish to say that in all my experience I have never met, in Canada or in
the West, another animal so cowardly and treacherous as the Mexican lion.
I have known them to kill an animal not more than four rods from where I
was sitting, and before I could reach the corral, he would be out of
sight. I could not shoot towards the corral for fear of killing or
crippling some of the stock. I have known them to kill a two-year-old
steer, and by the time I could get there the cougar was gone, but the
attack was so swift and sure that the poor beast would be still standing
with his entrails hanging on the ground. That gives some idea of how short
a time it takes a cougar to kill a cow. In spite of all his great
strength, he is a great coward, as he will not face a man. I tried to rid
myself of the pest that was thinning out my herd, and devoted a good deal
of time in trying to find his den, to get a shot at him, but my efforts
were to no purpose. I had to do the best I could, watch and wait, in the
hope of success.

While engaged in the hunt for the cougar one afternoon, I saw, at some
distance, a horse grazing along the creek. He had a saddle and bridle on
him, but no rider. I thought he had run away from some outfit, and went
down to where he was to secure him and bring him to my tent, so that the
owner could call for him when he had time. Upon reaching the place where
the pony was grazing, I saw a strange sight. There sat an Indian on a
knoll, wearing a Navajoe blanket, ear-rings that hung down like small
sleigh bells, his hair plaited and hanging down his back, his head
decorated with eagle feathers, all of which made me think I had met a very
distinguished gentleman. As a neighbor I greeted him with the customary,
"How." To my greeting he made no sign of recognition, did not even move a
muscle. I rode past him for some distance and then returned on the
opposite side of him, and then I discovered the cause of his sullen
dignity. He had fastened to his blanket a small-sized pewter plate
polished as bright as a new dollar fresh from the mint, and around the rim
of it was inscribed the letters of the alphabet. I saw that he had left
his rifle in the scabbard of his saddle, and if he made any move of a
warlike nature, I could do a lot of business before he could get organized
for battle. This condition made me bolder and encouraged me to make a more
critical inspection of his wardrobe than I would have done if he had his
winchester near at hand. He wore a pair of moccasins highly ornamented
with beads of all colors. Whether he had any under garments I was not in
position to know, but he looked to be clothed in the highest degree of
cool, calm, unruffled dignity. As I had seen no cartridge belt on the
saddle, I was satisfied that he wore one around his waist, with the
customary pair of six shooters for ornaments and use. As he remained
stolid in his attitude towards me, I gave up any hope of finding out
anything about him, and rode home. I related my experience to Bill,
laughing over the dignity displayed by the Indian, based on the possession
of a pewter breast-plate that once belonged to some white child, and which
he had found on his meanderings over the plains.

After a quarter of a century has elapsed, and taking a retrospective view
of the situation at that time, I can see what a trifle it would have taken
to send one of us, if not both, over the Great Divide to the Happy Hunting
Grounds.

Bill had been out in another direction in search of the cougar, but met
with as little success as I had. It became a question of sitting up
nights guarding the herd, with the hope of being able to get a shot at the
cause of our misfortunes, but it was in vain. Every morning brought us
evidence of further devastation wrought by the bloodthirsty brute. Things
came to such a pass that we had to choose between losing the whole herd,
or moving to Kansas, and we chose the latter.



CHAPTER XIV.

Returning to Kansas; A Settler; A Phenomenon, etc.


Reluctantly we folded our tent and started off in the direction of the
Sun-flower State, where our ranch was located. Business had been good and
we were loath to leave such a good opportunity for increasing our profits,
but the unseen enemy made further delay impossible. Our outfit on the
trail did not present a very inviting appearance, but there was something
substantial about it that cheered us considerable. We had increased our
holdings during our sojourn in the Territory, and were now returning with
the fruits of our venture. Personally we were not much to look at, as we
had not had a shave in several months, but that fact did not interfere
with the happiness we felt at the prospect of seeing the old homestead
once more. On the first night of our advance we camped in the brakes of
the Cimmaron river. We were fortunate in killing a deer, which provided us
with a change of meat. It was the last wild game we expected to obtain, as
the antelope and other wild game had been shot at so much that they had
become gun-shy, and it was impossible to get within any close proximity to
them to obtain a shot at one of them. The antelope in particular we did
not expect to see, as that animal does not frequent the low lands, and the
only time he is found there is when he is on the way to get water. Even
then they seem to have on one guard at all times, so that at the sight of
a man they are off like a shot and soon out of sight. Antelopes and wild
horses are very much alike in their habits, as neither will enter a creek
or a canyon except for water or shelter.

Next morning found us up and away. As the traveling was down grade, we got
along nicely. We were very much pleased on reaching the river to find
that the sand was packed down owing to the numbers of cattle that had
forded the stream during the preceding weeks, and we were able to cross
without much difficulty. Having crossed the stream we pulled our outfit
into Clem's ranch, where we sold the greater part of our supplies for a
fair price. With a lighter burden, we set out on our way again, leaving
the supply trail, and moved in a north-westerly direction toward Meade
Co., Kansas. Frequently we were compelled to cross what is called a
sand-draw, but we managed to do this without much trouble, as by fastening
our lariat ropes to the end of the wagon tongue and fixing the other end
to the horn of the saddle we could assist the team in pulling through the
canyon and reach the firm footing on the other side. Our route lay through
the section about midway the Beverly cow-ranch on the South Sand Creek,
and the place where Ashland, the county seat of Clarke County now stands.
We crossed several small trails, but as they were running in another
direction they could not be of any assistance to us. That evening we made
a dry camp, but expected early next day to reach the head waters of Little
Sand creek, or as it was afterwards called, Johns Creek, in time to water
our stock. We went through the usual procedure of picketing the horses we
were using, and hobbling the loose ones, and getting the cattle in shape
for the night.

On my tour around the herd I found that there was a dug-out in the
neighborhood. I went on a visit of inspection to see if there was any one
there, for there seemed to be some signs of improvement around it. I was
agreeably surprised to find a solitary man walking around the dug-out,
with his hands behind his back and his head bent as though deep in
meditation. I decided to call on him and find out something about the
topography of the country, also the distance to Crooked Creek, Kansas. I
introduced myself and told him the purpose of my visit. Once the ice was
broken, the conversation took several turns. From his remarks I gleaned
that he had not been there very long, and was likewise anxious to sell
out, in fact, he even seemed to insist that I should buy him out. I told
him I was sorry that I could not take his offer, as I had some property of
my own in Meade County and felt that was all the Kansas real estate I
cared to handle just then.

During my interview I cast my eyes around the place to get a general view
of my surroundings. I noted that he had placed four forks in the ground
and roofed them over with hay and brush, the whole forming a sort of arbor
to protect him from the sun and rain. About three feet from the ground he
had fixed a scaffold for a bed. I was nonplussed at what I saw, and
ventured to inquire the reason of the arbor-like structure. He replied
that he was unable to sleep in the dug-out, for he had tried to do so, but
found that it was impossible, owing to the number of tarantulas and
centipedes that infested the place. The arbor was a partial solution of
the difficulty, but did not quite meet all the demands of the situation.
The fleas he could not escape, they were in his bedding, and he was unable
to discover a means of putting them to flight. What he could not avoid, he
had to endure. I could see at a glance that his opinion of farming in
Western Kansas was not very elevated. He was determined to sell out at the
first opportunity that presented itself. As I had to return to camp to
make arrangements for standing night guard over the herd to prevent their
wandering off, I bade my new-found acquaintance farewell, wishing him all
manner of good fortune in his new home. When I reached our outfit, I found
that supper was ready, and we were ready for it. We attended to the duty
of providing for the wants of the inner man with considerable alacrity,
though our manner of doing so might have lacked some of the etiquette
required by the rules and regulations of refined society. After a chat
over things in general and prospects in particular, the boys rolled up in
their blankets for the night, and I went on my solitary errand of looking
after the herd. The stillness of the night was unbroken save by the
hooting of an owl in the neighboring canyon, or the barking of a coyote on
a side hill. Even they would cease their clamor for a time and then the
stillness of the night was appaling. I sat on my pony in meditation
evolving thoughts and considerations induced by the calm of the
surroundings in which I found myself. My reflections were interrupted by
the musical notes of the lone settler, borne over the prairie on the wings
of the night. He had a voice that was rich and melodious, though art had
never tried to improve the natural gift. The first sweet tones that fell
upon my ear were the strains of an old familiar strain I used to hear back
home in Canada, and they never seemed sweeter than they did then. I
listened entranced. A flood of memories came rushing from some long
forgotten corner of my mind, and I sat entranced. I was in hopes that he
would repeat the song again, but my hopes were not realized. Instead, he
changed off into some old-time granger rhyme that had more philosophy than
music in it. It might well be entitled "The Lament of a Kansas Granger." I
was glad when he was through it. Then he came back with one old and ever
new, ever welcome and ever sweet, the song called "Home Sweet Home." I do
not believe that the effect produced by Jenny Lind, when she first
rendered it could have been as great as that produced in my heart at that
moment. The days of boyhood were returned again. I saw the old log house
where I was born, and the surrounding forest. I saw my playmates on the
green and took part once more in their merry games. Memories came rushing
so fast that I could not analyze them in their kaleidoscopic passage
through my brain. Half consciously I wiped away a tear that began to
trickle down my cheek. The music ceased and I sat as one dazed; only to be
rudely awakened by the resumption of the barking of the coyote near at
hand. I looked across to where the settler had his home. The embers of
his fire were burning low. He must have retired to his arbor for a rest. I
could not then imagine why he had chosen that hour of the night to give
vent to his feelings in the manner mentioned. It may have been out of the
bitterness of a discouraged heart that he poured forth his soul in such
harmony, but whatever it was, I must say that he had a very attentive
listener in one lone horseman standing guard over a herd of weary cattle.

The hours of the night passed slowly. The silence of the tomb seemed to
enfold everything in its mantel. I made my rounds to see that things were
in proper condition, and then returned to camp to arouse my partner, Bill,
to take up the burden of guarding the herd while I obtained some much
needed sleep. It seemed to me that I had hardly lain down when I heard the
cook calling to all hands, "Chuckaway," which, in the language of the
civilized nations, means breakfast is ready. I awoke with the call, and
found the sun streaming into my face. In the meantime Bill had come in
from his tour of inspection, leaving the cattle grazing quietly. It did
not take me long to arrange my toilet, a ceremony that the cowpuncher does
not usually give much attention to, and I was soon in the midst of the
bustle of getting my share of provender for the morning meal. We simply
took the first articles of tableware that we happened to find convenient,
seized upon the proper allowance of food, and then we sat down on the
prairie and gave our undivided attention to the work at hand. As it was
agreeable work, we devoted a lot of energy to it, and accomplished the
task in a very brief time. This done, we made arrangements to set out
again. We rounded up the stock that had wandered off while grazing, got
the ponies together, loaded the wagon and were on our way once more.

Having given the boys the direction to follow, I set out to pay a farewell
visit to the singer of the night, saying that I would overtake them before
they had proceeded very far.

I reached his dug-out and found him up and around. After the usual
salutations, I offered my thanks for the pleasure he had afforded me
during the preceding night. He thanked me for the compliment, and said
that the pleasure was mutual. He said it was a boon to him to have some
one call on him, as his nearest neighbor was seven miles distant. Not only
that, but there were difficulties about his neighbor coming to visit him
as he had only a team of oxen to travel with, and they were not very well
broken yet, and travel under such conditions was not very inviting. I saw
from the tone of his remarks that he was disconsolate, or rather
discouraged by his present condition in life, and I ventured to repeat the
advice given by Horace Greeley to young men, namely, "to go West and grow
up with the country." "Oh," said he, "that is all bosh. That man, Horace
Greeley did not know the first 'jump in the road' of what he was talking
about. When he came through this country, he was riding in a Pullman car,
with lackeys and servants to wait upon him. He knew absolutely nothing of
the real condition of this country and I am willing to bet that he would
not take a thousand dollars and sleep one night in that dug-out of mine.
He was a very smart man, well versed in politics, living in New York where
he could sit in his parlor and look into his neighbor's house and see what
the family had to eat. Such advice is sound enough in theory when
delivered through the columns of the New York Tribune, or in the heat of
some political campaign, to an audience composed of tenderfeet, but the
same idea promulgated whilst leaning on a hoe handle, between two rows of
sorghum, in Western Kansas, would have a different effect. Horace Greeley
was a very good citizen, but knew comparatively nothing of the trials and
tribulations, privations and hardships, to say nothing of the lives it
cost to move the boundary line of civilization one step farther West."
Such were the sentiments of my philosophical friend, and they contained
more truth than poetry. By this time the herd was almost out of sight, and
I was forced to bid him good-bye, requesting him, at the same time,
that if he were ever over in Meade County, to call on me, for there would
be a welcome for him at all times and that he would always find the latch
on the outside, that meant for him to walk right in and make himself at
home. I left him, and as I was topping the crest of the hill I looked back
and saw him sitting on the top of his dugout, waving farewell.


[Illustration: "GOOD BYE"]


We did not delay for dinner, as we wanted to reach Little Sand Creek,
where there was plenty of water. As this was to be our last night out, I
can assure you that we did not lose any time along the way. We reached our
camping ground about three in the afternoon. As we were only about eight
miles from the home ranch, we turned everything loose, and laid ourselves
out to have a general good time. The cook had been advertising his ability
to make custard pie, and we thought this a convenient opportunity to put
his ability to the test. Of course, he had to have milk, for there is no
substitute for that article in a first-class custard pie. Being that Bill
and I fairly doted on custard pie, it was our duty to provide the milk for
the occasion. For the benefit of my readers, let me say that if you have a
longing for custard pie, try to throttle it in infancy, or train it so as
to render it subject to proper environment, but do not, at any cost, let
that hankering exercise its influence on you when you have to invade the
rights and privileges of a wild Texas cow,--unless you are prepared to
fight to a finish. Bill and I felt equal to the occasion and set out to
produce the required article. We chose a cow that seemed to have more milk
than her calf required. Bill roped her, threw her down,--which was a cruel
thing to do to a young mother--and hog-tied her. I was on hand with a can.
I held her down while he was endeavoring to separate her from her milk.
With much labor and some verbal protests against her restlessness, he
succeeded in extracting about a pint. I took the fruit of our labors and
rope up to the camp and proudly gave it to the cook. He informed me that
there was not enough for a first-class pie, and I had to enlist the
services of Bill once more, to procure the required quantity. It took
considerable wrangling with two more of those restless creatures to
persuade them to favor us with some of their milk, but in the end we
succeeded and returned to camp again. In the meantime the cook had
uncovered some turkey eggs that he had found a day or so before, and set
to work on his masterpiece--a custard pie. Needless to say, his production
was up to the advertisement, and, also, to our expectations.

Our cook was a genius in his line of endeavor. It was a rare thing to meet
a cowpuncher who could not turn out biscuits of some degree of edibility,
but we had a master hand. When he turned over to the inspection of an
outfit such an article of food they were light and fluffy, and when dipped
in antelope gravy, one would have to have a case of indigestion in an
alarming condition if he could not eat them with an appetite like a
section hand. His manner of preparing the dinner table was simplicity
itself. He used to spread out the wagon sheet for a table cloth, and use
mother earth for the table. When everything was ready he called out
"Chuckaway," and found us ready and willing to pay a compliment to his
endeavors.

When we had demolished the supper, and particularly the custard pie, Bill
went down to the creek to wash out a few shirts as he did not wish to
return to the ranch with his clothing in an unpresentable condition. While
he was gone the cook and I played checkers to see who would wash the
dishes. I lost.

When the usual routine of camp life with the herd had been completed, we
turned in to have one good rest to be ready for the final drive next day.
As a reward to Old Jimmie for his fidelity I gave him an extra measure of
grain and a few caresses to show that I remembered what he had done for
me. Next morning found us about ready to start, when we met with an
unavoidable delay, Bill's shirts were not dry and we could not go without
him. We filled in our time picking up wood and filling the waterbucket for
future use. In due time Bill's lingerie was in a proper condition for use,
and we were on our way once more.

We set out in a north-westerly direction. When we had gone about two miles
we crossed the trail of the wood-haulers coming over from Meade county,
for fire wood and fence posts, which they were compelled to collect from
the vicinity of Sand Creek, or its tributaries. As the trail was nearly
parallel to the direction we were going, we followed it slowly homewards.
We halted our herd for the purpose of getting dinner, and to permit the
cattle to graze or rest as they wished. We remained a couple of hours,
knowing that we could make the home ranch by sundown. We set out for the
final drive, moved along slowly, taking things easy as there was no need
to hurry. About four o'clock, much to our surprise, it clouded up and a
drizzle set in. It was the first rain we had seen in months, and we fairly
enjoyed it. However, we put on our slickers to avoid too much of a good
thing. It lasted only a short time and then the sun shone again. When the
sun broke through the overhanging clouds a peculiar phenomenon presented
itself to our view. Not more than two hundred yards in advance of the lead
cattle was formed, as if by flash light, a small rainbow directly across
the trail. It did not seem to be more than one hundred and fifty yards
from side to side, and not more than half that distance in height to the
arch overhead. I have seen cyclones, blizzards, and mirages, but I was
totally unprepared for such a phenomenon as I then witnessed. I confess,
if I had been alone, I would have ridden around it rather than pass
through the archway. I could not give a scientific explanation of the
affair, and luckily for me Bill did not ask for one, as he was one of
those impulsive, unimaginative men who take things as they see them and
inquire not into the causes that lead to their existence. Not so with the
teamster, he was from Arkansaw, and was very superstitious. When he saw
the wondrous arch stretched from side to side before him, he stopped the
team until Bill shouted at him to go on and not be a fool. He got in
motion with fear and trembling. The cattle seemed to realize that there
was something strange about the affair and crowded through as though going
through a gateway. When we had passed on for some distance I looked back,
and the phenomenon was gone. I asked the teamster why he had stopped the
team, and he gave me a characteristic reply, "Gosh, I was afraid it would
fall on me. I heard a Sunday School teacher say once that the Lord was
going to put up one of those things every once in a while to show that he
was not going to destroy the earth by flood any more." "That's all right
for Western Kansas," said Bill, "but it does not apply to Arkansaw where
they are drowned out every spring."

We reached our ranch by sundown, and turned the cattle loose to graze. We
unsaddled our horses with a sigh of relief that the long trip into the
Territory was over. By the time we washed ourselves and combed the sand
out of our whiskers, supper was ready and we sat down and placed our feet
under a table for the first time in months.



CHAPTER XV.

The Opening of the State of Oklahoma; The Race for Land; Irrigation in the
Panhandle; Postmasters of Early Days; New Locations, etc.


In the spring of the year 1889, the president of the United States issued
a proclamation that Oklahoma was opened for homestead settlement, the few
Indians that had already settled there to be allowed to remain in
undisturbed possession of their holdings. As the proclamation included but
a small portion of the present state, the other little nations were left
for future consideration.

The manner in which the homesteader secured his claim is unique in the
annals of history. I do not believe that any other people under the sun
ever acquired the right and title to a homestead in quite the same fashion
as that employed to dole out to homeseekers the claims which they had
acquired a right to by registering at the land office. I am under the
impression that it is an institution peculiarly American. Whatever the
merits of the system maybe, it produced results more or less beneficial,
according as you look at it from the point of view of the homeseeker, or
the grafter. For the benefit of posterity I shall set it down that they
may see, at least, how it was done, and be able to judge of the merit of
the means employed to insure the results intended.

On the day set aside for the opening of the new territory to homeseekers,
all those who had filed on an allotment, were to take their position on a
line marked for the purpose, just as the foot-racer toes the scratch
awaiting the signal for the dash. Some had been there for some time,
others came at the last moment. No one was permitted to invade the new
territory until a signal was given and then they were to rush pell-mell
to secure the claim they found to be the most in accordance with their
wishes. It was a strange sight to behold them drawn up in every
conceivable kind of vehicle, and those who had no vehicle were on horse
back, mule back, or on foot. Anxiety was pictured on every countenance.
Those who had waited longest had their patience tried to the limit. In
order to insure every man a chance for an equal opportunity, a company of
soldiers was drawn up to prevent any one taking any undue advantage of his
neighbor. At least, they were supposed to do so, but under the cover of
darkness during the night before, hundreds of persons known afterwards as
"Sooners," crept through the line and hid themselves in some convenient
ravine and remained there under cover until the signal was given next day.
These men, as soon as the word was given to go, rushed out and staked a
claim, and when the lawful owners appeared, they were ordered to move on,
and the order was enforced at the end of a gun. The Sooner was not only in
possession, but stood ready to defend his claim against all comers as he
had witnesses to prove his statements about the preemption of the property
and his prior right to the land in question.

On the day appointed for the start of the race, every one was in a fever
of expectancy. The starter was eyed keenly in his every move to detect
some indication of the signal about to be given. Horses heads were pushing
over the line, the driver standing in his wagon ready to ply the whip to
produce the required speed for the occasion, old ramshackle buggies were
there whose very appearance signified that this was likely to be their
last run. Even oxen with their necks bent beneath the weight of their
bows, felt the fever of the excitement and were anxious to be off.
Horsemen stood in the stirrups with a quirt ready, to make a dash across
the rolling plains. As the hands of the watch crept toward twelve, one
could notice a tightening of the jaws and a look of grim resolve come
over the countenances of those participating in the race. Eagerly they
looked for the signal, slowly the hands of the watch in the timekeepers
hand moved on. The starter was seen to move hand to the pistol scabbard
and draw his weapon. Up it rose slowly in the air and absolute silence
prevailed. For one moment he held the gun aloft and then, "Bang" went the
forty-five and the race was on. Yelling, whooping, swearing, off they
dashed in their mad flight. Wagons rumbled and bounded over the uneven
ground, whips were wielded with pitiless abandon; horses dashed in mad
affright to gain the front of the wild careening mob; oxen tossing their
wide-spreading horns, with lumbering gait, dragged their burden of a
rattling wagon in their mad dash. All was confusion in the first mad
plunge. Then slowly but surely the better mounted and better bred
gradually drew away from their slower-footed competitors, and disappeared
on the horizon. Naturally those in advance secured the better locations,
excepting where the sooners had stealthily pre-empted some desirable
location. With the slower ones, it was a case of take that was left and
make the best of it. In case a man found himself dispossessed by a Sooner,
there was only one recourse remaining and that was to buy him out at once,
or go to court about the matter, and that was as hazardous as trying to
drive him out, as the courts were largely operated on the kangaroo plan.
The judge of today might be the criminal of tomorrow, and the criminal of
today might be tomorrow seated on the judge's bench administering justice?
in a very summary manner.

This transpired a quarter of a century ago, and some of those who went
into court to contest for their rights are still pleading their cases with
little likelihood of their ever attaining a solution of the difficulty as
long as there are fees to be collected.

I noticed in my experience during the opening of the territory to
homeseekers, that Cash, Clemency, and Justice traveled on parallel lines,
and when the Cash failed to put an appearance, Clemency and Justice
disappeared also, as the dew dissolves before the morning sun. There were
some Sooners sent to the penitentiary for perjury, but they were likely to
be pardoned in time to vote at the next election. In view of the number of
felons who have been set at liberty, one is forced to conclude that there
have been some very tender-hearted Governors in the state.

When the first homeseekers were drawing up in line for the mad race across
the plain, I joined them. I was very curtly told that I had not any right
to take part in the free-for-all scramble for property, as I had 640 acres
of land in the Panhandle of Texas. Being that they felt that way about it,
I did not press my right, but gracefully withdrew, and took only an
observer's interest in the headlong gallop that occurred. When the
excitement had somewhat subsided, I returned to my holdings in the
Panhandle and took up the burden of making what improvements I thought
necessary to make it a desirable homestead. I had in view the completion
of an irrigation ditch that I had begun before I left to see the opening
in Oklahoma. On my return I hired a few laborers to help with the work. It
took considerable labor and money to complete the task, and when I had it
done, I found that all my labor and money had been in vain. When I did not
need water, there was too much of it, and when I did need it, the creek
that was to furnish me the supply, was as dry as a bone. I became
disgusted with that place and sold out for about fifty per cent of what
the improvements cost me. Times were hard just then. There was but little
money in the country, a long hard winter had killed off multitudes of the
range cattle, and the long dry summer had killed off all hopes of relief
to be found in successful farming. To make our condition more lonely, the
mail facilities were not what they should have been for some time.
Sometimes a week would elapse, and very frequently several weeks would
pass by without our hearing anything from the outside world. Our
postmaster was not entirely to blame as he did the best he could in
fulfilling his duties. As he could read or write very little, it placed
him at a great disadvantage, but he struggled along against the
disadvantage of his lack of training to try to satisfy his patrons. When
the mail arrived, he opened the sack and dumped the contents out on a
barrel head and permitted each patron to help himself. If Big Jim, or
Little Ike happened to be in from some ranch or other, they would look
over the pile and take the number of letters they thought belonged to
their respective ranches, put them in the pocket of their slicker, mount
their ponies and ride away. Perhaps, in a week or so, some of the letters
would be returned to the office marked, "opened by mistake," and others
were never returned at all. I will say that there were more letters opened
by mistake in that office than in any office in the whole United States,
taking into consideration the numbers of letters received. As many years
have passed since that time, I have often wondered what became of the
efficient postmaster of Wolf Creek. As he was a good, loyal Democrat of
the Andrew Jackson type, I thought I might see him some time in the
Oklahoma Senate, but have looked in vain. He may have received an
appointment to an Ambassadorship in Mexico, but I have not heard of it.
However, wherever he is, if he be living, I wish him well.

About the time of which I am writing, it was currently reported and
generally believed that a millionaire named George R. Timms was building a
city at the head of Kiowa Creek, and that there were churches, schools,
and all the improvements that go to make a prosperous town. One could get
all the advantages of such a place by buying a lot or two on the
installment plan. I decided to take advantage of such a brilliant
opportunity of getting into closer touch with civilization. I rounded up
my horses and cattle and set out toward the land of so much promise.
Imagine my surprise and even astonishment when I reached the place, to
find it almost totally abandoned. I rode around through the deserted
streets without seeing a single person. I was about to pronounce the thing
a complete failure, from the point of view of population, when I
discovered a bench-legged, bullet-eyed individual approaching me. Where he
came from I do not know. In questioning him about the place I was informed
that he had been one of the original inhabitants, that the rest had left,
but he couldn't get away for lack of means. In his desire to take
advantage of opportunity, he offered to sell me a town lot. I replied that
I did not think there was any great demand for town lots just then, and
that there was little likelihood of a boom there for some time if present
conditions were any indication of the business prospects of the town. I
inquired where I could find a house to move into, and he told me to take
my choice of the whole place. I looked the town over and finally decided
that the hotel was about the best building for my purposes just then.
There I remained during my stay in Timms City. I made some further
inquiries of my fellow townsman as soon as I had taken up my abode in the
Timms House, and he told me that all the population had gone away to
Oklahoma to take up land; that there were only two persons left behind. I
remained in the forsaken city for some time, and spent my leisure moments
in hunting antelope. I did not meet with much success in this line of
endeavor, as there were very few left in the locality.

One day, while sitting in front of my new abode, I was called upon by some
ranchmen in the neighborhood. They asked me if I would take charge of the
postoffice. They explained that it was very difficult for them to get
their mail, and if that office was closed up, it would leave them in a
very serious predicament. I replied that it was impossible for me to take
charge of the office as I was about to take a trip East, and hence would
not be able to attend to the official duties of the place. I told them
that I appreciated the confidence they had in me, a stranger, thanked
them for the offer, but declined firmly to undertake the duties of the
position. I made mention of the fact that my wife had had some experience
in the work, and if she would be willing to undertake the running of the
place, it would be agreeable to me. She undertook the task and after three
months of trouble and worry incident to the business, the returns showed
that she had received ONE DOLLAR AND THIRTY-NINE CENTS, a handsome sum for
the time and energy spent upon the thankless task. After that matter was
disposed of, they requested me to accept the office of "Justice of the
Peace," an offer that I declined, as I never had any hankering for
political preferment. They told me they had to find some one to fill the
office until the next election took place. They gave me to understand that
the man who had filled that important position knew nothing of the Texas
laws. To give me an example of his mental acumen and his judicial
integrity, they said that, on one occasion he tried a man for stealing a
cow. The theft was proven beyond the shadow of a doubt. When the evidence
was all in, he took the case under advisement for ten days, and then he
sent the man who owned the cow to jail for ninety days and turned the
thief loose. When asked why he had taken such a course in his
administration of justice, he replied that, in his judgment, they were
both thieves, and he had sent the man to jail who could best endure the
confinement.



CHAPTER XVI.

The Messiah Craze; A Thrilling Experience; An Arkansaw Traveler, Etc.


A short time prior to the period of which I am writing, there had been
taught and promulgated by some half-breed, a religion which afterwards
became known as the "Messiah Craze." It had spread all over the Northwest
territories and finally reached Oklahoma. The principal tenet of this
strange religion was that the Great Spirit was going to remove all the
white folks and restore the buffalo to his native plains, which were to
become a sort of "Happy Hunting Grounds" for the Indians, or a heaven on
earth where everything was to be peace, joy, and chuckaway without end.

I had heard something about it, but had paid little or no attention to it.
The current of events lent an aspect of truth to the prophecy, as, about
that time the cowmen were being removed from the Cherokee Strip, their
fences and ranches torn down and moved away. All this seemed to say to the
half-crazed Indians that the white man's race was about run. All they had
to do was to wait a while and their earthly paradise would be opened for
Indian occupation. I could not see things in the same light as the Indian
enthusiast. It looked to me as if the Government intended to throw the
Cherokee country open to homestead settlement. The truth of this
conjecture was proven shortly afterwards, and showed that I had the
correct solution of the movement.

I made up my mind to make a journey down through that section to learn
something of the topography of the place and also to find a good location
in which to make a settlement when it was opened for the purpose. I fitted
out my wagon with the necessary supplies for the jaunt, took five head of
horses, and took my little boy, Emmet, then about twelve years of age, for
company. When all preparations were properly made, we started out on what
was to be a perilous journey.

On our first night out, we stayed with Judge Gard, on Mammoth Creek. He
was County Judge, one of those whole-souled men who never knew what it was
to pull in the latch-string-that hung on his door. We spent the evening
very pleasantly exchanging experiences of former days. Next morning we set
out before dawn, and sunrise found us on Wolf Creek trail. We followed
this along the creek until we reached its mouth, where it joins the
Beaver, and forms the head-waters of the North Canadian River, about a
mile and a half from Ft. Supply. From there we took the trail leading to
the little town of Woodward, only a station erected alongside the railroad
which had been recently built through that country. Here I had the
pleasure of meeting Thomas Bugbee, an old-time cowmen who was shipping his
cattle preparatory to leaving the Cherokee Strip. I had a friendly chat
with him, and then pulled out and proceeded on my way along the Canadian
River. We had not gone very far on our way when we met an old frontiersman
and prince of scouts, Amos Chapman, taking a band of Cheyenne Indians to
Camp Supply to draw their rations. As it was now past noon, we stopped to
let the horses graze while we prepared something for our wants. Whilst
there we inquired of Amos how things were running down the river. He told
us something about the excitement that had been stirred up. While we were
eating the Indians filed by, and their appearance was not any too
encouraging. Before parting with us, he advised us to keep a close watch
on them as they were all affected with the Messiah Craze; that they had
been making medicine, and were liable to break out at any time, but that
up to the present they had done nothing more than was customary with them.
As he had several bullet marks as souvenirs of former encounters with
them, and had also lost one leg in an Indian fight, I knew that I was
talking to a man of no small experience, and felt that his advice was
worth taking. He noticed that I had some good horses with me, and warned
me to keep them picketed close to me while I slept, as a good horse was a
very great temptation to an Indian, especially a bad one, but generally
speaking my stock was safe enough. I thanked him for his counsel, and as
the afternoon was fast slipping away, I moved on.

As the cowmen had nearly all left that part of the country, and as the
Indians had all gone to Camp Supply for their rations, we did not meet
many travelers on the trail that afternoon. We went into camp early, and
pursuant to the advice given us, we picketed our horses near at hand.
There was no curfew rung that night, but there was a good substitute, for,
about a mile away there was camped a company of soldiers, sent out from
the Fort ostensibly for the purpose of exercise, but in reality to watch
the movements of the Indians. At the passing of every hour we could hear
the sentry call out that all was well. As this was my first night to camp
out in some time I did not sleep very well, and, consequently, was up at
daybreak ready to start. The usual formalities of breakfast for ourselves
and attention to our outfit had been attended to, and we took up our
journey once more. We had not gone more than a mile when I discovered a
lone man standing beside the trail with a gun in his hands. What he was
doing there was a mystery to me. I could not see any horse near him, nor
was there anything else in sight to give a clue to his presence there. In
the meantime I kept moving on, with one eye on the man and the other on
the trail. When I was within a few hundred yards of him, he raised his gun
and fired. I could see the smoke and hear the report, but could not
discover the object he was trying to shoot. As I approached him, I
discovered that the man before me was an Indian, bare-headed with his
hair plaited down his back, and wearing a good suit of Uncle Sam's
clothes. His foot-gear consisted of a nicely beaded pair of moccasins. His
was a majestic figure as he stood there straight as an arrow and measuring
about six feet, four inches in height. He saluted me with the customary
Indian, "How," and I returned his salutation. I enquired of him what the
difficulty was, as it was an unusual thing to meet a lone Indian on the
prairie. I knew there was something out of the ordinary, or he would not
be there. Then my difficulty began. He knew comparatively nothing of the
English language and I knew less of his sign mode of communication. He
seemed rather eager to communicate with me, and I was anxious to know the
cause of his rather unusual predicament. It seemed a hopeless task to try
to make anything out of what he was trying to tell me. However, by
battling with his broken English, and mixing in a few Cheyenne words that
I knew, I arrived at some solution of the difficulty. The fact was that he
had been over on the South Canadian on some mission from the sub-agency,
and his horse had thrown him and left him afoot on the prairie. As there
were no Indians in the neighborhood from whom he could borrow a horse,
(they were all away attending the Messiah dance), he was trying to make
his way back on foot. As he had had nothing to eat since the day before he
had been trying to shoot a prairie dog, but he had met with no success.
Then I knew that he was hungry.

The Government has succeeded in moving the Indians around from one agency
to another, and in some instances the agents have plundered the wards of
the Government of their provisions and clothing, but they have never
succeeded in removing a live Indian's appetite.

That Indian's condition aroused my sympathy, and I felt that something
should be done to relieve his immediate wants. I reached behind the seat
to the grub-box, and brought forth some cold biscuits that remained from
the meal of the day before. When he saw what I had in my hand, a broad
smile of satisfaction spread over his face. When I saw that he relished
the biscuits so much, I cut open a can of tomatoes and handed it to him.
This seemed to delight him even more than did the biscuits, and it was a
pleasure to see him drink the liquid first and then with a broad grin eat
the tomatoes one after another with all evidence of deep content. There I
was doing as the Good Samaritan had done, to the man that I thought was
standing beside the trail to shoot me. During my interview with the
Indian, one of the horses had strayed away some distance, and Emmet had
ridden after him to bring him back to the buck-board. When the Indian saw
him, he said admiringly, "Heap good papoose." He seemed to take a great
interest in the boy, but I was wondering whether it was the boy or the
rifle he was carrying on his saddle. As I had learned the direction of his
teepee I invited him to take a seat beside me so that we might be moving
onward. When he settled himself into the seat, he gave a loud grunt of
satisfaction. We rode along for several miles to where the river make a
bend, and came close to the trail. There I decided to camp as it was
convenient for wood and water. I turned in there, and I had no sooner
stopped than the Indian was out gathering wood and kindling to start a
fire. I unhitched and Emmet drove the horses down to the river to get a
drink, and let them graze until they were needed again. At this time I
needed no interpreter. I handed the Indian a knife and a side of bacon,
pointed to the skillet, and he understood the signs perfectly. He
immediately set to work to attend to the frying and I undertook the work
of getting the dishes ready for our meal. As I had a guest, I took out an
extra quantity of coffee, and an extra plate, etc. The Indian showed
himself no novice in the line of cooking, and we soon had a repast ready
that would satisfy the craving of any hungry man, prince, potentate, or
plebeian. Some folks might think it intolerable to dine in the manner
employed on such occasions. We bade defiance to all the germ theories that
were being advanced at that time, and adapted ourselves to the conditions
of time and place. After the horses had grazed for some time we hooked up
again, and set forth without any further ceremony. My guest seemed to wish
to communicate some idea to me and kept his hands and fingers as busy as a
Drogheda weaver, but all to no purpose as I could not understand him. I
drove along on my mission, the Indian all the time making his signs. At
times he looked disgusted because he could not break through my ignorance.
Probably, if I had made more of an effort, I might have understood enough
to avoid some unpleasant complications which followed soon afterwards. In
the meantime, Emmet, boylike, had been keeping his eye open for anything
in the shape of game and held his gun in readiness to bring it into
immediate play. We were jaunting along rapidly enough, and the rattling of
the buckboard disturbed the repose of a coyote that was lying in the sage
brush along the trail. When he jumped up to take a survey of the
situation, Emmet fired at him and, whether through accident or good
marksmanship, I cannot say, brought down the beast on the spot. At the
crack of the gun, the Indian turned his head just in time to see the
coyote fall, then turned loose some more sign language and closed his
efforts by saying, "heap good papoose." We proceeded along our way until
we were in the neighborhood of Cantonment. Then my fellow-traveller made a
sign that he wanted me to stop, which I did. He left the buckboard and
started off through the brush, I suppose, to where his teepee was located,
some place along the river.

I learned afterwards through an interpreter that my companion was not a
bad Indian, but one of the numerous Red Men appointed by Uncle Sam to look
after the movements of the different tribes who at that time were taking
part in the Messiah craze, and report to the fort or agency the condition
in which he found them.

In the distance I could see the timber which skirts a small creek running
into the river, where I concluded there would be a good place to camp as
there would be plenty of wood and water there, and likewise good pasture
for the horses. It was now past the middle of the afternoon, and I decided
to go into camp early so as to have a good night's rest, and give the
horses an opportunity for a good graze to freshen up after the long drive.

It did not take me long to reach the creek, and when I drove over the hill
and down into the bottom lands, what was my surprise and consternation to
find that I had driven into the storm center of the Messiah Dance then
being held on the bank of the river. There were between five hundred and a
thousand Chyennes and Arpahoes in the assemblage. Just at the moment they
were holding what the cowmen call a "powow." I was evidently in a very
ticklish situation. What to do I did not know. One thing I decided on in a
very hasty manner, and that was that there was no use in showing the white
feather just then. I drove up within about twenty rods of their
headquarters. I got out and began to unhitch. I was certainly taking the
dilemma by the horns and determined to make the most of the situation.
While trying to make myself feel comfortable, which I was far from doing,
I told Emmet to hobble the rest of the ponies to prevent their wandering
away. Then I set to work to make flap-jacks and coffee, and I do not
believe that flap-jacks were ever turned out under such circumstances
before or since. I had been doing a lot of thinking over the situation,
but found that, no matter what angle I viewed it from, I was in
difficulties. I did not dare to tell Emmet what was passing through my
mind for fear he would lose his courage, and I must say that my own was
fast ebbing. I did not like to acknowledge to my boy that I was afraid.
They say that God hates a liar, and I must say that I am no greater
admirer of such a man myself, but when Emmet ask me what the disturbance
was all about, I had to evade his question and put him off by saying that
there was nothing wrong, that the Indians were out on one of their
picnics, which they were accustomed to hold frequently. I knew I was
deceiving him, but felt that it was the best I could do under the
circumstances. I knew that the Indians claimed to be in touch with Messiah
and Messiah had promised to remove the white man and restore the buffalo
to his native plains, and I began to think seriously that I might be the
first pale-face on which that order might take effect.

While making my flap-jacks for supper, I had a visit from some eight or
ten bucks dressed up in white sheets. They came and stood around me in a
half circle. They did not speak a word, nor even utter a grunt. I
continued to give my undivided attention to the work at hand, apparently
unaware of their presence. They remained there motionless as statues for
fifteen or twenty minutes. If one of them moved a muscle, I did not know
it. Their presence was rather disconcerting, to say the least, but what
could I do about it? Why they were wearing those white sheets, I could not
understand. It might, probably, have been a part of their regalia for the
ceremony. Whatever it was, it did not add anything to my feelings of
comfort. At a signal from headquarters they left me as uncerimoniously as
they had come. I had a winchester leaning against the front wheel of the
wagon, and a six-shooter lying on the top of the grub-box, and Emmet had a
rifle close at hand, which went to show that we were pretty well able to
look after ourselves in case of emergency. Just then my attention was
attracted by the rumbling of wheels and on looking around I saw a man
driving a small team of ponies in my direction. I was rather glad of his
arrival, whoever he might be. Some one has said that "misery loves
company," and I have yet to learn which was the greater nuisance, my
misery or my new-found arrival. I was anxious for a relief from the
present embarrassing conditions, and invited him to stop and have
something to eat. He complied with my request, or rather invitation. He
unhitched his ponies, not a very difficult task as he employed a
simplified harness of the chain variety, with corn-husk collars, and no
throat-latch to the bridles. When he went towards the wagon the old ponies
seemed to know what was coming, and shook their heads and the bridles fell
off, and they went to grazing. While Emmet was making more coffee and
frying an extra quantity of meat, I went over to inspect his outfit. It
was certainly a strange make-up for a man on a journey. There was no
bedding in sight, and no kind of cooking outfit. There was an old gun that
had once been a flint-lock, and might have seen service in the battle of
Waterloo. The breach had been cut off and it had been restocked. The
barrel was about four feet long, and for a front sight it had something
that very much resembled a brass collar button. The butt of the stock was
wrapped in a gunny sack and tied up carefully with binder twine, which I
learned afterwards was for the purpose of lessening the concussion on his
shoulder when firing it.

My guest sat down to eat, and while he was thus occupied, I made bold to
question him as to whence he came and whither he was going. He informed me
that he was from Arkansaw and was on his way to No-Man's Land where he had
relations. I then ask him to mention some of the folks he was going to
bless with his presence. From the reply he gave me I knew that I was face
to face with an artistic liar, as I knew all the settlers up in that part
of the country. Having in earlier years made a study of phrenology, I
thought this the proper time to put some of the principals I had learned
to the test. I began to make a sort of mental examination of the formation
of his cranium and came to the conclusion that he would violate at least
seven of the commandments without a second thought, and the remaining
three would have to depend upon circumstances for their observation. One
thing I found in his favor and that was that he would not commit murder as
the bump of combativeness was almost entirely lacking a view which in a
very short time proved to be correct, for almost immediately, without any
preliminaries or forewarning, as if by magic the Messiah Dance was opened,
and the man from Arkansaw almost melted away through fear.

As it was now dark, I could see plainly the movements of the Indians by
the glare of the camp fires around their teepees. Their leader commenced
intoning a wierd Hi-Yi-Hi-Oh-Yip-Yip-Hi-Oh, and maintained the monotonous
chant as an accompaniment to the tom-tom. This was kept up without
intermission until the first set of dancers became exhausted. Then
everything became quiet once more. The silence remained unbroken until the
next performance was ready. When the recess had lasted about half an hour,
the signal was given a second time, and all the dancers, bucks and squaws,
fell into line and began a performance which resembled very much a
continuation of the old-time hop-step. They leaped and chanted at the same
time. The melody of their song was very much in keeping with the music of
the tom-tom, but entirely unlike anything I had ever heard, before or
since. Most of the bucks were decorated with the insignia of the rank they
held in their respective tribes, while the remainder were clothed in the
regulation blanket, moccasins, and breach clouts. The squaws, like their
white sisters, endeavored to outdo each other in the matter of fantastic
habiliments. They wore no head dress, and their hair was done up in the
latest style. They wore some splendid blankets which I judged were of
Navajoe make, and were highly ornamented. Besides this they wore moccasins
beaded in many colors, and leggings.

Still the dance went on with the same powow, with no variation in the
music. It was left for the third and final dance to make the grand display
of the evening. When they had enjoyed the second recess in sullen silence,
they broke forth in one grand effort to make the finale the
piece-de-resistance of the evenings entertainment. They seemed to have
restrained themselves for this special production of their hideous and
welkin-splitting pandemonium. Everything they had done in the way of
cavorting in the complex measures of their former dance, seemed to be
nothing to what was expected of them in the last grand splurge. From my
own observation of the performance I should best describe it by saying
that it seemed as if the infernal regions had been turned loose for a
holiday. The readers imagination will have to picture what really took
place in that final orgy of riot and disorder. Words cannot adequately
describe it, and I would be unwise to attempt to do so. But just to give a
faint idea of what really took place I will say that at a given signal
they all fell into line again as in the previous performance. In addition
to their former efforts, they included the call or cry of every bird or
beast known to them, from the guttural growl of the wild bear to the call
of the peewee. It was all there in one jumble of discordant sound, the
neighing of the horse, the roaring of the bull, the call of the bobwhite,
the barking of dogs, the howl of the coyote, the call of the peacock, the
familiar gobbling of the wild turkey, etc. This was continued until they
dropped from sheer exhaustion. The revel and riot was at length completed
and silence reigned again.

In all my experience I have never heard or seen anything like it. Anything
that I had ever seen before was like a children's picnic when compared
with the Messiah Dance. I had read of Tam O'Shanter peeping through the
crannies of the Auld Kirk of Alloway, feasting his eyes upon the dance of
the witches, but it was not to be compared with the Messiah Dance, for
here there were real, live mortals enacting a dance that was incomparable
in its weird peculiarities.

When the festivities had ceased, I asked my Arkansaw guest what he thought
of it. He replied that he had just about concluded to leave at once. "If,"
said he, "they do such things in play, what would they do to us if they
took the notion to put into practice some of the barbarities for which the
Indian is famed." I told him to get that notion out of his head
immediately, for, if he did, the Indians would likely follow him and take
his scalp for a prelude to what they would do afterwards to him. I assured
him that there was some security in remaining where we were, but that
there would be none in leaving, as they would think he was afraid and then
would follow him with results not to be desired. After a good deal of
persuasion, I induced him to share my blankets with me and my boy, which
was a great trial for him.

The bucks and squaws had, by this time, retired to their tents, and
everything, was quiet. The camp fires were still burning and lit up the
trees and shrubbery so plainly that one could see each separate branch and
twig. The reflection of the blaze lit up the little valley in such a way
that we seemed to be walled in by a cordon of liquid fire.

As I was fatigued after the day's journey, I turned in like a trooper's
horse, with my shoes on, to be ready to meet any emergency that might
arise. As innocence knows neither crime, nor danger, Emmet was curled up
in sleep like a babe in its mother's arms. But such was not the case of
the Arkansaw Traveller. He was lying on the opposite side of the "bed,"
next to Emmet, but in spite of the fact that he was removed from me in
that manner, I could hear his heart beating so distinctly that it seemed
like the fluttering of a bird trying to break from its cage. For myself, I
just trusted in a kind Providence, and slept the sleep of the weary.

At daybreak we were up and thankful that we were still alive. We went
about the preparation of breakfast as though nothing unusual was taking
place around us. As the weather looked as though we would have rain very
soon, I set about the task of building a teepee, as I had no shelter. I
intended to cover it with a wagon sheet, as that was the most serviceable
for the purpose of keeping us dry. In the meantime Emmet had strayed off
through the trees and brush to see what he could find in the way of game.
I had just cut some willows to make the framework of my teepee, when the
boy came running excitedly back to camp and exclaimed, "papa, papa come
down to the river and see what those Indians are doing!" As I saw he was
excited about something, I dropped everything and followed him to the
river which was not far from our camp. There I saw something that was
novel to me. There were about five hundred bucks and squaws in the water
taking their morning bath. They were not in one group, but were separated
about seventy-five yards, bucks in one group and squaws in another.
Between them was an imaginary dead line over which, by tribal custom, no
young buck or brave had the temerity to cross. They were splashing around
in the water like nymphs, disporting themselves after their own fashion. I
did not notice that indispensable attache of refined society, the chaperon
domineering over those simple, stainless daughters of the plains to keep
them from drifting from the path of moral rectitude. A native sense of
modesty, as well as tribal traditions dispensed with such a guardian.
There was no need of one. There were no ladies of high-degree lolling on
benches on the bank, with a broad brimmed hat, and all the other follies
that go to make up what is called "style," neither were there any little,
black nosed, red eyed, fluffy-haired dogs with expensive collars around
their necks, nor pugs with tails curled up so tightly that it would be
almost impossible for their hind legs to touch the ground. No, they were
not there, neither were many other devises that go to improve the figure
to make it Juno-like, nor were bathing suits in evidence, but in spite of
all that they seemed to be enjoying the frolic in the water.

As I had left the kettle of beans simmering on the fire, I had to return
and look after them as the mind of the man from Arkansaw was too much
perturbed to be in condition to mind anything so commonplace as beans.
When I reached my outfit, I was surprised to find a half dozen Indian
police awaiting me. They bore a message from the Indian agent stating that
he wished to see me. As I was rather anxious to depart from that locality,
I was not long in making the necessary arrangements to do so. When I
arrived at the agency, I made inquiries of those who were there as to the
whereabouts of the agent. I was directed to the office. I entered and
introduced myself and inquired what was wanted of me. The agent, who
introduced himself as Boak, a very nice gentleman, told me that the
Indians were holding their Messiah Dance and did not care for the presence
of white folks, as witnesses. As they had seen me begin to build a teepee
they came to the conclusion that I was going to become a permanent fixture
there, and they requested the agent to invite me to choose another
locality for my habitation. Of course, he informed me that I was welcome
to such hospitality as the agency could furnish. I believed him and
thanked him for his generosity. I assured him that it had not been my
intention to disturb the Indians in their religious proceedings. I did not
say anything about my being afraid that I would be disturbed by them. It
chanced that our feelings in regard to the matter were mutual. The more we
discussed the matter, the more he seemed to insist upon my partaking of
his hospitality, which led me to believe that he was rather uneasy on
account of the Messiah Dance and wanted not only my company, but whatever
assistance I could give in case the Indians became threatening. I did not
find any fault with him for having that feeling, and it would take a man
better versed in Indian lore to tell what was likely to happen next.

As it was getting along in the forenoon, and I saw there was no further
use in prolonging the interview, I left the agency, went and got my
belongings and set out on my journey up along the river. I took the bottom
trail that wound a zig-zag course through the timber. My progress seemed
to be made through a leafy tunnel. The trees on each side of the trail
were heavily leaved, and the branches above reached across the trail,
forming a beautiful corridor-like passage. When I had gone on my way for a
mile or more, I happened to glance behind and saw an Indian on a pony,
with a winchester across his saddle, who seemed to be following me. I did
not like the looks of things just then. I concluded that if the Indian had
any trouble he wanted to settle, the best thing was to have the matter
attended to without delay. I drove on until I came to a rather lengthy
passage, free from windings, and then stopped the team. I motioned for him
to come up to where I was. He did so. When he arrived, I asked him in an
uncertain tone of voice what he wanted? He uttered but one word, "tobac."
I had about half a sack of Duke's Mixture which I handed to him. He took
it hastily, turned his horse around and plunged into the brush at the side
of the trail, and that was the last that I saw of him. I found it hard to
reconcile myself to the belief that it was tobacco alone that he was
wanting.

The rain had begun falling in the meantime, and to say that it was merely
raining will not convey the proper idea to the mind. It poured in
torrents, and continued to do so all day long. About noon we stopped and
tried to make some coffee for dinner, but it was no use. We set out again
and plodded along in the deluge until late in the afternoon. I was
continually on the look-out for some sort of shelter, and my sight was at
last gratified by observing at some distance from the river, a stockade
building. I set off in the direction of the expected shelter, and when I
reached it, found that it had a good dirt-roof, but no windows nor doors.
It was what is called a wind-break and I determined to preempt it for the
night. I knew it belonged to some Indian, but as he was likely off to the
Messiah Dance, he would not return just then, and even if he did, I would
try to make him as comfortable as circumstances would permit, divide my
chuckaway with him, even go so far as to share my blanket with him, but as
for deserting that shelter just then, it was not to be thought of. If he
were to become hostile and wanted to fight, I would accommodate his
longing as there would be little or no chance to seek safety in flight. I
made preparations to cook some supper, and Emmet attended to the horses,
hobbled them and turned them loose to graze. In the meanwhile, I must not
forget to say that Arkansaw had been following me like a shadow ever since
I left the agency. To see him as he was then in his bedraggled condition,
with his ramshackle outfit, one would think that the genius of famine and
desolation had descended upon the land. I carried the chuck-box, bedding,
guns, and utensils into the shelter preparatory to getting things ready
for supper and bed. I enlisted the services of Arkansaw to gather some
wood to build a fire, and I must say as a hauler of wood he was a dismal
failure. However, we finally managed to get a fire started and set in to
dry our clothes, bedding, etc., along with getting something to eat. We
were all ravenously hungry, and the flap-jacks disappeared with wonderful
alacrity. When our appetites had been satisfied, things did not look so
bad to us. It was not the most comfortable place to spend the night, but
it was far better than the rain soaked ground. To add to our discomfort,
it began to turn cold. We crawled under the partially dried blankets in
the hope that wearied nature would provide a good sound sleep. As we were
not distracted by such howling and yelling as we had endured the night
before, things would have been favorable for a good night's rest. But I
cannot say there was much prospect for a refreshing sleep as it is one
thing to find repose under dry blankets, and another to seek the same balm
for a wearied body under bedding that has been exposed to a downpour of
rain for hours. No, it was not going to rest, it was just lying down for
want of something else to do. I noticed that the heart of the Arkansaw
Traveller did not beat as loudly as on the preceding night, and it was not
long until he began to snore with all the variations of a steam calliope.
I was glad to know that he at least could find sleep under such
conditions, but for me, there was not much comfort. I thought that by this
time my fellow traveller was over his scare, but in the midst of his
dreams he let a yell out of him and exclaimed, "Let up on that, you can't
scalp me, I'm from Arkansaw." I reached over and gave him a poke in the
side and told him that it made no difference whether he was from Arkansaw
or New Jersey, that he would be scalped unless he was ready to put up a
pretty stiff fight. When we rolled out shivering in the morning, we found
that it had frozen during the night. We welcomed the coming of the dawn,
as the night had been one continual toss from one side to the other, and
no comfort was found. I arose and shook myself to see if I were all there,
and found myself intact. The others followed my example with the same
results. I stepped outside to see how the horses were faring and found
they had wandered off. I left word for Arkansaw to prepare something to
eat and went off in search of the ponies. I had a rather good idea of
where they had gone, and after walking about a mile I found them. They
were huddled together for warmth. Their hobbles were frozen stiff. I
removed the frozen hobble from one of them, mounted him, and drove the
others back to camp. When I returned to the shelter, breakfast was ready
and soon attended to. I gathered up my belongings once more and we set out
again. It was a beautiful morning and the sun seemed to be trying to
compensate us for the hardship we had endured during the night. The
horses seemed anxious to go, and their speed shortened the time of our
journey considerably. We rode on for about ten or twelve miles, when we
came to a beautiful grazing ground sheltered by a sand hill. With such a
fine location I decided that this was a good opportunity to spread out the
bedding to dry, and attend to our other wants. It seemed as if we were
always hungry, and when a fine opportunity presented itself for preparing
a repast, we simply had to yield to the occasion. I set Emmet and Arkansaw
to cooking, while I attended to the horses. I then took a ramble around
for I had seen where there was evidence of a flock of wild turkeys in the
neighborhood. It was no great difficulty to follow their trail in the soft
earth, and I soon happened upon a flock of forty or fifty feeding on the
heads of wild rye that was growing in a sort of pocket formed by the hill.
I took in my surroundings at a glance, and to my agreeable surprise I saw
a deer about two hundred yards away nibbling at the leaves of a shin oak.
I determined to take a chance with the deer first. I took careful aim and
fired. My shot was not true, but I succeeded in breaking his hind leg. He
did not seem to realize where the shot came from, and turned and came
straight for me. I will admit that his advance upon me was disconcerting
as it was so unusual. I waited until he had come within about twenty yards
from me, and fired again. The bullet struck within about six inches of
where I was aiming, which showed that I was influenced by what is called
"buck fever." While all this was taking place, the turkeys had flown off
over the hill. I followed them, knowing that they would not be far away. I
came upon them. They were all huddled together in one dense mass. I sent a
bullet into the midst of them and succeeded in killing two of them. The
others flew away, and I knew by their flight that more of them had been
hit. I gathered up the two that I had brought down and took them back to
where the deer was lying. I found that I had carried them about as far as
I cared to, and went off to get some dinner, intending to have Emmet
saddle up his pony and bring them in later. I accompanied him as he was
too young to attend to the matter alone. I hung the turkeys on the saddle
horn, and the pony seemed to object as he bucked considerably. He did not
take kindly to dragging the deer after him and showed his displeasure by
performing such gyrations as only a Texas cow pony can accomplish.
However, we succeeded in persuading him to perform the task and set out
for camp. When we had returned to our outfit, and I had begun to dress the
deer, Arkansaw came to me in an apparent state of trepidation and told me
that, during my absence, a band of Indians, seven in number had called at
the camp and left word for me to leave the reservation. To be sure that I
understood him aright, I asked, 'how many?' "Seven" said he. I asked him
if they were all on horseback and he said that they were, that one of them
wore a war-bonnet. I made no reply to this, but when I had completed the
task of dressing the deer and turkeys, I made a circle around the camp,
about fifty yards out, and found no traces of any Indians being there.
When I returned to the camp, I felt satisfied that Arkansaw was about the
most artistic and monumental liar west of the Mississippi. I then knew
that he was still frightened and wanted to get as far away from there as
he could and that as soon as possible. He was afraid to go alone and
originated the tale to induce me to set out at once. I did not tell him
what I thought of the originality of design he manifested, but if he had
an ounce of judgment he would have seen that I would easily detect his
falsehood as my horses were all shod, and I could easily detect the marks
of the unshod Indian ponies in the soft earth if they had been in the
neighborhood. I did not make any preparations to depart immediately, but
left Emmet and Arkansaw to look after the things about the camp, and set
out again to secure more game if possible. It was with reluctance that my
brave? friend consented to do such a little thing as greasing the
buckboard, as he felt there was grave danger in delaying there any longer.
Before leaving I informed him that I was thinking of departing next
morning, but if any more Indians appeared on the scene while I was gone,
to inform them that I was not in a hurry to leave those parts, and,
furthermore, if they were looking for trouble, I was there to accommodate
them.

The absence of danger is sometimes a great stimulus to a man's courage,
and I felt that there was no peril in store for us as it was most likely
that there was not an Indian within fifteen miles of us, and, besides I
wanted to scare the Arkansaw Traveller properly.

I took my gun and sauntered off over the hill, enjoying the walk after
being cramped up in the buckboard. I could have killed several turkeys,
but preferred to get another deer if possible. In my meanderings I came
upon an Indian grave. He had been laid to rest upon a platform, rolled in
his blanket and wrapped in an outer covering of bark. I must confess that
I had an uncanny feeling as I approached the last resting place of that
noble red man, but it was a sensation entirely different to the ones I had
experienced in meeting some of them in the flesh. However, since he was
there and I was close by, I thought it a good opportunity to satisfy my
curiosity about their customs of burial. I approached him with about as
much alacrity as one would expect under the circumstances. I found the
blanket in which he was rolled, incrusted with sand that had blown upon it
from the neighborhood. It was rotten from long exposure to the elements
and had about the same consistency as paper. I turned back one corner to
get a view of the condition of the remains. The flesh had disappeared, the
long braided hair was there, but from its appearance I could not tell
whether he had been there thirty days, or three years. It had a gloss to
it that seemed to indicate that his burial took place recently. I turned
back the blanket and left him as I found him. I retraced my steps towards
camp, as I was beginning to have another attack of what usually ailed me,
hunger. On my way, I discovered another deer near the place where I had
killed the first one, and was able to bring him down at the first shot. I
left him where he fell and went back to where Emmet and Arkansaw were
whiling away the time making ready for the next lap of our journey. I sent
the boy back with the pony to bring in the game.

While we were alone, Arkansaw, while watching me get supper, grew
confidential. He told me about leaving his native state, and how he had
traded coonskins for the gun with the remarkable action. I asked him why
he did not use it when an occasion presented itself for bagging a few
turkeys. He replied that he was rather afraid to shoot the weapon, as,
just before leaving his home, he was short of ammunition and had no
opportunity of procuring any. Besides that, one of his neighbors told him
that he would be likely to meet some bad men on the way to the Territory,
and advised him to put a plow bolt down the barrel to keep the load that
was in it from getting damp. He said that he was afraid the bolt had
rusted in the barrel and consequently he had not the courage to fire the
gun. Just to add to his pleasurable feelings at that moment, I thought I
would give him some of his own coin and told him that I had seen an Indian
on my travels, who was dressed differently from those we had seen at the
Messiah Dance, and that there were likely more in the neighborhood. I
warned him to prepare for an emergency by getting that gun into working
shape. I advised him to pour bacon grease into the lock and try to get it
into working order, for if those Indians he saw would return, there would
be some moments of activity around that neck of the woods. As Emmet had by
this time arrived with the deer, I set to work to dress it and put things
in shape for our departure in the morning. To have some more sport with
Arkansaw I tried to get him to stand guard during the night. I told him
that now that his gun was in good shape he would be in a position to
protect himself, and at the same time warn us of the approach of Indians.
He tried for a while, but I could see that he was suffering agony untold
on account of his fear of an attack. The rustling of a leaf caused him to
tremble, and any louder noise made him jump. It is a wonder that in his
excitement he did not turn loose with the old gun, but I suppose he forgot
all about it. I took pity on him and told him to lie down, that there was
little or no danger. He gladly sought the shelter of the blanket and was
soon giving me selections on the calliope. Next morning we still found
ourselves in possession of our scalps, and felt much refreshed after the
good night's rest. We gave the usual attention to breakfast, which did not
take long. We were about ready to start, except for one thing. I did not
like the idea of Arkansaw carrying that old gun around with him,
especially since I learned that it was loaded with a plow bolt. I tried to
get him to fire it off as the jarring of his old wagon or some other
concussion might explode it and kill some person, or injure some of the
horses. To rid myself of the danger, I agreed to fire it for him, to which
he readily consented. I took the gun and tied it to a tree, fastened a
rope to the trigger and when all preparations for our farewell salute were
made, I pulled the trigger. The old gun went off in two different
directions. The barrel went forward, and the recoil kicked the old stock
backwards about five feet and it stuck fast in the sand. Right there my
worry about the old gun terminated.

With our game packed on the buckboard and covered with the wagon sheet to
keep off the sand which was blowing plentifully at the time, we started
for Timms City. The horses were fresh and the trails in good condition,
and we advanced rapidly. My only trouble was to keep Arkansaw and his
festive steeds out of the way, as he was determined to put as much
distance between him and the scene of his fright as possible. At times he
had his poor old nags on the gallop. Such a pace they could not maintain,
and about noon time they gave out. We stopped for refreshments. When we
were ready to set out again, I pointed out the way to Sod Town in No-Man's
Land and left him. When I parted company with him I felt that I had met
one of the strangest characters I had ever encountered in all my days. I
reached home the same night. In conclusion of this article I wish to say
that I have never had another hankering to attend a Messiah Dance.



CHAPTER XVII.

Conditions Prior to the Indian Raids; The Frontier Line; Savages on the
Warpath; Custer's Fate; General Forsythe's Predicament.


Before setting down the narrative of the Dull Knife Raid, or any other, it
is not amiss to relate something of the conditions that prevailed prior to
those events.

In 1878, and for ten years prior to that time, the most of the plain
Indians had been on the war-path for some reason or another. To give an
idea of the size of the country which was the scene of their endeavors, it
is well to outline the frontier as it existed then. Civilization was
supposed to have terminated its advance at the Saline, Solomon and
Cottonwood rivers, though a few straggling settlers had established
themselves on the Little Walnut, and White rivers, with a colony at
Council Grove. Beyond that line the domination of the white man was
supposed to cease, and it was not the Indian's fault that it did not. He
did his best to have it do so, but the result was far from successful from
his point of view. Beyond the line above mentioned there existed only the
Indian, the buffalo and a few venturesome spirits who formed the trains
that forced their way overland to Colorado and the Black Hills, or endured
the more hazardous undertaking of making the long march to California in
1849. They were, indeed, venturesome, for to undertake such a trip, one
took his life in his hands, and the result was that many of them paid the
penalty for their daring. Not only were they harassed by the Indian tribes
they encountered on their way, but privations beset them on all sides and
starvation often traveled with them to their sorrow. At any moment such a
wagon train as they conducted was liable to attack from savage bands, and
there then occurred a fight for life. Nor were all those attacks
engineered by the Indian alone. The Mormans did their share of the
dastardly work under the guise of the Indian. This statement may appear a
trifle strong, but it is proved beyond all doubt that John D. Lee with a
gang of cut-throats perpetrated the Mountain Meadow massacre, with all the
ferocity and butchery of the most savage of tribesmen. He did his work too
well, and endeavored to cover up his tracks by making it appear that it
was the work of the Indian. He not only murdered the members of the train,
but mutilated the dead bodies of the slain after the fashion of the
Indian. He and his accomplices then looted the train, and what they could
not carry away, they destroyed. The world was well rid of such a man when
he was shot off his own coffin lid to pay the penalty of his crimes,
though in his death he did not make compensation for one per cent of all
the butcheries he had committed. To return to the thread of the narrative,
all that scope of country lying between the western boundary of settlement
and the foot hills of the Rocky Mountains, was estimated by competent
judges to contain about fifteen hundred square miles of territory. It was
the grazing ground in 1870 for about three million buffalo. The fighting
forces of the Indians roaming that huge tract of country at the time was
approximately six thousand, five hundred men of different tribes, not to
say anything about the number of squaws who followed in their wake dealing
death to the cripples and mutilating the dead. At that time, each lodge
had on an average of about 125 or 150 ponies for use in their raids.
Taking all these things into consideration, one must come to the
conclusion that there was a formidable force to contend with, especially
as the Indian mode of fighting was not governed by the laws of civilized
warfare. To protect the settlers from the destructive raids of these
tribes, the Government had erected a line of forts manned with an
insufficient force for the work at hand. The list of such forts
comprised, Ft. Hays, Ft. Wallace, Ft. Harker, Ft. Larned, Ft. Dodge, Camp
Supply, and Ft. Elliot. As I said, they were poorly garrisoned, as the
best men they had, had been called away to fill vacancies in the regiments
used in the Civil war, and their places were supplied by raw recruits, or
old soldiers who had re-enlisted for want of something else to do. To add
to their inefficiency in Indian warfare, they knew nothing of the
topography of the country in which they were expected to serve. One can
imagine what a predicament they would be in on the first occasion of their
engagement with the natives of the plains, and an example will be shown
presently. I do not wish my reader to think for a moment that I want to
say anything derogatory of the valor of the American soldier. His
reputation for bravery established on scores of battle fields, is too well
founded to be shaken by anything I might say to the contrary. But this I
will venture to state, namely, that when he came face to face with the
Indian mode of warfare in a country of which he knew practically nothing,
he was confronted by a set of circumstances over which he had no control,
and all the military training of former years was of little value to him.
This is true both of officers and privates. Bitter experience has proved
that both officials and men in the ranks were in the same predicament as
regards the best mode of meeting the wily Indian on his own ground. To
give the proof of this assertion I shall mention two cases, one briefly
and the other at greater length, to bring into full view what these men
had to contend against.

In the first case, the disaster to Gen. Custer proves the correctness of
my contention. Gen. Custer was a man with a national reputation for valor
and military experience, yet he allowed that wily old Indian chief,
Sitting Bull, to inveigle him into following him and his band into the
valley of the Little Big Horn where he turned upon him with all the
savagery of which the Indian nature is capable, and not only defeated,
but totally annihilated his command. No, not a living man was left to tell
the tale of the disaster.

In the second case which I will present to the reader, I shall show not
only the inefficiency of a man trained in any other school than that of
the "plains," to fight the Red Man on his native heath, but will bring out
some of the characteristics of the Indian's mode of procedure.

Gen. G. A. Forsythe was the man whose military reputation as a commander
was second to none in the service of Uncle Sam, a man in whom Gen. Phil.
Sheridan placed the greatest confidence, a man with whom the same Gen.
Sheridan took counsel in any matter requiring military strategy. To show
the General's esteem of this man's skill, and at the same time show his
appreciation of his worth, Sheridan took him with him, to Germany to view
the manoeuvres of the Franco-Prussian war. The above will give the reader
an indication of the character of the man who met with so much ill success
when fighting the Indians.

In 1868 Gen G. A. Forsythe was located temporarily at Ft. Wallace, having
gone to that point for supplies. While there, daily reports were brought
to him of the numerous depredations committed by the Indians along the
railroads. The last report to reach him brought the unpleasant
announcement that two freighters had been murdered and their stock driven
off. This was too much. The Indian seemed to be committing all manner of
misdeeds with seeming impunity, and he decided that he must put an end to
such a state of things and at the same time punish the guilty ones for
past misconduct. With this purpose in view, he gained permission from Gen.
Sheridan to organize an expedition against them. The license was granted
and with forty-seven scouts, among whom was Surgeon Moore and Lieut.
Beecher, he set out about the tenth of the month of ----, in a
north-westerly direction to overtake the savages. In the inception of
this expedition he made one grave mistake for which he paid dearly in the
near future. He took along provisions for only ten days, on pack mules. He
had no ambulances, nor wagons. In the case of an engagement he did not
have men enough, nor sufficient quantity of supplies, to meet the
requirements of a cattle round-up, much less an undertaking of the kind he
had in view. He set forth in high spirits, for he did not realize the
magnitude of the undertaking he had mapped out for himself, nor the danger
into which he was rushing. The weather was favorable and the country
rather level, so there was nothing to impede his rapid progress. On the
fifth day out, some of the scouts discovered a few Indians. Their trail
was picked up and as they progressed it became plainer, which showed that
they were nearing the vicinity of the foe. On the fifth evening out, they
went into camp in a small valley in the northwest corner of the state of
Kansas, and not far from the eastern line of Colorado, just where a small
stream called the Arickaree flows into the Republican river. In that
little stream was a small island covered with scrubby timber. It could not
be exactly called an island, as the water flowed on one side of it only,
and at a depth of only about a foot, while the other channel was
absolutely dry and filled with coarse grass and brush. As they were all
weary with the long march already made, they lay down in their blankets to
secure a good rest, little thinking what the next day had in store for
them. About daylight, the next morning, some of the scouts heard a
commotion among the horses and jumped up to see what was wrong. They
discovered the Indians in the act of endeavoring to stampede the horses,
and they gave the alarm. As soon as the scouts saw the situation, they
opened fire upon the redskins and drove them away. The shooting was a
signal for all to rise. They realized that danger was near, and they did
not have long to wait until it was present. In less than an hour's time,
between five and six hundred Chyenne warriors appeared on the hill side,
painted and decked out in all the paraphrenalia of a full-fledged war
party under the leadership of Roman Nose who at that time was the
Bonoparte of the Chyenne tribe.

It seems that the Indians had been keeping close watch on the movements of
the little parties of scouts, and as they were now about eighty or a
hundred miles from their base of supplies, thought that if they could
stampede the horses, they would be able to secure the band as an easy
prey. When they failed to make way with the horses and mules, their next
move was to open fire upon the men, which they did without delay. This
turn of affairs was so sudden and unexpected that the General seemed to
lose his head, and stood there in profound amazement. While the General
was in this state of uncertainty as to what to do, with his men exposed to
the Indian fire, Jack Stillwell, a boy of nineteen, without any regard for
formality of ceremony, yelled out, "Why in blazes don't you go over on
that island?" The General took the advice so freely and informally given
by his subordinate, and all broke on the run for the shelter of the
pseudo-island. They arrived there, but not before several of them were
wounded in the dash in which several of the horses were killed, or
crippled. The scouts utilized the dead horses as breastworks and poured
such a hot fire into the Indians that they withdrew to the shelter of the
hills. The scouts employed their time in digging rifle pits, as they were
sure that the Indians were not going to give up the fray without another
effort to wipe out the little band. It was only a very short time until
the Indians were seen coming down the hillside with intensified ferocity
due to their first repulse, howling warwhoops from six hundred lusty,
savage throats, and adding to the din by beating tomtoms. It was a sight
to send a chill to the stoutest heart to see them wildly flinging their
arms in the air to the accompaniment of their thunderous yells, the
rumbling of the flying horses as they descended upon the little band, in
their mad career. At their head rode Roman Nose encouraging his followers
and urging them on to deeds of valor with shout and gesture. One may
imagine the chill that crept over many a heart at such a terrifying
spectacle, but it was not time to show the white feather, as they could
expect no quarter from the blood-thirsty band coming upon them with all
the intensity of a whirlwind of fury. When the Indians were within rifle
shot, the scouts opened upon them with a fusilade of bullets, with deadly
effect. Many a horse was tumbled to the earth and many an Indian bit the
dust, either entirely killed, or mortally wounded. The savages returned
the fire with but little effect as the scouts were entrenched behind the
dead horses, or in their rifle pits. On they came undaunted by the first
shock of battle. They advanced almost to the bank of the little stream
that flowed between the half-island and the main land. There Roman Nose
was seen to reel and fall from his saddle, shot through his body. Another
chieftain, I shall not say more daring than the others, but more favored
by good luck, succeeded in fording the little stream and advanced to the
very bank of the sand bar, or island, before he fell riddled by the
bullets of the desperate little band. The continuous fusilade of bullets
poured into the serried ranks of the Indians at such close range, together
with the loss of their leaders impelled the savages to retreat to the
hills once more. This they did accompanied by a shower of bullets that
emptied many a saddle before the retreating savages were out of danger.
They disappeared behind the hills, but not with the intention of giving up
the fight, as they considered their plans for massacreing the little band
to be too well laid to be set aside on account of the two repulses they
had already received. They waited till afternoon to make a third and final
assault upon the island. On they came again, but with the same result as
before. They were driven back before the galling fire of the besieged.
Determined to continue the fight at all hazards, they kept themselves out
of range of the rifles of the islanders, but maintained a desultory fire
which had no effect upon the men entrenched in the rifle pits. They then
spread themselves out and rode around the island in a circle, but out of
range of the guns of the entrapped soldiers. It was plainly their
intention to starve the scouts to death or into submission, which was all
the same to them.

In the meantime the situation on the island was far from pleasant. Though
they had defended themselves with desperate valor, the members of that
heroic little band did not escape from all injury. The dead numbered a
score, among whom was Lieut. Beecher, a nephew of the renowned Henry Ward
Beecher. Among those seriously wounded was Surgeon Moore, who was lying at
the point of death, and General Forsythe, with a bullet through his leg
and his scalp creased with another leaden missile.

The situation was critical in the extreme. Their food was gone, and the
only substitute they had was the flesh of the dead horses that lay around
them. From these they cut pieces of flesh which they ate raw, as there was
no opportunity for cooking it. This stayed their hunger for a time, but it
was a poor substitute at best. They lacked, also, for want of water, for,
although the stream lay within a few feet of them, to reach it was
impossible, for, if a man showed his head but for a moment he was greeted
with a shower of bullets that made him seek cover without delay. The
exigency of the situation made them inventive, and as they were almost
desperate from want of water, they had recourse to a very slow method of
digging down to the water level in order to secure even a scant supply.
They cut open a canteen in such a way that it would serve the purpose of a
shovel, and with this crude implement went to work to scoop up the sand to
such a depth as would bring them to the object of their search. Their
patience and persistence was rewarded better than they expected. Not only
did they obtain sufficient to meet their immediate needs, but also plenty
to bathe the General's wounds. As far as the dead were concerned, to bury
them could not be thought of, as even the movement of a branch would be a
signal for a dozen or more bullets which would drive them back to the
shelter of their defenses. Though the Indians seemed to realize the
predicament of the beseiged, they did not have the temerity to make a
final dash to complete the work of butchery they had originally planned.
Their first, second, and third attempts had cost them too dearly, and they
were content to hover near with the intention of cutting their foe to
pieces if they should make an attempt to escape. They waited patiently,
apparently secure in their conviction that the beseiged would eventually
make a dash for liberty, and if such were to occur they would descend upon
the stricken little band and with one fell swoop annihilate them
completely. Their long desired wish was never accomplished. Intent upon
the final destruction of the whites, they neglected to bury their own
dead, not only because they were too busily engaged, in watching the
besieged, but principally because they did not care to risk the danger of
adding to the already too long list of their fellow tribesmen who had
recently gone to the Happy Hunting Grounds. Moreover, the approaching
night would give them a better opportunity to secure the bodies of their
slain without incurring any risk of being sent to join them in the land of
their forefathers.

Night fell, and with it came a cessation of hostilities. It must not be
concluded that the Indians had abandoned the fight, for they did not, but
kept a wary eye upon that little island, knowing that delay would surely
put the palefaces in their possession. Nor did they make any venture to
attack the stronghold of the enemy under cover of darkness. That was not
the Indian's way of conducting his warfare. The hour favorable for the
Indian raid is just about dawn, when they expect to find the enemy asleep,
when they fall upon their unsuspecting victims and butcher them
unmercifully. As for the little band on the island, they put in a most
miserable night. An enemy could not wish them more discomfort than what
they experienced. Tired, hungry, surrounded by their dead companions, they
were not in a condition to find comfort in a situation where they were
surrounded by their mortal enemies who, they thought, would take advantage
of the darkness to crawl up to the very edge of their retreat and do them
to death without mercy. However, in spite of such unpleasant conditions,
the besieged kept up some show of cheerfulness. Morning found them far
from depressed though the situation had not changed for the better. One
wag, in spite of the fact that death might be lurking in his path,
cheerfully remarked, "Well, boys, I guess I shall have to rustle some mule
meat for the General's breakfast. I suppose he will like a change of diet
as he had only horse meat yesterday." It was this spirit of mirth amid
trying surroundings that kept the little band alive and ready during the
long days of imprisonment that followed.


[Illustration: STARVING ELK]


The next evening did not bring any change in their environments. The day
had been spent very much like the preceding one, except there were no
direct assaults upon the island. In the meantime the General's leg had
become badly swollen, and inflammation had set in. Whilst bathing it, one
of the boys discovered the bullet close to the surface, and with the
General's permission performed a surgical operation with a pocket knife
and removed the shapeless mass of lead. In order to keep the inflammation
down as much as possible, the embryo surgeon continued the application of
cold water to the affected part, which was somewhat efficacious. With the
condition of the camp in such a demoralized condition, the outlook did not
appear very promising. Even though the Indians should leave, which was not
very likely, the situation would not be relieved to any great extent, as
the General could not travel without the aid of a horse, and just then
all the horses were dead, or had been stampeded. Things were beginning to
assume a desperate aspect. Their food supply was about reduced to
nothingness as the horse flesh on which they had been subsisting was no
longer available as it was fast becoming tainted. This told them only too
plainly that their stay upon the island was to be of short duration, and
the prospect of relief from the outside world was very slight. Their only
hope, and that a forlorn one, was to cut their way out through the ranks
of the hostile Indians, and even the prospects of success in such a
venture were not very alluring. Though they might succeed in breaking
through the red cordon that held them prisoners on the island, the hope of
reaching Fort Wallace could hardly be thought of in their enfeebled
condition. It would amount to this, that they would have to fight their
whole way back to the fort without so much as a cracker or a drink of
water to sustain them on the way. It is hardly possible to imagine a body
of men in such straitened circumstances keeping up, and even fighting
against hope for delivery. After reviewing the situation from all its
different angles, and with the desperation that urges a drowning man to
grasp at a straw, the General saw but one way, and that one indicated very
meager chances of success, namely, to call for volunteers who would
endeavor to make their way to the Fort and bring assistance. Immediately,
upon the proposal being made, S. E. Stillwell, better known by the name of
Jack, and another scout named Pierre Truedell, expressed their willingness
to make the attempt. It was sad enough to have to admit the failure of the
expedition and report the news of the disaster, especially when they had
started out with high hopes of success, but it was a measure that had to
be taken if any relief was to be expected.

It was a perilous undertaking fraught with all manner of hardships. Danger
lay all around them, and whether they would reach the end of their
journey, or be taken prisoner and tortured by the Indians, they did not
know, but brave at heart, they feared not, but set out to do their best or
perish in the attempt to bring succor to their beleaguered companions.
That same evening they stole forth from the camp and crossed the little
stream, taking with them the best wishes and prayers of their fellow
scouts for success. If ever men prayed fervently and expressed sincere
wishes, it was on that occasion. No sooner had they crossed the stream
than their difficulties began. As soon as they had crossed the water, they
found their shoes filled with sand and water, and they were compelled to
stop and empty them as well as they could. Then they started on their
perilous undertaking in earnest. They did not know at what moment they
would encounter some of the lurking foe and be compelled to fight for
their lives. They did not dare to walk upright, but got down on all fours
and crawled along over the sloping hillsides like dry land terrapins.
Slowly, carefully, they wound their way among the dead Indians that
littered the plain. Painfully they picked their way with tedium through
the sullen foe, at times making haste as best they could in their stooping
position, at times lying flat upon the ground while some restless Indian
kept guard and patrolled his beat upon the hillside. During one of those
unavoidable delays, Stillwell took time to change his shoes from which he
had not been able to entirely remove the sand, and which were hurting his
feet on that account, for a pair of moccasins which he removed from the
feet of a dead Indian he encountered in his slow progress. After creeping
like an infant on all fours or worming themselves along on their stomachs
for over a mile they decided to risk standing up and in this manner
increasing their speed, as they felt certain they were outside of the
circle of Indians who were keeping watch on the little band of their
comrades on the island. Their conclusion about their position relative to
the savages proved correct. When they had gone far enough to permit them
to risk whispering to each other, Truedell complained that his feet were
hurting him on account of the quantity of sand in his shoes. As there was
no dead Indian near who had no further use for moccasins, he adapted
himself to the necessity of the case and removed his shirt. This he tore
into bandages in which he wrapped his feet. They were well aware of the
fact that there was no time to be lost in their mission, as every moment
of unnecessary delay meant hardship, suffering and danger to their
companions recently left behind. They strode on at a greater speed than
before, but did not feel safe in talking in their natural tone of voice
until they had put several miles between themselves and their starting
point. Daylight found they still trudging hastily on, but the light
compelled them to seek shelter in a friendly canyon, as the Indians would
be sure to find their trail sometime during the hours of light and likely
set out to overtake and kill them. Into the canyon they crawled and sought
the shelter of the most secluded nook they could find. They then sat down
to take a much needed rest. Fortunately for them, they had taken the
precaution to bring with them some of the horse meat. They had matches but
did not dare risk lighting a fire as the smoke would attract the attention
of the Indians and bring them down upon them post-haste. They contented
themselves with making the best of a bad situation and ate the horse meat
raw. Then they turned over and went to sleep. Nightfall found them on
their way again with renewed energy and determination. They felt that the
loss of a whole day on their journey meant added sufferings to their
companions, but such delay was unavoidable if they wished to reach the
Fort alive. On through the darkness they went, now running, now stumbling
over the uneven ground, but doggedly moving forward with unceasing ardor.
Daylight found them far from the canyon where they had spent the preceding
hours of sleep. The only shelter that presented itself to their view was a
dry buffalo wallow. Into this they crawled and spent the remaining hours
of the day in sleep if possible, or reflecting on their trying
difficulties. They had neither food nor water. It had been hours since
they had taken the last sup of water, and they suffered acutely. Their
lips were beginning to swell and they found talking difficult. Hunger,
too, added to their discomfort, but there was no relief at hand. They had
to make the best of a bad situation and hope for the best. They were
willing to suffer the pangs of hunger and thirst, if they could only bring
relief to their beleaguered friends. Night came at last, and they dragged
themselves out of the wallow to make the last desperate effort to complete
their journey. Hungry and thirsty they plunged into the darkness. Their
progress was impeded owing to their weakened condition, but on and on they
went, staggering and stumbling along, half mad with thirst, and tormented
by hunger. Morning found them in a pitiable condition. Weary and wan they
seemed as the morning sun showed them that they were not yet within sight
of the fort they sought. Half maddened with suffering they were ready for
anything. Truedell shot a rabbit, more by accident than design, and this
they fairly tore to pieces and ate raw. They were too ravenous to wait
until they could build a fire to cook it. On they went again, until they
came to a buffalo hunter trail leading to the Fort. Footsore and weary
they dragged themselves along till almost exhausted they found their way
into Fort Wallace. They sought Colonel Bankhead's quarters where they
delivered to him the news of the disaster that had befallen the ill-fated
expedition. This first and most important duty done, they then sought the
canteen where they found everything that was necessary to satisfy their
pressing wants. Relieved of the excitement of the journey, tired and worn
in every member, conscious of the fact that they had done their share in
forwarding relief to their friends still in distress, they sought
convenient bunks and were soon dead to the world in deep repose.

The next night after Stillwell and Truedell had left the island, the
General deemed it a prudent move to send two more scouts on the same
mission. He feared that, perhaps, some misfortune had overtaken the first
emissaries, and if such were the case, the report of the disaster would
never reach the Fort, nor would succor come to him and his command. He
called for two more volunteers who would be willing to try to elude the
hundreds of savage eyes that were glinting with hate on the courageous
little band, and watching every movement that took place in their
primitive defense. No sooner had he issued the call than two volunteers
offered themselves for the perilous undertaking. They realized the danger
they would dare, but as they then stood, there would hardly be more peril
in their efforts to break through the encircling foe, than there would be
if they remained inert upon the island with starvation staring them in the
face, and a band of bloodthirsty Indians ready to pounce upon them at the
very moment they showed signs of distress.

If they did not go, total annihilation awaited them; if they did go, there
was some slight chance of being liberated from their present predicament.
With the odds against them, they were willing to do their best. The two
courageous volunteers for the second effort were A. J. Pliley who now
lives in Kansas City, and Jack Donovan. They set out in about the same
manner as their two companions did on the night before, and were very
successful in eluding the foe. Things went well with them until the second
day. Perhaps their first success in eluding the Indians made them
over-bold, but the fact remains that they were followed by a band of
Redskins who discovered their trail. On the second day out on their
mission they experienced a great scare. They were lying in a dry buffalo
wallow when Pliley heard a noise. He peered carefully over the edge of the
wallow and discovered in the distance, about half a mile away, a band of
about thirty warriors coming directly towards the spot where they were
lying concealed. He turned to his companion and said, "Jack, I guess it
is all up with you and me. There are about thirty Indians coming straight
for this wallow." "Well," replied Jack, "if that is the case, I am not
going to trade even; I want two for one." They were certainly in a
dreadful predicament. Surrounded as they knew they would be by those
relentless warriors, they determined to sell their lives as dearly as
possible. They knew the process only too well. They could see already that
band of warriors riding around the wallow in a circle, shooting at them on
the run, or perhaps, even making a rush of it to overpower them by weight
of numbers, and murder them heartlessly. Perhaps, they might make them
prisoners, to be reserved for future torture. Carefully keeping an eye
upon the oncoming band, Pliley kept his friend informed of their
movements. It would not do to expose themselves too soon, as there might
be some hope that the Indians had not discovered their actual whereabouts.
On they came, and the two men spontaneously reached for their weapons to
defend themselves. Nearer and nearer they came, and the besieged made
ready to give them an opening salutation of welcome. A little nearer they
approached and then they halted. They cast a scanning glance over the
surrounding country, and apparently they were satisfied that their
intended victims had eluded them. Then they turned their ponies and rode
away in the direction whence they came. With a sigh of relief, the two men
put back their guns, and felt that they were safe for the present. That
night when they set out again, they hastened their steps as rapidly as
possible, knowing that the foe was on their trail. Stumbling along in much
the same condition of hunger and thirst as the two former scouts had done,
they reeled into the Fort the same evening as Stillwell and Truedell. It
was needless to say that there were heartfelt congratulations expressed
when those four scouts met at Fort Wallace.

The band of Indians seen by Pliley and Donovan, were undoubtedly a part
of the Roman Nose contingent. They had discovered the trail of the men
shortly after their escape from the island and pursued them with the
determination to overtake them and put them to death, but all to no
purpose. They little knew how close they came to being successful in their
efforts, especially as at one time they were within about forty rods of
them as they lay in the dry buffalo wallow. Apparently they became
discouraged in their efforts and gave up the chase.

Having received the message delivered by the four men, it did not take
Colonel Bankhead long to call out every available man and horse, to fit
out ambulances, and wagons laden with provisions, and make whatever
preparations were necessary to relieve the wants of the distressed.

When the Indians knew that the messengers had eluded them and had likely
reached the Fort in spite of all the measures they took to forestall such
an event, they thought prudence the better part of valor and withdrew
their forces from the neighborhood of the island. They foresaw that relief
would come to the brave defenders of the little sand bar in a very short
time, and as they had such small success with a small band, they felt that
they would hardly be able to contend with a greater force which would be
certainly sent out for their relief.

Once the relief corps got in motion, it did not let the grass grow under
its feet. Their progress was necessarily slower than that of the
expedition on account of the baggage they were carrying, and, also,
because they had to exercise the greatest care in marching for they knew
not at what time they would encounter a band of hostile Indians. The
journey to the locality of the disaster occupied several days. They were
rather surprised to find the nearer they approached their destination the
less the presence of Indians was noted. When they drew up in sight of the
island, not a savage was to be seen or heard of.

In the interim of the departure of the scouts for relief, the prisoners'
on the island suffered acutely. Around them lay the dead bodies of some of
their companions whom they did not dare to venture out to bury. They were
rapidly decomposing and the atmosphere was laden with the nauseating smell
that accompanies such a condition either of animal, or man. Added to this
was the number of dead horses, which added to the intensity of the
malodorous smell. The wounded suffered more and more as inflammation set
in or increased. Their condition was pitiable as very little could be done
to relieve their sufferings. Above all this, they had to endure the pangs
of hunger, which every day grew more and more irksome. It was a sad
spectacle that the eyes of the relief corps beheld when they came upon
them first. Hardly able to raise their weakened bodies from a recumbent
position, the wounded endeavored to give a cheer at the sight of their
deliverers, but it was such a mockery of cheer that it was enough to bring
tears to the eyes of many a veteran. Those who had not been wounded, and
they were few, lent a willing hand to the administration of medical
assistance to their stricken companions. They felt so overcome with joy
themselves that they could hardly express themselves in the intensity of
their happiness. But their newly-arrived fellow scouts and soldiers knew
by their looks the depth and sincerety of their feelings of gratitude, and
felt happy to be able to reach them before death had overtaken the whole
band.

The first duty to be attended to by the relief party, was the burial of
the dead. Delay would have been dangerous and, perhaps, fatal, as they
were, as mentioned above, badly decomposed. They performed the sad duty
over the remains of their former companions with all the reverence that
their circumstances would permit. Next, they had to look after the wants
of their General. He had been suffering intensely from the wound in the
scalp and in the leg. They administered such remedies as they had, which
produced some relief. The rest of the wounded were attended to in much the
same fashion, each one receiving what attention could be given them. When
all this had been done, they made ready to set out for the fort. It was a
slow journey, but in time they reached their destination where proper
remedies soon restored them to fighting condition again.

The expedition of Gen. Forsythe, which he insisted on making against Roman
Nose and his band, terminated in dismal failure. It had cost the lives of
several valuable and experienced men, and marred to some degree the
reputation for success which he had hitherto gained. Nevertheless, the
lesson bore fruit. It taught the American people at large, and General
Forsythe in particular that all the knowledge of Indian warfare is not
taught at the military academy at West Point. In fact, it was impressed
upon the minds of several who were in a position to profit by the lesson,
that the "University of the Plains" was far better adapted to produce men
who would be successful in that mode of fighting than any of the academies
established for the purpose of instructing the neophyte in the art of
conducting warlike manoeuvres.

The writer is indebted to S. E. Stillwell, better known to his friends as
"Jack," for the information regarding the battle of Arickaree, in which he
played so prominent a part. His feat, alone, of bearing the message from
Gen. Forsythe to Fort Wallace was sufficient to win him undying fame. In
such high esteem was he held by those to whom he lent his services, that
Gen. Phil. Sheridan characterized him as being the bravest and most daring
young man he ever knew, and he knew a multitude of them. He was, later on,
the trusted and boon companion of Buffalo Bill, "Col. W. Cody," in
fighting the Indians on the plains. At one time, later on, he was Police
Judge of the City of El Reno. This position he retained until he was
appointed United States Commissioner at Anadarko, Okla. This position he
resigned and went to the North Plate, Neb., where he died and was buried
within a day's ride of the battle ground of the Arickaree. While he was
filling the office of Commissioner at Anadarko, the writer frequently
spent hours with him chatting over the events of former days upon the
plains. During one of those visits, he ventured to inquire of the
Commissioner if he thought he himself had killed Roman Nose. He replied
that he did not know, but after taking a few puffs of his cigarette, he
naively remarked that if he did not, it was attributable to his aim and
not to his intention as he gave him his undivided attention from the time
he came within range of his rifle until he fell from his horse. He paused
then and took a few more puffs, and closed the subject by remarking,
"perhaps, some of the other boys did it."



CHAPTER XVIII.

The Whirlwind Raid; Great Expectations Reduced to Disappointment, etc.


For several years succeeding to terminations of the Civil War, the whole
plains country, as I have said in the previous chapter, from the frontier
settlements westward including a great portion of the Rocky Mountains, and
from the British line on the north to the Red river of the north line of
Texas, was claimed by the Indian by virtue of his title begotten of prior
possession, and was used by him as a hunting ground, and also as the
theatre in which to stage the settlement of tribal difficulties. As a
variation from those internal battles, or wars, as you may wish to call
them, they frequently made raids upon the white settlers, killing and
scalping the men, kidnapping the women and children, and running off their
stock as spoils of war. They roamed that vast expanse of territory at
will, seeking their sustenance from the abundance of wild game with which
the plains were teeming. Buffalo and deer were there in innumerable
quantities and were easily slaughtered. Smaller game abounded everywhere.
When the bucks returned from the chase with a buffalo or a deer to show
for his efforts, the squaws took possession of the carcass, cutting off
huge chunks of meat for provisions, and then tanning the hides at which
they were experts. In times of peace they worked faithfully at the task of
converting the green hide into something serviceable, but when the war
alarm was sounded, they readily threw aside the work at hand to follow
their lord and master on the warpath, not as an idle onlooker, but armed
with a scalping knife and tomahawk, they followed up the work of slaughter
by assisting in the scalping, or mutilating the bodies of the dead. In
this last feature of the raid, they seemed to be carried away by a sort of
frenzy, and the manner in which they treated the corpses of those slain,
was brutal and inhuman in the extreme. In my own experience I have known
squaws who were so fascinated by this kind of brutality or rather
ghoulishness, that at the first notes of the war song they deserted their
white husbands to follow in the wake of the war, although at the time they
were drawing rations from the government and were in possession of
comfortable homes.

In this connection, it may not be amiss to say something of the Medicine
Man, and the part he played in the Indian raids. I might say that he was
the most important factor in such undertakings, as well as in the
inter-tribal disputes. He seemed to have such an influence over the
destinies of the tribe in which he was operating, that the chiefs and
their followers placed implicit confidence in his decisions. On him alone,
rather than the chiefs in council, depended the undertaking of any raid,
or struggle. Whenever there was any prospect of trouble arising, he called
the chiefs and warriors and held a seance in which he made inquiries of
them as to their opinions and views regarding the matter under discussion.
This done, he set about a series of orgies and incantations to discover
from some secret agency the advisability of making the venture, or
abandoning it. A consultation of this kind often took several days, but
when he arrived at some conclusion, it was announced to the chiefs and
their followers, and his decision in the matter was final and devoid of
any appeal. As soon as the result of his incantation was promulgated, the
warriors buckled on their armor, if I may use the expression, though there
were few buckles and oftentimes no more armor than a breach-clout and a
blanket with some instrument of warfare, and made ready for the raid on
some white settler's cabin and stock, or to engage in a death struggle
with some other tribe. The success or failure of his prediction did not
affect the medicine man in any great degree as regards his position in
the tribe. If the raid was a success, he became the lion of the hour and
the tribe looked upon him as something of a supernatural being, but if, on
the contrary, things resulted adversely, he had little to lose except his
reputation, and that would be so badly shattered that no other member of
the tribe would care to wear his mantel of prophesy. To illustrate the
case in point, I shall mention what befell chief Black Kettle's Medicine
Man. After holding a seance for several days, he arrived at the very
pleasing conclusion that the white man's gun was no good; that the bullets
would fall to the ground close to the muzzle of the gun and consequently
would not injure an Indian. When Gen. Custer fell upon him, one winter's
morning, on the Washita and killed more than one hundred of his warriors
with Black Kettle himself, and took the remainder of the band prisoners
and brought them to Camp Supply, the estimate on that Medicine Man's
ability as a prognosticator was diminished to a vanishing point. We are
inclined to smile at the credulity of the Indian in the matter of
consulting the Medicine Man, but, in this curiosity to secure a knowledge
of future events, especially where they refer to his welfare, they were
not much different from the rank and file of white folks who consult some
street fakir or clairvoyant, turning over half a dollar to find out
whether a business man is dealing fairly or otherwise, or to discover if
the partner of one's joys and sorrows, is travelling the path of rectitude
or not, or to discover some secret source of wealth that will place the
inquirer beyond the reach of want. Such foolish curiosity is not confined
to any race or tribe, as I find in my varied reading that the practice of
clairvoyancy, soothsaying, etc., has been in practice and fashion from the
days when Moses led the Children of Israel out of Egypt down through the
ages to the present day, and you will find on investigation that the
clients of the fakir are not limited to the unlettered class, but embrace
members from every grade of society from the proletariat to the Four
Hundred. However, to return to the thread of my story, I must say that
since the day when the long range gun has been put in the hands of man,
the calling of the Medicine Man has become almost obsolete.

In regard to the manner of conducting campaigns, there was no fixed rule,
but every chief conducted his fight as circumstances dictated, and some of
the later day chieftains manifested an ability in their campaigns that
would stamp them as Napoleons of their tribes and times. Precision and
alacrity were seldom wanting in the raids. If they came in contact with
the soldier, they outclassed him to some degree, as, after the first few
volleys, they scattered and disappeared from view with a readiness that
was astonishing. Nor could the trained soldier of the line follow up his
foe to any advantage as they seldom left a trail behind that would guide
him to their hiding place. The untrained eye of the military man militated
against any success he might otherwise have had, and it required the scout
of the plains to ferret out the marks and signs that would give any
opportunity for pursuit. In the meantime the Indian on his fleet-footed
ponies would likely be fifty or one hundred miles away from the point of
encounter.

The Indian did not always confine his raiding propensities to the white
man, but as frequently gave his attention to some of the neighboring
tribes with whom they had some matter to adjust. Needless to say, when two
tribes met in conflict, the fighting bore a character of savagery that was
in keeping with the untamed nature of the participants. Naturally, the
Indian was compelled to confine himself to the use of such weapons as his
limited ingenuity could provide, but in the use of what he had he was an
adept. Before the introduction of fire-arms his chief weapons consisted of
the bow and arrow, the tomahawk, and the scalping knife, but if an
opportunity presented itself for him to make use of the more up-to-date
weapons of warfare, he took advantage of it, as is instanced in the case
of the raid made upon the Back and Fox Indians by their more southerly
neighbors.

The Sack and Fox Indians were located in Kansas, and by reason of their
close proximity to the settlements of white men, and also on account of
carrying on trade with them, they came into possession of fire-arms which
they used with considerable success in hunting the buffalo. They found it
to their advantage to use the weapon for laying up supplies of meat and
hides. This opened up an avenue of trade for them as they found a ready
market for the buffalo skins they procured, but in their prosperity they
nearly were overcome by disaster. The plain Indians learning of the
success of the Sack and Fox Indians, became jealous of them and resolved
to exterminate them. A conference was called and invitations issued to the
different tribes to take part in the general pow-wow. The assemblage was
to take place on the Arkansas River, where they were to decide on what
measures to take, or, in other words, lay out a plan of campaign. The
Kiowas, Comanches, Arappahoes, Apaches, and Chyennes presented themselves
on the day appointed, and initiated the proceedings with a Medicine Dance.
Then a council of war was called and they came to the unanimous conclusion
to go north to the Smoky Hill river and wage relentless war upon the Sack
and Fox Indians and thus terminate the slaughter of the buffalo on the
plains. The leadership of this expedition was by common consent bestowed
upon Chief Whirlwind. They then indulged in their customary war-dance and
set forth upon their mission of destruction.

It was Robert Burns who wrote that,

  The best laid plans of mice and men
      Gang aft aglee,
  And lea' us naught but grief and pain
      For promised joy.

This quotation applies definitely to the Whirlwind raid. He started forth
like a "plumed knight" chanting his war song and whooping along the way to
instill courage into his braves, each of whom carried a back-load of
arrows and a couple of well-strung bows as his weapons of war, and
expected to share in the glory of a great victory. Nor did the chanting
and roaring of their chieftain fail of its purpose. By the time they
reached their destination they were all strung up to the highest tension,
in fact they were all but counting the scalps they were about to carry
away in triumph, etc. They reached the canyon in the Smoky Hill country
where the Sack and Fox Indians had secreted themselves, prepared to give
the invaders of their hunting ranges a warm reception. Whirlwind and his
band advanced in confidence, knowing they outnumbered their intended
victims, but they were not acquainted with the new ally of their foe. They
knew absolutely nothing of the use of fire-arms, their efficiency, and
death dealing powers. They had not become acquainted with the sound of the
carbine, nor of the shot-gun. This was a power they did not to reckon
with, nor knew how to estimate its value. The only thing that concerned
them just then was to make a sudden whirlwind dash upon their foe, butcher
them, and carry off the spoils. They were led up to the mouth of the
canyon chanting and shouting, when the muzzles of a hundred guns belched
forth thunder and lightning, and a hail of leaden bullets flew around them
in death dealing myriads. They turned and fled, stampeded like a herd of
antelope toward their starting point. They reached the Arkansas, but oh!
how their bright expectations had been rudely shattered. One conclusion
they arrived at as the result of their unprofitable venture, and that was
that bows and arrows was no weapon to offset the effect of a musket or a
carbine. It was a sad return for all their brilliant hopes. Behind them
lay the corpses of fifty of their bravest warriors, whilst twice that
number came limping back home, crippled by the unthought-of ally of their
foes. Nor could the loss be estimated at the death of their fellow braves,
nor in the wounds borne by the cripples, nor in the number of horses that
had been shot from under them, but in the blow to their tribal pride.
There they suffered most, for it was inconceivable to think that
one-hundred and twenty-five Sack and Fox Indians should in any manner
possible overcome the flower of the various tribes that participated in
the raid. It is estimated by those who know, that there were between
twelve and fifteen hundred warriors of the southern tribes under the
command of the mighty Whirlwind. As a battle, there was little or nothing
to it. The chief with all his experience could not get his men to face
that leaden hail that smote the ranks so mercilessly. There was nothing to
do but turn tail and flee, which he did.

When they returned to the Arkansas, they mutually agreed that the
expedition from the view-point of results obtained was a failure. From
there they made their way south until they reached the North Canadian
river and there disbanded, each tribe seeking its own reservation, or
hunting grounds as it saw fit. They never again returned to molest the
Sack and Fox tribes in their peaceful occupation.

It was currently reported and believed by many that Whirlwind on his
return to the hunting grounds on the North Canadian, said that every
feather had been shot from his war bonnet during the engagement, in the
Smoky Hill canyon. I never had the pleasure of being intimately acquainted
with that doughty warrior, but I have seen him on several occasions and
have also seen his war bonnet, and I know something of the amount of
feathers required to decorate it. Since he has passed to the Happy Hunting
Grounds, I shall take this opportunity of denying that he ever made such a
statement, for I do not believe that he ever said it, as the evidence
would plainly indicate that he would not be telling the truth, which
would be plain to all. Knowing how much the wily old warrior prized the
emblem of his former prowess in the field of battle, I feel certain that
he would never submit to have it disfigured by the bullets of his foes,
particularly, whilst his head was beneath it. So I shall repeat what I
said before, "He did not say it."

The reader may be pleased to have a little insight into the general
character of Whirlwind, the leader of the expedition that failed. Like all
leaders whether white, black, or bronze, he always made it his motto to
win. Kill, conquer and destroy were the methods he employed in his
campaigns. In the heat of battle, he was relentless and uncompromising,
but when the battle was over and he had returned to his own hunting
grounds, he showed a spirit of forgiveness and generosity, as well as many
other redeeming qualities, for which he should receive due credit.



CHAPTER XIX.

The Sun Dance; Preparations; Its Religious Significance; and Purpose; How
it was Conducted, etc.


It may not be amiss to insert here a description of what was known to the
various Indian tribes as the Sun Dance. Each nation, people, or tribe in
past history has had some ceremony, symbolic in its nature, by which
honors and dignities were conferred upon those who sough honor and
preferment. Nor has this custom been confined to any particular class, for
all have, at different times, indulged in the practice, nor was it without
its influence and effect upon those who sought advancement. The Knights of
the Middle Ages, when in the act of receiving the symbols of their office
and vocation, were compelled to submit themselves to some kind of ordeal
by which they manifested their fitness to wear the honors they sought. So,
too, it was with the denizens of the plains, as the following narrative
from unimpeachable authority will illustrate. Just as in the days of old,
the ceremony was partly religious in its development, so, too, the
children of the plains invested the conferring of honors and rights to
preferment with religious ceremony and physical tests.

The Sun Dance, as practiced by the Cheyenne tribe of Indians, dates back
to time immemorial. In the performance of it, the Indian makes a
profession of faith in the Supreme Being, and at the same time subjects
those who engage in it, to a physical test that is sufficient to try the
heart and soul of even the most valiant. The first step in the proceedings
of this semi-religious festival, is to select the proper location for the
celebration of it. Weeks, and perhaps months in advance, some pow-wow is
held at which they make the selection of the place in which they wish to
hold their festival. Usually some well-known camping ground is chosen on
account of the abundance of fuel and water, both of which were necessary
for the proper conduct of the ceremony, for it was essential that there
should be means at hand for preparing the final feast, as well as an
abundant supply of water for the multitudes assembled from the different
districts for the purpose of watering their stock, as well as, affording
bathing facilities to such a vast number.

For several days prior to the actual enactment of the ceremony, Indians
would begin to assemble, straggling in from long distances, bringing with
them the greater part a their household belongings. North, south, east,
and west sent their contingents. Whole families with their teepees,
ponies, and dogs, assembled from all parts of the reservations or the
plains to participate in the festivities or to be merely on-lookers hoping
in their mere presence to receive some benediction from the Great Spirit
whom they assembled to worship. Long before the arrival of these scattered
bands, the Medicine Man was on the scene to give his attention to whatever
preparations were required for the occasion. He usually selected some
central point wherein to erect his place of worship. In this chosen spot
he was to enact the two-fold role of High Priest and Medicine Man, to
minister to their spiritual and corporal necessities.

Many days elapsed before the arrival of the final contingent, and the
intervening time had to be employed as best they could. This gave those
who had already arrived on the scene, an opportunity of visiting their
relations and friends, whom they had not met, perhaps since the preceding
Sun Dance. The older folks were content to while away the passing hours in
social converse, whilst the young engaged in feats of skill, contesting in
games peculiar to the tribe. It was quite evident that they were supremely
happy in their childish amusements, and enjoyed them as thoroughly as
their white contemporaries found pleasure and enjoyment in their more
up-to-date and scientific play toys. One thing particularly noticeable in
all their endeavors was the spirit of prompt obedience to parental
authority. The control that the Indian parent exercises over his child is
marvelous, and in all my intercourse with the children of the plains, I
have never known of a parent chastizing his child in a cruel or harsh
manner. It is a thing unheard of, that a child ever raised a hand or
uttered an unfilial expression of contempt towards his parents. I believe
that if an Indian child were to emulate the example of many white
children, whom I have known not only to treat their parents with contempt,
but even go so far as to treat them contumeliously, the Indian father
would be so staggered by such an outbreak and disregard for the
proprieties of his position, that it would require a council of chiefs to
decide upon the proper mode of dealing with the case, as it would lack all
precedent. The little redskin is attentive to the wants of his parents,
and at all times exercises a continual watchfulness over their wants to
forestall any command to fulfill some duty. Nor do the parents fill the
childish mind with tales of goblins and hobgoblins to excite terror in his
little heart. Even the customary punishment of locking the little child up
in some dark corner, is lacking, for there is no need of it. Obedience to
authority is part of the nature of the Indian child and it comes so easy
for him to render it that it never becomes irksome.

When the last stragglers have arrived, and the interchange of social
courtesies is fulfilled, the large central teepee, or ampitheatre is
erected and ready for occupancy. In the center of this teepee is placed a
large pole much the same as the old-time May pole used by the people of
the Middle Ages on the occasion of their annual celebrations, but in this
case the purpose was very much different, as will be seen later on in this
narrative.

During the time the rank and file of the Indians were enjoying their
intercourse, the young men who were candidates for honors in the trials of
endurance, were busying themselves plaiting their hair and painting their
bodies. They decorated their faces and other portions of the body with
every conceivable kind of animal and reptile that human ingenuity could
invent, as taste or custom suggested. Some of the productions were very
artistic, and some were rather grotesque, but the tout-ensemble served the
purpose for which the work was intended. They were no novices in the art
of extracting colors from the plants and shrubs that grew in abundance on
the plains, and at the same time had developed the art of applying them to
the human body for decorative purposes. The paints were not indelible,
consequently they could be easily removed and another application made as
circumstances required. At times, the renewal of the decoration took place
as many as four or five times a day.

The ceremony lasted four days without any intermission. During that time
the candidates for honors were obliged to such a strict fast and
abstinence, that not a morsel of food, nor a drop of water passed their
lips during the time. One favor was conceded to them; they were allowed to
smoke. One might be inclined to think that, at times, the regulation was
not faithfully observed, but there he would be mistaken. There were too
many eyes upon the candidates to permit of his stealing off to the
commissary department of the assemblage, nor could he by any means carry
off beneath the folds of his garments a morsel of food as the extent of
his habiliments would not permit such a thing as his outfit consisted of a
breach-clout around his waist and a few feathers in his hair.

At the hour appointed for the opening of the ceremony, a chief mounted his
horse and rode through the assembled throng crying out that the ordeal was
about to begin. It was his duty also to set down the rules and
regulations governing the performance. When he had explained the
ordinances sufficiently to be understood by all the candidates, he
withdrew and the Medicine Man appeared on the scene. He was decked out in
his most gorgeous array of feathers and finery, with his hair plaited down
his back and ornamented with more feathers and quills. Truly, he was an
imposing spectacle to the simple minded tribesman and they looked upon him
with a species of awe. In his hand he bore the wing of an eagle. He took
up his position in a very conspicuous place and struck an attitude very
much like some of the Indians we see pictured standing on some eminence
with his hand shading his eyes and looking far away over the plains in
search of something of interest. The Medicine Man assumed about the same
attitude, using the eagle wing to protect his eyes from the sun. He stood
motionless for a period lasting about half an hour, gazing in the
direction of the blazing sun. I never came to learn the true meaning of
this action on the part of the Medicine Man, but I presume he expected to
discover some supernatural visitor coming from the direction in which he
was gazing. I can readily imagine what his consternation would be if one
of our modern aeroplanes passed close over his head while he was making
observations of the heavens. There is no doubt he would drop his eagle
wing and make a dash for his teepee laboring under the impression that the
devil was out making morning calls. Such an apparition would most likely
interfere with the completion of the programme, and the tribesmen would
probably seek shelter or protection from the whirring, roaring monster, in
the depths of the nearby timber. However, as no such occurance took place,
the Medicine Man continued his vigil until such time as he thought proper
to terminate it. Upon his return to camp, the tomtom sounded and the dance
was on. All the braves fell into line, and the pow-wow started with each
brave keeping step to the beatings of the primitive instrument. No squaws
were permitted to engage in the ceremony as it was to be a strict, test
of physical endurance. Much less, are white men permitted to participate
in the Sun Dance, as this is an institution particularly appropriated to
the Indian tribes. The squaws had their share of the work to do, and while
the ceremony was going on, they spent their time in making preparations
for the feast that was to follow upon the completion of the dance. The
young men who were not otherwise engaged and who did not care to undergo
the terrible ordeal about to follow, mounted their ponies and scoured the
plains for game. This was a necessary undertaking, as the amount required
to supply the throng present with food, was very great. True, each
tribesman brought some provisions, but that supply would be inadequate to
the demands of such an occasion.

If any white man had an opportunity to witness the proceedings of the Sun
Dance, he would most likely arrive at a very erroneous idea of the intent
and purpose of the occasion, nor would he understand the significance of
what he might see. The wild, wierd scene before him, the fantastic
movements of the participants in the drama would probably create in his
mind a false impression of the nature and character of the ceremony.
However, to arrive at the true meaning of what was being done, it is
sufficient to say that the heads of numerous families were present on the
occasion I speak of, to do homage and worship the Great Spirit, and offer
thanks for favors received in the past. This goes to show that the Indian
was not unmindful of his obligation to the Great Spirit, but brings out to
our view a side of the Indian character that is very seldom mentioned by
those who appear or seem to know all about him. They were grateful for the
gifts received from the hand of their Creator and on occasions of this
kind strove to show it. They probably had some friend or relative who
escaped from some calamity. If so, this was the occasion on which they
showed their gratitude to the Father of all. Perhaps, some of them had
wives and children who had recently recovered from some ailment. If so,
they were grateful. Sundry were the purposes for which they assembled on
this occasion to offer up their meed of praise and thanksgiving to the
Great Spirit. Their devotion was as sincere and deep-seated as the
Pilgrims who made long pilgrimages to the Holy Land to visit the sepulchre
of Him, who died for us all. The scoffer may not be able to see it, but
there is One who sees and judges, and who will render to each and all the
just reward on the day of the final reckoning, and the Indian may not be
as bad as painted when seen in the light of the Kingdom of Heaven, where
he will be judged according to his lights.

When the hunters have returned from the chase, each deposits in the
commissary department the trophies of the hunt, antelope, deer, badgers,
coons, rabbits. All is grist that is brought to that mill. Even the dogs
contribute their share to make the supply equal to the grand display of
culinary art that is to be staged at the close of the ceremony. It may
appear strange to the reader that the turkey had no place on the menu card
of the feast. The reason of this lay in the fact that the Indian
considered him too cowardly and timid to be food fit for the brave and
warlike members of the tribe, as it would have a tendency to diminish, if
not destroy their spirit of bravery and fortitude.

In the meantime, all had been a scene of activity in the ranks of those
who were contending for honors, as I have mentioned in a former paragraph.
The tom-tom had sounded the call to the test. The old warriors and the
young bucks who were out for preferment, had formed a procession and were
marching toward the ampitheatre. The old bucks who had won their honors on
the war-path were dressed in their fanciest blankets, while those who were
to undergo the ordeal wore nothing save the breach-clout, and a few
feathers. When the excitement of the preliminary movements had taken
possession of the young men, one of the most reckless of the young bucks
broke from the ranks and began to dance around the pole. There he gave
himself up to a frenzy of movement, gyrating and gesticulating in a manner
marvelous to behold. Swinging his hands, kicking up his heels, twisting,
twirling, performing antics of all kinds supposed to be of the nature of
warlike movements, he all the time gave vent to a series of yells, whoops,
and screams of the most unimaginable kind. At the proper moment, a new
feature of the ceremony took place. A man selected for the purpose came
forth bearing a knife in his hand. His duty it was to make incisions in
the back of the aspirant for honors. Two incisions were made on each side
of the back, about half an inch apart. When the knife had done its work,
the flesh was raised between the gashes and a skewer of wood, much
resembling the old-fashioned husking peg, was forced through the flesh
beneath the skin. Around the projecting ends of this was tied a buckskin
thong to which was tied a lasso. This operation was performed on both the
incisions. A buffalo skull was then tied to the lasso at its further
extremity. The operation is then complete, unless the young brave should
request an additional skull which would be provided if convenience, or
opportunity, permitted. If it were not possible to provide a buffalo head
for the occasion, the skeleton of a deer, or a bear would answer the
purpose as well. In fact, the skeleton of any beast of prey was considered
to suffice, as it was supposed to engender a warlike spirit in the
candidate. This feature of attaching the skeleton of a beast of prey was
not always performed in the same way, as some of the tribes preferred to
have it attached to their breasts.

When properly equipped with this new attachment, whether buffalo skull or
skeleton of a deer or other animal, the young buck was then turned loose.
He joined in the chanting and kept step with the other dancers, but did
not mingle in the ranks, as the appendage attached to him and dragging
along might interfere with the rythmical movements of the dancers. He did
not, fail to keep step with his fellows, nor neglect his part of the
singing, but confined the field of his operations, separate from the
others, where he could conduct himself with what freedom the impediment he
was dragging, would permit. There he discovered himself confronted with
difficulties at several points, as the buffalo skull might become
entangled in a tuft of grass and intensify the pain he was already
suffering so heroically. In case of difficulty of the kind, he received no
assistance from outside sources, but was compelled to wiggle and twist
until he succeeded in loosing it from its hold or tore the flesh and skin
from his back. It might happen that the first obstacle that he met would
break the fleshy bonds that hold the skewers in place, and free him from
his burden, or he might drag his burden around for days. Oftentimes, in a
spirit of playfulness, some young redskin, promped by the genius of
mischief, would jump on the skull and tear it loose from its moorings, but
lacking this fortuitous event, and weary of the burden, he would
frequently in desperation wilfully become entangled in something or other
and break it of his own volition. When he became detached from the buffalo
skull in the manner described, there necessarily was left a gaping wound
with ragged edges. Then he received attention from the Medicine Man who
was close at hand for such an emergency. With his knife he trimmed off the
rough edges and expectorated the juice of some herb which he had been
chewing, into the wound. This remedy was supposed to be sufficiently
potent to eradicate any infection that might be lurking there, and produce
beneficial results owing to the healing qualities of the plant he
masticated. That was the total of the medical treatment the candidate
received during the whole term of his torture. Frequently there were as
many as a dozen candidates on, trial at the same time, and all were
compelled to endure the same torture. It frequently happened that some of
them weakened by hunger and exhausted from the pain they were suffering,
fell in a swoon. If such were the case, he was left where he fell, and no
attempt was made to render him any other assistance than throwing a
buffalo robe or blanket over him where he lay. There they permitted him to
lie, to recover or die as the case might be. It made no difference to the
other dancers what his condition might be, they continued their gyrations
apparently indifferent to the condition of the victim of hunger and
torture beneath the blanket. If he revived, he began again his dancing and
chanting as though there had been no interruption, which he continued
until freed from his burden. The test is the same for all, and the
attention and medical assistance rendered is identical in every case.

As I said before, other tribes prefer to have the incisions made upon
their breasts, but in such a case do not bear the burden of a buffalo
skull, but are attached by the lariat rope to the limb of a tree, or to
the centre pole of the ampitheatre round which they dance until they
succeed in breaking loose by tearing the skewer through the flesh that
holds it. As for the medical treatment, it is the same in all cases.

The ceremony is continued until the supply of volunteers for honors is
exhausted. Those who have passed through the ordeal successfully are in
line for promotion to the higher offices of their respective tribes
providing a vacancy occurs through death or accident. They are considered
the proper material to fill the offices of chief. They have been put
through a test sufficiently harsh to try the heart and soul to its utmost
capacity for suffering. Their courage and constancy was beyond question,
and henceforth were looked upon as men having a prior right to fill the
place of any old chief who might go to the Happy Hunting Grounds. They
were not only proud that they had borne the test successfully, but also
were more pleased that they had lived up to the traditions of the family.
They were firm believers in heredity, and were proud of the distinction of
being descended from some former warrior of prominence as the present day
white man is jealous of his descent from the first colonists who came over
in the Mayflower. I have met Indians who gloried in their descent from
Roman Nose, Black Kettle and other noted leaders who have long since
passed away, and I have found others who traced their lineage back to
Tecumseh, and Black Hawk.

The system of dancing just described was suppressed by Col. Woodson whilst
he was in charge of the Darlington Agency, as he considered it too cruel
and barbarous to be permitted on the Reservation because he thought it
would have a tendency to retard any progress the younger Indians might be
making towards a more civilized manner of life. I understand, however,
that Col. Woodson's order was rescinded by another Commissioner of Indian
Affairs at a later date, and they are now permitted to practice it in a
modified form.

It has been my lot to witness nearly every form of dance from the Irish
Jig to the latest form of Tango, or Bunny Hug, Scotch Reels, the French
Four, the Dutch Waltzes, the old American Cotillion, and the Virginia
Reel, but all these combined and set in motion at the same time to the
wildest and weirdest music known to the white race, would fail to produce
the soul thrilling, hair-rising emotions created by the Cheyenne Sun Dance
when in full swing. The sound of Patrick Gilmore's band, in its palmiest
days, would be as the twittering of the snow bird in comparison with the
roar of the Rocky Mountain lion, when the festivities were at their
height.

When the time limit of the Sun Dance expired, everything was placed away
for future use. The buffalo skulls, sacred utensils of the feast, were
carefully secreted, and the ampitheatre removed. Nothing remained but the
trampled grass to show that anything beyond the ordinary had taken place.

The Dance having been completed, the feasting begins. During all the time
the braves have been engaged in their soul thrilling, hair-raising
performance, the squaws have been busy. They were running back and forth,
making preparations for the banquet. Some spent their time skinning a
coyote or other animal, others dressing and cooking the food already
prepared, others looking around for choice morsels to tempt the appetite
of some lord and master, as they felt he might be in need of something
delicate to meet the wants of a stomach sensitive from long fasting.
Whatever the occupation, they were all busy, as the number to be waited
upon might number thousands. It was no easy task, but they were equal to
the occasion. At the signal given as before, the feast is on. To see them
plunging with reckless abandon into the midst of the feast, one would be
forced to conclude that the long fast had little effect upon their
appetites except to render them sharper. All thought of the stomach being
in a delicate condition was forgotten, and the chief work at hand was to
give undivided attention to devouring as much of the viands within reach
as the capacity of the stomach would permit, and that was some capacity.
Nicety of choice was not manifested to any great degree, for their hunger
was usually at such a pitch that they could devour anything that the teeth
could masticate to some degree. Here you might see a lordly old chief
manipulating the hurricane deck of a gray wolf, or a skunk with wonderful
dexterity; there another warrior bold making a savage attack upon a
handful of raccoon claws, and so it went from one end of the multitude to
the other, each earnestly intent upon demolishing the pile of viands set
before him and wondering if there was any more left for a second assault.
The time generally allotted for the repast was sunrise. Then each and all
squatted upon the ground anxious for the welcome ordeal to begin. Sitting
on their haunches, facing the rising sun, not a word was spoken. It might
have been that they were too worn out from the long fast, or perhaps they
were so pre-occupied with the thought, of the great spread before them
that they had no inclination to talk, but the more probable reason is that
it was one of the regulations set down to govern the termination of the
festival. No matter what the motive was that governed the conduct of the
throng in the matter of maintaining silence and avoiding undue noise, the
fact was that they set to the work of supplying the wants of the inner man
without delay, either in beginning, or continuing the work of demolition.
All the rules of etiquette, as prescribed for the four-hundred, were
suspended. It was a case of "Reach what you can, and while making way with
it keep the eye on the lookout for more. Anything you do not see is not
good for you." They did not merely eat their food, they seemed to absorb
it. The execution was rapid and effective, and the final result might have
been summed up in a huge pile of bones from which the meat had been
thoroughly removed.

The breakfast, as one might call the repast just ended, did not terminate
their stay in the locality, but each and all felt it a bounded duty to
remain as long as there was any of the huge pile of provisions remaining.
They were all jubilant over the happy termination of the ordeal, and the
young men who had endured the test successfully strutted about with a
pardonable pride in their bearing. Feasting took the place of fasting and
all were merry as far as their method of life would permit the expression
of that feeling. When the last vestiges of the immense store of game
disappeared, they all gathered up their possessions and made ready to set
out to their respective camping grounds. Prior to their departure they
held a sort of conclave in which they decided when and where to hold the
next meeting, and also outlined the nature of the dance to be performed on
the occasion. It might be a Medicine Dance, or a Green Corn Dance, or
some other festivity peculiar to the notions of the tribes and the
exigencies of the occasion. Whatever the decision was, it was abided by
faithfully on the time appointed. This settled, they returned home with
the satisfaction of having done what they considered a duty, and felt that
they had fulfilled their obligations to the Great Spirit.

I feel very much indebted for the above description of the Sun Dance, to a
lady who spent many of her younger years among the tribe who conducted it.
She is familiar with the customs of the tribe, knows their traditions,
and, in fact, may be considered an authority on things relating to the
history of that nation. Her name, at the time of which I write, was Mina
E. Ashpard, but was changed by the Indians to Tat-ta-voe-e-tau, or Blue
Beads, on account of the string of blue beads which she usually wore
around her neck. She was loved and admired by the whole tribe, but
particularly by several young chiefs who sought her hand in marriage. Her
affections, however, leaned to another direction, and she afterward
married W. C. Ross, who owns a large tract of land adjoining the
flourishing City of El Reno, the Queen City of the North Canadian. Mrs.
Ross is today the mother of a large family of sons and daughters who are a
credit to her and an honor to the State of Oklahoma. Even today she
delights in telling how she used to enjoy riding out on a broncho,
lassoing a wild antelope, or deer, and dragging it back to camp amid the
cheers and acclamations of the whole tribe.

W. C. Ross, through his foresight and good business management, succeeded
in locating his family allotments in close proximity to the City of El
Reno, as I have mentioned above, and his location proved to be one of the
most valuable in the Canadian Valley. By its increase in value, due to its
location, and by his knowledge of farming, he has placed himself and his
family above the reach of want. He is educating his sons and daughters in
the Catholic School of El Reno, and they have proved themselves good
students. Their native talents developed in such surroundings, show that
they are or will be capable of fulfilling the duties of responsible
positions in the very near future.



CHAPTER XX.

The Adobe Wall Raid; Reason for Description; A Day and a Night of
Terror--Some Hitherto Unknown Heroes, Etc.


Before setting down in detail the series of events that comprise what is
called the 'Adobe Wall' raid, I wish to put forth my reason for
undertaking the task of making known to the public an event that will long
be remembered, not only by those who took part in the occurrence, but,
also, by many of the early settlers of the then Far West. So many accounts
of the above mentioned raid have been written that it is impossible for
the seeker after the truth in the matter to discover what he is looking
for, that I deem it proper to narrate the story of the raid as it was told
me by one of the most prominent members of the little band who so
heroically defended themselves from the murderous assault of the Indian
marauders. So much has, also, been written in the past, that sets the real
West before the unenlightened in a manner that is misleading, that I think
it fitting to give credit to whom credit is due wherever it is due. The
ordinary writer from the East is not in a position to narrate the
occurrences of the West, because he has no immediate knowledge of events,
and, moreover, when he undertakes to set them before the public after
receiving them from another, his, narrative will lack the ring of truth
because he does not know the environments and the atmosphere of the events
he is trying to describe. True, the rank and file of readers may not know
the difference, but for those who know the facts of the case, the effort
to portray the history of the West by writers who have gleaned their
knowledge by hear-say, is pitiful and puerile.

In regard to the narrative of the "Adobe Wall" raid, I shall state again,
before proceeding farther, that my authority for the facts to be mentioned
hereafter was a member of the fighting squad. I have had the honor of the
acquaintance of several of the individuals who took part in the defense of
the place, and have had the story related by them, and in its entirety,
they all agreed on the most salient features of the narrative, and being
men of integrity, their word is sufficient guarantee for the truth of what
I write about the matter. The story I tell was related by Jimmie Langton.
If the reader wishes any corroboration of my tale, he may refer to R. M.
Wright, Charlie Rath, or James Langton, whose addresses I shall append to
the end of this article.

The "Adobe Walls" ranch was situated about one hundred miles west of the
north line of the Indian Territory, and about thirty-five miles south of
what was then called No-Man's-Land, on a little creek, about a mile and a
half north of the South Canadian River, in what is now called Hutchinson
County, Texas. The settlement consisted of one sod building, a saloon, and
a blacksmith shop. The sod building was used as a store and in it occurred
the chief events of this narrative. The saloon was owned by a man who went
by the name of Jim Hanrahan, and the blacksmith shop was operated by
Andrew Johnson, who now resides in Dodge City, Kansas.

The store, or what was then called the "Dobe Walls," was owned by R. M.
Wright, Chas. Rath, and James Langton, better known as Jimmie, and who
performed the duties of book-keeper for the firm. As I said above, I am
indebted to Jimmie for the facts of the story as he was the only one of
the partners present in the store at the time of the raid, the others
being in Dodge City.

Those who took part in the fight numbered, at most, about fifteen, not
fifty or sixty, as some writers have it. In the saloon at the time there
were five or six, but their part in the fray was only a minor one, as the
Indians did not have any particular purpose in making an attack on that
place. In the store were Jimmie Langton, Andy Johnson, Billy Tyler, Miller
Scott, A. J. Chappell, Bat Masterson, Mr. and Mrs. Olds, who did the
cooking for the ranch, and six or seven other freighters or travellers who
happened to be there at the time.

Of the Indians who took part in the raid, I shall enumerate them by
tribes, with their chiefs.

Big Bow led the Comanches on the occasion. Quanah Parker was not present,
as he was too young to be a participant in the capacity of chief.

The Kiowas took part in the raid under the leadership of Lone Wolf. This
gentleman now resides in Hobart, Okla., and has become so much converted
to the white man's mode of life that he wears a celluloid collar and a
derby hat.

The Cheyennes, who played no small part in the expedition, were led by Red
Moon, Chief Mininic, and Gray Beard. Chief Mininic also played the role of
Medicine Man, and claimed that his medicine was so strong that the bullets
of the white man's gun could not injure him. However, when his horse was
shot from under him, he explained the matter by saying that the bullet
struck a part of his horse's anatomy where there was no paint.

Besides the above mentioned tribes, there were the Arpahoes, who, however,
did not have a hand in the fight. True, they had come for the purpose of
exterminating the white man from the buffalo-hunting grounds, but when
they had arrived at the scene of action, the Comanches informed them that
they were not to take part in the annihilation of the pale-faces, but
requested them to remain in the distance and see how they, the Comanches
and their other friends, would put an end to the intruders on their sacred
plains. I believe it was not the mere quest of glory that induced the
Comanches to forbid the Arpahoes taking a hand in the extermination of the
common foe, but rather the knowledge that there were several hundred high
power buffalo guns and an abundant supply of ammunition that would be part
of the spoils of war when they wiped out the obnoxious white man, and they
did not care to have too many on hand when the dividend was to be
declared. That they would surely secure such a prize, they had no doubt,
but whether they did or not remains to be seen.

The list of the white men killed on the occasion of the raid is comprised
of only about half a dozen, and nearly all of them were killed before the
raid took place. There were the Scheidler brothers who were slain and
mutilated at some distance from the ranch. They had gone off to seek new
pasture for the cattle, as that around the ranch house was completely
destroyed, both by being eaten off and then being tramped out of the
ground by the stock. According to the usual Indian custom, they were also
scalped. There was also a Mexican "bull-whacker" who happened to be
camping near the Scheidler brothers, and he met the same fate as they, and
a negro. The only other death among the white folks, was that of Mr. Olds,
who met his end in a very peculiar manner, as will be shown later on in
the narrative.

On the morning of June 27th, 1874, the Indians made their descent upon the
"Adobe Walls" ranch. There had been rumors of Indian outbreaks in other
parts of the country, but those present at the ranch on the occasion had
not the remotest idea that there was an Indian within the neighborhood of
fifty miles. As they did not come with the blare of trumpets to announce
their arrival, the little party at the ranch did not know that death and
destruction was prowling in the neighborhood until the early hours of the
dawn, on the morning of the 27th of June. That was the hour the Redskin
preferred in making his calls upon his white neighbors, especially if the
visit was to be one of a warlike nature, and they were on the war-path on
this occasion. There is a good deal of philosophy in the Indian's reason
for preferring the early hours of the dawn for his first attack. It gives
him an opportunity to steal upon his enemy unawares. He made it his
business to hide his approach so that his white foe would fall asleep in
apparent security, and then with one fell swoop, rush in upon him and deal
death and disaster before the unsuspecting victims could become alive to
the dangers of the moment until it was too late. On this occasion, they
followed their usual custom and crept silently on the sleeping inhabitants
of the little hamlet. The first warning that the sleeping white men had,
originated in the screams of the negro who was being done to death at the
door of the ranch house. The night was hot, and for the sake of fresh air
and whatever coolness he could find, he spent the night in a wagon box at
the door of the ranch. Were it not for the coolness and calmness of Miller
Scott, the whole party would have suffered the fate of the negro. As soon
as he heard the first scream of the unfortunate black, he immediately
divined that the Indians were upon them. Without a moment's delay, he
seized his gun and through the open door of the ranch poured out such a
deadly fusilade of shot that the invaders were compelled to flee. The
shouts of the Indians and the roar of the buffalo gun pouring out its
relentless fire, soon turned the little peaceful hamlet into a den of
confusion. How many there were in the attacking party at that moment he
did not know, and apparently did not care, for he was determined to defend
himself against all odds or die in the attempt to do so. Apparently the
Indians had enough of the entertainment offered on that occasion as they
withdrew in a hurried fashion to the protection of the timbers and the
hills. Nor was Miller Scott the only one that took a part in giving their
unwelcome guests a vigorous welcome, but the others who played their parts
were rather slow in getting into action. They had just awakened from a
sound sleep and it took some time for them to realize their predicament,
but when they did, there was no further delay, but they set out to aid
Scott in repelling the attack as vigorously as possible. When the Indians
had retreated nursing their discomfiture and several wounds, the first
attack was repulsed.

The object the Indians had in view was to get possession of the stock of
goods and fire-arms that were in the store. Mr. Langton says that he had
more than one hundred buffalo guns, and about eleven thousand rounds of
ammunition. Besides these desirable commodities, there were on the outside
several horses, mules, and oxen, that attracted the attention of the
Indians. There was also the additional reason that they wanted to
exterminate the buffalo hunters who had been killing off the game in large
quantities, shipping the hides East, and leaving the bulk of the carcasses
on the ground to become the food of coyotes, wolves and buzzards. They had
laid their plans well, and as far as they could see, they were sure to
produce a successful issue, but they had no means of knowing that a negro
teamster would offer such strenuous objections to shuffling off the mortal
coil that he would arouse the whole neighborhood in the loudness of his
protestations. That the ranch people would be in a position to offer any
vigorous resistance, they did not dream. They knew they had that little
band of pale faces surrounded, and there remained only the formality of
killing them with the usual amount of ferocity, take their goods and
return to their camping grounds and plot another raid. For the ranch
folks, there was nothing to do but fight like grim death. One thing
favored the little band in the ante-chamber to eternity. The walls of the
building were about three feet thick and were impervious to the bullets
from such guns as the Indians then had. It was, moreover, impossible to
set fire to the building from a distance, as the invaders tried that
procedure later on and failed. As far as guns and fire were concerned they
were as safe as if they were defended by the Rock of Gibraltar.

Nor were things inside the adobe building very inviting. They all
realized that it was no holiday affair. In fact, most of them had just
about come to the conclusion that they were about to assist at their own
funeral with the flowers and music lacking. Nor could one blame them for
feeling that things had a very hopeless appearance. There they were, a
mere handful, surrounded by hundreds of hostile Indians in war dress,
ready to swoop down upon them at any time, without the least chance of
assistance from outside sources. If anything were to be done, it had to be
done by themselves, or perish in the attempt. It was certainly critical
enough to try the stoutest heart. I have no doubt that, at the first
charge, there were not half a dozen of them that were fully aware of what
was occurring around them, and whatever they did, they performed on the
spur of the moment because they saw others doing it. Some of them became
so excitedly helpless that they were unaccountable for what they did, and
it was providential that they did not do anything imprudent. Others became
nauseated and freely parted with the contents of their stomachs. Mr.
Langton confesses that he himself became so overcome with the realization
of the horror of the situation that he too parted with his supper of the
night before and the only reason why he did not lose his breakfast was
that he had not had time to eat it when the first attack was made. He
recovered his composure hurriedly, as the exigences of the situation were
such that one could readily forget a little inconvenience when one's life
was at stake. After the first display of nervousness had passed he did his
duty like a man, and played a very important part in the defense of the
ranch. It is not to be imagined that the Indians had not put up some kind
of a fight. The fact of the matter is that they did considerable shooting
in their own behalf, and that they failed to accomplish anything in the
way of killing the white folks was due to the fact that they were rather
hurried in their movements. How many of the Indians were killed in this
first encounter, it is not possible to say, but the sight of several
empty saddles, and several lifeless bodies on the ground around the ranch
bore testimony to the fact that the bullets from the buffalo guns had done
some execution. Stationed at the one window of the store, stood Miller
Scott spiting out death and demoralization from the mouth of his buffalo
gun upon the savages as they madly careered around the place on their wiry
ponies. Crack, crack, as fast as he could push home the charge, went the
gun, and another warrior was sent to join his forefathers in the Happy
Hunting Grounds. As soon as one gun became too hot to handle, another was
put in his hands to carry on the defense. Mr. Langton personally saw to it
that he was amply provided with ammunition and guns to perform his duty.
Nor were the other members of the party idle all the while. They punched
holes in the sides of the building and through the opening did what
execution their opportunity afforded them.

It was an appaling situation for a dozen people to be over a hundred miles
from civilization, surrounded by five or six hundred, yelling, whooping,
devil-daring redskins thirsting for their blood. There they rode, painted
in all manner of colors, cavorting like demons around them, roaring
defiance, and threatening at every moment to break through the zone of
fire and burst in upon them in overwhelming numbers and put them to death
mercilessly. It was well for them that they did not lose their nerve
completely, as the situation was one to try the stoutest heart. It was
well for them that Miller Scott rose to the importance of the occasion and
dealt out such a rain of death dealing bullets as to appal the intrepid
Indians. Outside roared and ranged the howling mob and inside things were
not any too assuring. Poor Mrs. Olds fainted. She was the only woman in
the hamlet. Kind hands poured water on her face until she revived. When
she recovered her senses, the realization of the predicament in which they
all were, and particularly the awful fate that awaited her, if they were
overcome, so overpowered her that she tried to commit suicide. She set up
a series of yells and screeches in her fright, that the Indians outside
must have thought they were killing one another to save themselves from
butchery. Strong hands prevented her from doing violence to herself, but
there was no way to prevent her screeching, and the only thing to do was
to give her freedom to screech until she became exhausted.

In the meantime, the Indians, feeling that their attack was somewhat of a
failure withdrew to the shelter of the hills. According to the words of an
old timer, the first assault upon the place was not a howling success. But
the little party in the ranch knew that they would return, and they made
what preparations they could to entertain them on their arrival. They did
not seem to be in any particular hurry about making the second attack, as
in the distance could be seen Indians riding in pairs, scurrying back and
forth on their war ponies, dragging the dead and wounded between them. All
of the rider that was visible was an arm and a leg. They made a dash on
each side of a fallen victim, and seizing him by the hair, dragged him to
a place of safety, either for the attention of the Medicine Man, or for
burial. Whenever an opportunity presented itself to the little band of
whites to take a shot at them, they did so, and in this manner, if they
did not do much damage, they, at least, hastened their movements to a
considerable degree.

The little party within the ranch was delighted with the success of the
first repulse. None of them had been injured, and beyond the first
nervousness, or nausea, suffered nothing. They realized to its fulness the
necessity of meeting the marauders when they returned. Every man saw to it
that enough weapons were within reach for immediate use, besides having
near at hand a dish of cartridges for rapid reloading when the fight was
at its zenith. With anxiety and nervousness they awaited the second
attack. They did not have long to wait. In less than an hour after the
first repulse, they saw them breaking over the hills and descending upon
them in dense array. On they came chanting their war songs, or raising
their raucous voices in wild war whoops in the weirdest manner possible.
For some reason or other, they seemed to halt at some distance from the
ranch. Out of their midst rode a chief, who swept on his way chanting
wildly, dragging a dry buffalo hide by the tail. Apparently he was trying
to incite them on to glory by performing a deed of valor. It may have been
that they were a trifle bashful about exposing themselves to the galling
fire of the little band entrenched behind the walls. Whatever the reason
of their delay, it had no effect upon the lone rider who advanced
fearlessly up to the very door of the ranch, gesticulating in a wild
manner. He threw the hide upon the ground, and with a spring from his pony
landed upon it and began a weird chant to incite his followers to follow
his example. To show his contempt for those within, he seized an empty
barrel that happened to be standing near and threw it with full force
against the door of the building. Just as he let fly the missile, a bullet
from Miller Scott's rifle tore its way through his chest. He gave a leap
into the air and with a wild shriek fell dead upon the buffalo hide. When
his followers saw their chief fall, their enmity was aroused and on they
came in one wild charge. Bullets spat upon them as they came, emptying
many a saddle in their wild charge. Pit, pit, the bullets sank into the
three foot walls of the ranch, and boom, boom responded the buffalo guns
in a roar that was interrupted only for such time as it took to send
another charge home, and then they boomed again. Indians were falling
thick and fast, dead and dying, men and horses were tumbling about on the
open plain in a confused mass. Pitilessly the little band poured out the
rain of bullets, until no living being could stand the galling fire. The
Indians retreated sullenly before their deadly aim, to the shelter of the
hills, once more.

The little incident of throwing the empty barrel against the door, called
to the attention of the defenders of the ranch the necessity of
barricading it. In the excitement of the first charge they entirely
overlooked that important matter, and it was only the foolhardiness of the
Indian chief that called the matter to their minds. As soon as they saw
how much they were exposed to danger through their oversight, willing
hands began to pile sacks of corn and other commodities against the door
until there must have been a ton of material stacked up against it.
Apparently it was the intention of the chief to break in through the door,
and had he succeeded, his followers would have completed the work begun by
him. Happily for them, Miller Scott's bullet cut short his career, and
probably saved them all from death.

The death of the chief had rather a chilling effect upon the rest of the
invaders. Instead of continuing the rush upon the place, they withdrew to
a rather safe distance, and contented themselves with doing some long
range shooting. The firing became desultory. The Indians had withdrawn for
about a mile, and though the buffalo guns would carry that far, it was
practically impossible to do any accurate shooting at such a distance. The
only chance of doing any execution was possible when any of the Indians
gathered in any prominent locality. Then a bullet from a buffalo gun would
sing around them, and they would seek safety in the shelter of the hills.
Another motive that impelled the besieged to save their ammunition was
that they did not know how long they would have to entertain their
unwelcome visitors, and it was necessary to keep that thought in mind.

The Indians seemed to have re-organized again, and once more set out to
make their third attack on the resolute little band. It was galling to
their pride to think that a mere handful of pale-faces were able to
withstand their onslaughts so successfully. Besides, it was rather
disconcerting to have the principal object of their invasion frustrated
just when success seemed to perch upon their banners. The killing of the
few inhabitants of the ranch was not so important as securing the arms and
ammunition they knew was stored up behind the "Adobe Walls." It was doubly
galling to the Comanches to think that they had invited the Arpahoes to
remain out of the fight to witness the extermination of the hated
pale-face, and now they would have to suffer the humiliation of defeat
where they expected to return laden with the spoils of victory. On they
flew the third time, urging their little ponies to topmost speed, more
maniacal than ever in their wild shouts and gestures. Around the little
ranch they rode in a fusilade of shots as they passed and repassed, but
all to no purpose. Their ranks were thinning through the unflinching fire
of the besieged. When a buffalo gun boomed, it was a signal for an Indian
to throw up his hands with a screech and fall dead or wounded from the
back of his flying steed. The nearer they approached the ranch, the hotter
became the fire, until it was impossible to draw sufficiently near to do
any damage. They fully realized that their shooting had been in vain. They
experienced no diminuation in the rapid fire of the little band within
those three-foot walls. They felt that it was useless to attempt to take
the place by assault, and consequently they withdrew beyond the range of
the guns of the besieged, beaten. Three times seemed to satisfy their
efforts for pillage and murder. They hovered around at some distance as
they did not wish to abandon their dead and wounded. There was no Red
Cross Society there to attend to that matter for them, nor was there any
flag of truce hoisted to denote a cessation of hostilities. As far as the
besieged were concerned, they took good aim and shot to kill whenever an
enemy came within range.

Several times during the day they had attempted to recover the body of the
chief lying before the door of the ranch, but all their efforts proved
futile. They finally gave the matter up for a time, acting as though they
thought the whites were using him for a bait to lure them on to
destruction. They did not intend, however, to leave him there, for, during
the night that followed, under the cover of darkness, they succeeded in
removing the body from where it lay. Apparently one of them sneaked up
during the night and fastened a rope around it, hitched the other end to a
pony and dragged the body off to their encampment. He did not do this
without attracting the attention of those within. Anxious ears were
listening for every move outside, and when they heard the body begin to
drag along the ground, they knew that someone was near, and they
immediately poured out a volley upon the rescuer. If they did not hit him,
they at least compelled him to hasten his footsteps on his way. They
afterwards came to the conclusion that the rescuing party got away
successfully as there was no sign of his dead body encumbering the plain
the next morning.

As may be imagined, there was no sleep during the night that followed the
day of the battle. What the Indians could not do during the light of the
day, they might attempt at night, and this thought kept every man alive to
the exigencies of the desperate situation. Every man did sentry duty all
night long, not on the outside, as that would have been suicidal, but
within the walls. When not pacing back and forth across the floor, they
strained their ears listening at the openings in the walls for any noise
that would indicate the approach of the foe. Light they had none, as they
did not dare to so much as burn a match. It was maddening to have to spend
the weary hours waiting for they knew not what. They tried to be brave,
but it was a difficult matter to do so at such a critical time. There was
not a one of them that was not willing to die in defense of the ranch, but
the uncertainty of the situation was more galling than the attack itself.
Hour followed hour, each one seemed an age, and yet there was no sign of
another assault. Wearily, anxiously they waited, each moment dreading what
the next might bring.

Morning dawned at last and the little band breathed easier. They felt that
there was more than an even chance while daylight lasted. The condition of
the place was deplorable. With weary haggard looks they gazed at each
other in the pale morning light and tried to smile encouragement to each
other but it was a wan effort. The excitement of the previous day, and the
anxiety of the night just passed, was plainly visible on their
countenances. But one thing remained, they were undaunted and ready to
face their foe again if necessary. The sanitary condition of the place
resembled the Black Hole of Calcutta in a lesser degree. True, they had
food in abundance, but their water supply was exhausted. Fortunately for
them, there was a supply of canned goods in the store. Some of these they
cut open, and drained off the liquid to quench their thirst. It was not
entirely, satisfying as water, but it tided them over a difficulty.

In the meantime the silence from their enemies continued to cause them
considerable uneasiness. They could not imagine what new kind of deviltry
they were planning to effect the purpose of the raid. They awaited another
attack, but apparently it was either being delayed purposely, or the
Indians had decided to forego any further attempt on the place. Which of
the two it was, they did not know. Finally, when their anxiety became
unendurable, Mr. Olds, the husband of the good lady who had stirred up so
much excitement in the early part of the fray, volunteered to make a
reconnoitre. For this purpose he built a temporary ladder. When the rude
implement was constructed, he ascended to the roof of the building. Then
he proceeded to make an opening in the sod roof, through which he might
make a survey of the country in the neighborhood. To guard against any
attack from nearby, he took a rifle up with him for safety. He looked out
through the opening he had so laboriously made, and reported that there
was not an Indian in sight. All were overjoyed at this bit of information.
Then Mr. Olds began to descend. In some way or other, his gun caught in
one of the rounds of the ladder and was discharged when he was about half
way down. With a lurch from the ladder he fell heavily to the floor.
Whether from the force of the blow as he fell on his head to the hardened
earth, or whether it was the bullet that struck him, his brains were
scattered round about in gruesome fashion. It was a very unfortunate
occurance, and it cast a gloom over the whole party. Mrs. Olds was
heartbroken over the sudden and untimely death of her husband. Needless to
say, the other members of the heroic little band offered her what
consolation their rough ways would permit. As she had just experienced the
fidelity of the manhood around about her, she was much comforted, but it
was hard to bear the burden of her loss with the evidence of the accident
before her.

When the first duties to the afflicted had been accomplished, others
thought of the feasibility of making a more extended reconnoitre from the
outside of the ranch. There was also another reason for wishing to breathe
again the pure air of the plains. Their water supply needed replenishing,
as they were all suffering in some degree from the want of it. With
anxious hearts, they removed the barricading sacks from the door and
prepared for what might come. Andrew Johnson proposed that some one should
go for water, and offered to make the journey himself. To this they all
agreed. He took a bucket and as he stepped out, he took a good look around
for any possible redskin that might be lurking in hiding. Seeing nothing
to indicate the presence of the foe in the neighborhood, he set out for
the creek. His companions covered his journey all the way with their
buffalo guns, so that if any Indian put in an appearance, they would have
either driven him to flight, or adorned the landscape with his remains.
Happily for all, no foe appeared and Mr. Johnson made the journey without
molestation. When he returned, he was greeted by his friends in
misfortune, with all manner of expressions of gratitude. As there was no
indication the presence of the foe, they did not barricade the door again.

The next move was to send out scouts to discover, if possible, whether
there was any further danger of attack. Needless to say, they did not
wander far afield, as, just then, it was a wise proceeding to be in close
proximity to the base of supplies and protection. Those who did not go on
the scouting tour, performed the humane task of burying Mr. Olds, and
those who had been killed outside the ranch house. With what tenderness
their natures possessed they laid away the mortal remains of their
companion not far from the spot where they had spent such a heart-rending
day and night. As for burying the Indians that lay around them on the
plain, they left that part of the duty to the coyotes and the buzzards. At
least, I have never heard of any burial service being read over them, on
that occasion. Such a method of procedure was common enough in those days,
as it seemed to be the usual way in which the enemy regarded the disposal
of the remains of his victims. They could not be charged with neglect of
duty, as, of all the white men that I have heard of being scalped,
murdered, and mutilated in any part of the West, I do not know of one case
where the Indian ever took the time and trouble to bury them. There is
more truth than poetry in the remark of Gen. Sherman, that "War is Hell,"
and the little skirmish had a strong resemblance to a section of the
infernal regions while it lasted.

The above is the general outline of the fight as it occurred. As I have
said in the beginning, my authority for the truth of what I have said was
one of the leading men of the battle, if there were any leading men in
that terrific struggle where every man stood up to the fight like a 'man.'
I have read several accounts of the affray from sources that are
unreliable. As a proof of what I say in that regard, though the article
purport to be written by some one who had a hand in the affray, it is
apparent that they did not write them personally, but left it to some
scribe to put down some of the salient features, passing over some of the
most important events of the struggle. How would it be possible for a
writer who had a share in the battle to forget the important part played
by Miller Scott? You say it would be impossible, yet I have seen accounts
of the battle in which he is not even mentioned. How could he forget the
tragic death of Mr. Olds? However, some writers fail to mention it. How
about the killing of the negro in the wagon? And some of them narrate the
story in an entirely different manner. I fear that the imagination of many
a writer has filled up with fancy when facts of the most thrilling kind
were at hand. I know that a writer, in narrating a hair-raising episode
under the pressure of excitement is liable to overlook some important
feature, nevertheless, for the sake of accuracy and truth, he should
revise what he has written and correct the error when discovered if he
knows it.

To satisfy the curiosity of the reader in regard to the origin of the
Adobe Walls, and how it happened that there were buffalo hunters in that
neighborhood in preference to any other locality, I shall append an
explanation as well as mention many of the old-timers who followed that
occupation.

In regard to the origin of the Adobe Walls, of which some writers appear
to know nothing, I shall narrate the story as told me by those who know.
The original walls were built of brick dobe made out of clay and grass,
and were sun-dried before being set into place. Under the ordinary care,
these walls would have lasted one hundred years or more. These walls were
built by the Mexicans before the country was granted its freedom, and long
before it entered the union. There was a chain of such structures built
across the country to be utilized as trading posts, as well as for
fortifications. This chain of little forts extended from the Wichita
Mountains down through Texas to Mexico. The reason of their being located
so far northward was due to the fact that there were mines in operation in
the Wichita range long before the country gained its freedom, and these
forts served as protection to the freighters who were engaged in
transferring the ore down to Old Mexico. When Texas gained her
independence, all these forts and supply stations were abandoned, and in
course of time were rubbed and horned down by the countless buffalo that
ranged at will over the territory. Then the country became almost a waste,
the home of the buffalo, the cougar, and the other wild beasts that grew
in number unmolested by man.

About thirty-five years ago I became acquainted with two Mexicans named
Romero. They told me that they had freighted ore from the Wichita
mountains to old Mexico, and that if I would go with them they would show
me where they got it. As I did not know anything about mining I declined
the kind offer. Today there are hundreds of men exploring these mountains
in search of the precious metal, and if ever they come upon the site of
the Mexican mines, their fortune is assured.

In regard to the presence of the buffalo hunters near the Adobe Walls, I
am compelled to say that they were there, more by necessity than by
choice. The trail passed by the Adobe Walls and offered an opportunity for
the hunters to ship their hides into Dodge City, the only trading post
within the radius of over a hundred miles. They were compelled to pitch
their camp where they could find water for their stock as well as for
themselves. For this reason they located themselves at the head of Wolf
Creek, in what is now Ochiltree county, Texas. Others located their
outfits in the breaks of Clear Creek, on the south line of No-Man's Land,
and a few more were established in the hills on the north side of the
South Canadian river, and west of the Adobe Walls. They could not
possibly camp on the flats on account of the scarcity of water. There
extended there a strip of territory thirty-three miles wide where there
was no water except after a prolonged wet-spell, which seldom occurred.
Regarding the other conveniences, such as fuel and other things, they had
little difficulty, as the buffalo chips supplied the demands in abundance.

As an aftermath of the raid, when the various hunting outfits received
word of it, they assembled on Clear Creek for mutual protection, as they
did not know when they might receive a visit from the same band who would
not be in any friendly mood after the defeat at the Adobe Walls. When they
had all assembled, they began to discuss the matter from all angles, and
came to the conclusion that the most prudent thing for them to do just
then was to move into Dodge City until things became more settled. Having
decided what to do, they lost no time in putting the plan into execution.
They gathered up their belongings and set out on their hundred mile drive
fully alive to the danger of the situation. They crossed Beaver Creek, and
slowly trudged along their way over the divide to the Cimmaron River. It
was a rather difficult journey, and when they crossed the Cimmaron they
went into camp to give their stock a chance to rest up and enjoy a
breathing spell themselves. When the stock had been turned loose to graze,
they spread out their bedding to give it a sun-bath. Some of the boys went
down to the river to have a swim, and others went off in search of game.
They wanted a change of diet as they had been munching buffalo meat three
times a day for some time past and the regularity with which it came
became monotonous. George Ray and Jim Lane remained at the camp to look
after whatever needed attention, and prepare the wagons for the next day's
journey. Everything was going along peacefully when Lane happened to look
up and he saw an Indian coming out of the mouth of a canyon not more than
a hundred yards away. He spoke to George, and they both grabbed their
rifles and opened fire. As they were seen by the Indian first, before they
had a chance to shoot, there was nothing visible of him but one arm and
one leg, for he fell over to the opposite side of his pony and put him on
the dead run. The two of them fired three shots each before he could get
out of sight into the canyon. They told me afterwards that they did not
think that their shooting had any more effect than to speed the Indian on
his way.

At the sound of the shooting, the boys who were absent, lost no time in
returning to camp. However, they did not lose the object of their hunting
expedition as they brought back a fine antelope. When the matter had been
discussed, they felt somewhat uneasy, but as no other Indian appeared in
the neighborhood, they did not become unduly alarmed. They spent what
remaining time they had before making their departure in cutting up their
meat and curing it for future use. They were soon on their way again. They
crossed the river, and pulled through the sand hills out on the Adobe
Walls trail. Their journey led them across Crooked Creek, then over the
divide. On their way they met General Nelson A. Miles at Mulberry. He was
leading his troops to the assistance of those men who were at the Adobe
Walls, but that was hardly necessary then, as the disturbance caused by
the raid had in a great measure subsided. The buffalo hunters pursued
their journey to Dodge City, where they waited until matters began to
adjust themselves. Some of them then returned to the range, while others
went to freighting, some to Fort Supply, others to Fort Ellis, or
Mobeetie, Tex.

There were no cow ranches in that territory at the time of the raid, nor
for some years afterwards. For the information of the reader, and also to
let the old-timers know that they have not been forgotten, I shall give
here the names of several of them. I knew the most of them personally and
followed their interesting careers with pleasure.

Nelson Cary and Jim Lane, after freighting a few trips, built the first
house where Beaver City now stands. They went into the mercantile business
and remained at it for years with considerable success.

Jack and Bill Combs, George Ray, and Johnny Loughead continued freighting
for some time after the Adobe Wall raid. They remained at this occupation
until they built what was known as the wild-horse corral, on Crooked
Creek, north of the County Seat of Meade County, Kansas. This they
maintained for some years and then went back to the old life of hunting
and freighting.

Bob and Jim Cader settled down on Pladuro Creek and established a small
cow ranch. By close attention to business and industry, they became
wealthy.

Ben Jackson, another old-timer, hunter and plainsman, settled on Wolf
Creek, about five miles from its source, and went into the business of
raising cattle.

I could mention many others, and I knew nearly the whole of them, who were
engaged in the business of hunting and freighting in the early days, but
their numbers, by no stretch of the imagination, would ever reach
two-hundred as some of the narrators of early days would have it.

I shall close this article by giving the present location of some of the
principal actors in the drama of the "Adobe Walls."

  James Langton, Salt Lake City, Utah.
  Charlie Rath,
  A. J. Chappell, El Reno, Oklahoma,
  R. M. Wright, Dodge City, Kansas,
  Miller Scott, Santa Fe, New Mexico.

I trust that my readers will see from the internal evidence of the
narrative just given, that it rings true, and when reading other so-called
accounts of the "Adobe Wall" raid, will be able to sift the truth from the
fiction which such writings portray.


[Illustration: CHIEF DULL KNIFE]



CHAPTER XXI.

The "Dull Knife" Raid; The Indian's Motive for the Same, etc.


The summer of 1877 found the Indians as active as they had been for some
years prior to that date. They had long since come to the realization that
if the buffalo hunter continued his destructive work upon their base of
supplies, the time would soon come when they would be brought to the verge
of want. They had so long considered the buffalo their natural source of
sustenance that they could not behold the plains depopulated of the vast
herds without offering some kind of protest, and the only one that
appealed to him was the rifle, and the tomahawk. Prior to '77 they had
levied a heavy toll upon the settlers in varied shapes of depredations.
They murdered wantonly, they carried into captivity many wives and
daughters of the settlers, they ran off the stock and what they did not
take away they destroyed. Things had come to such a pass that the settler
had to be protected if the vast plains were to be opened up to
agriculture, or ranching. With the removal of the buffalo, the cattle man
would have an opportunity of stocking the vast territory with marketable
beef, or the farmer would be able to convert the boundless acres of the
plains to the production of much needed cereals. Hence it came to pass
that the U. S. soldier took a very active part in affording protection not
only to the scattering settlers who were brave enough to risk the dangers
of Indian incursion, but also, to the cattlemen who were rapidly filling
the plains with herds to replace the once numberless buffalo. Miners and
freighters also came in for their share of protection from the lawless
incursions of the marauding natives of the plains. As a consequence of
the activity of the army, several bands of hostile Indians were captured
and placed on reservations. Amongst the contingents brought in was Dull
Knife with his followers. They were held under surveillance at Red Cloud
Agency, Nebraska, until an order was issued by the Department to Capt.
Lawton, telling him to take charge of the Dull Knife Band, and take them
under military escort to Ft. Reno Reservation, Indian Territory. This
order was promptly complied with, and he started southwards and located
them on the above mentioned Reservation without any trouble or annoyance
on the part of Dull Knife.

It might be well to interpolate here an assertion of Dull Knife, as it
will explain some of his future conduct. He made the claim that he
surrendered under a promise, or form of agreement that in case he should
become dissatisfied with the Darlington agency at Ft. Reno, he would be
allowed return to his northern hunting grounds again. I cannot vouch for
the truthfulness of the statement, but will let it pass for what it is
worth. The fact of the matter is that he was only a very short time at the
Darlington agency before he began fomenting trouble. He managed to render
himself obnoxious as possible to every one with whom he had any dealings.
John D. Miles was in charge of the Darlington Agency at the time, and
Major Misner was in command of Ft. Reno. They each of them kept a close
scrutiny on every movement of their distinguished? guest, as his
reputation for being a disturber among the Indians as well as amongst the
whites had preceded him, and they soon discovered that his change of base
did not change his disposition for the better, in fact, it seemed to have
the contrary effect upon him. When he was brought into the reservation,
the agent located him about nine miles above Reno, close by what was known
as Dutch Jake's ranch, and not far from where the present town of Calumet
is situated, in the valley of the North Canadian. He was not there very
long until he discovered that the whole scheme of creation seemed to be
out of harmony with his needs and comfort. He made the startling discovery
that the water was no good, that the grass lacked the nutritive qualities
necessary to keep his ponies in good condition, and last, but not least,
that the agent was stealing his chuckaway and that he, his family and all
that was near and dear to him were fast becoming mere shadows of their
former selves owing to such scantiness of rations. I do not know whether
there was any truth in the claim that the agent, John D. Miles was guilty
of the crime charged against him, but this I feel very safe in saying,
that a great many of the troubles with the Western Indians had their
origin in just such practices, as has often been shown upon investigation.
There are usually two sides to every question, but, in the case in
discussion, whether there was any truth in the charge, or not, I am safe
in remarking that Dull Knife with less provocation, in fact, with only an
excuse for provocation, could stir up more strife with less raw material
to start on than any Indian I ever knew or heard of, and certainly lived
up to the description the Irishman gave of his wife, when he was carried
away by his feelings of resentment, "Bad luck to your ould head, ye're
never at home only when ye are abroad, and never at peace but when ye are
at war."

The condition of which Dull Knife complained with so much petulancy and
bitterness continued to exist during the winter. However, when the day
arrived for the Indians to draw their rations, he appeared with the rest
and took his share. The manner in which the cattle were turned over to
them was rather peculiar, but filled the bill to a nicety. At the time
appointed, they all adjourned to what was called the "issue" pen where the
cattle were turned over to them to kill after their own fashion. As soon
as the steer was turned loose the Indians set out in pursuit of him, armed
with bows and arrows, with which they endeavored to despatch him. They
rode alongside of him, often times the distance of more than a mile, all
the while trying to sink their arrows into some vital spot. Many a wild
race they had after some refractory steer goaded to desperation by the
wounds inflicted upon him by the arrows. As soon as the beast fell in his
track, the pursuers work was done. The attention required to convert the
fallen steer into food was given by the squaws who followed the pursuit,
some on foot and others on ponies. Arrived at the death scene they
immediately set to work with their skinning knives and soon had the steer
divested of his hide. That done, they made short work of cutting up the
carcass into the portions allotted to each family. Those to whom the meat
was distributed looked after the conveyance of it to their quarters in
whatever manner suited their taste or convenience. Some wrapped it up in
blankets, others hung it from their saddles, others brought into service a
gunny sack or any other article that would suit the purpose of
transporting their share to their dwellings. In the work of disposing of a
steer, they were very economical, as there was very little left of it when
they had finished the work of dismembering him. Even the entrails came in
for their attention. The smaller intestines they usually relieved of their
contents by squeezing between their fingers. When they had them
sufficiently cleansed of all foreign matter, they braided them carefully
and hung them around the necks of their ponies. If the work happened to
take place in warm weather, by the time the work was completed there was
usually a halo of flies encircling each squaw to accompany her on her
homeward journey. The bucks seldom, if ever, took a hand in the butchering
as they considered that work beneath the dignity of a warrior. A few years
later this system of disposing of the cattle was abolished by an order
issued from the Indian Department at Washington, as the officials
considered that manner of killing a beast too barbarious and cruel. To
accomplish the end desired, they had the Agent select a good marksman to
go into the issue, pen and shoot the animal selected for each family.
Then the beast was dragged outside and the family to whom it was
apportioned, dressed it and made the division of it that suited their
fancy. On the day of "issue," I have frequently sat for hours watching the
aborigines at their work, and I must say that outside of a few little
things, the scene had a certain amount of fascination for me. Here I had
an opportunity to study the Indian at close range, and I found it far from
uninteresting. However, education and environment has wrought considerable
change in the habits and customs of the natives of the plains, though it
was a somewhat difficult matter to break away from the mode of life
founded upon years of existance under a species of wild and untrammeled
freedom such as they enjoyed before they came under the dominion of the
white man. I have oftentimes, in my travels over the plains and visits to
the different agencies, come upon a family of Indians at their meal. All
were seated upon the ground in a circle around the food, each one devoting
careful attention to the work of demolishing some choice morsel with a
gusto that would make Lucullus envious. Frequently, upon encountering them
in such circumstances I discovered young men and young women who had been
at Carlyle, or some other institution in the East, I could tell at a
glance that they had had the advantage of an educational training, as,
upon my arrival they would turn their faces away from me, much embarrassed
and somewhat ashamed to be seen in their old habits of life when they had
been permitted to enjoy the elevating influences and advantages of higher
life. They had not been back from school perhaps, for more than a couple
of weeks; perhaps, they were only making a short visit to the old folks on
the plains, but they could not conceal their training, and they sought to
avoid embarrassment by turning away from the visitor who happened to call
upon them. They were wearing the blanket just to please the old people. It
was the custom of the early days, and still the mode of life of their
parents, and they found it rather difficult to live in a manner different
from their people when they were in the midst of them. One who suffered no
embarrassment from the visitor was the old buck himself. There he sat
munching a piece of raw beef as unconcerned as if no visitor had ever
appeared before him. He was apparently oblivious of his surroundings, and
it seemed as if the sole purpose in life, just then, was to give his whole
time and attention to a quantity of meat, oftentimes of such size that a
section of it would be protruding from the corner of his mouth. There he
sat and just chewed, like a work ox munching his quid, or a mountain goat
contentedly masticating some tough but savory morsel of food.

I have digressed considerably from the subject of Dull Knife's doings, but
I hope that matter just mentioned has not been uninteresting to the reader
as it gives some idea of the manner of life the old rascal led while at
the Darlington Agency. To continue the narrative, the Agent kept up his
mode of procedure in dealing with Dull Knife, and the latter continued to
raise objections. He kept the trail between his abode and the Agency in a
well worn condition owing to his numerous visits to the presiding
official. In this manner he managed to put in the whole winter. In other
words, he kept the kettle boiling, and one could see that there was
something brewing.

If there is anything that an Indian dislikes, it is to get into any
trouble that would force him to leave his camp in the winter time,
especially when there is much snow on the ground. Gen. Phil. Sheridan was
aware of this fact when he made his winter campaign on the Washita after
Black Kettle, Satanta, and Lone Wolf, and forever settled the outbreaks of
the Indians in that section of the country.

When the grass began to spring up along the valley, and his ponies seemed
to be putting on some of the much needed flesh, Dull Knife felt the blood
pulsing through his heart with greater vigor, and he began to make
preparations for war. He made no secret of his intentions to depart at the
earliest opportunity from the restraining influences of the Reservation.
It was quite manifest to all the employees at the Agency, and to a great
many of the soldiers, that Dull Knife was making his arrangements to part
company with his surroundings. News of the intentions of Dull Knife was
brought to the Agent by an educated half-breed, George Bent. Any rumor
that he had of the matter previously was now sufficiently confirmed to
warrant his taking what precautionary measures he deemed proper to
restrain the war-like ardor of the distinguished guest within his gates.
He summoned Dull Knife to his presence and gave peremptory orders to
remove his camp from its present location down the river to a position
about eight miles east of where the present city of El Reno now stands. It
was a good location as there was plenty of water, timber, and grazing, and
should have satisfied the demands of Dull Knife for improved conditions,
but he immediately put forth all manner of objections to which the Agent
turned a deaf ear. Reluctantly Dull Knife agreed that the conditions in
the new location were much better than where he had been living, but he
did not see his way clear just then to make a change in his habitation.
The reason he gave for his unwillingness to comply with the wishes of the
agent was that there was sickness in his family and consequently it would
be extremely dangerous to expose them to the necessity of submitting
themselves to a change when it was not absolutely necessary. He promised,
however, that as soon as his family was restored to health, he would move
them to the new location down the river. The Agent permitted the delay
suggested by the wily Indian, but as a precautionary measure, had the
Commanding Officer at the fort send a troupe of the fourth cavalry to
where he was then camped, to stand guard over him until such time as he
would make up his mind to remove to the new site selected for his
encampment. The placing of a guard over him, gave Dull Knife another
opportunity to raise objections to the general scheme of things, and like
a spoiled child who cries because it cannot have the rainbow, he commenced
to whine once more. No sooner had the troops taken up their position to
guard his actions than he came to the Agent to have them removed entirely,
or if that was impossible, to have them removed to some distance from his
teepee. He asserted strongly that the presence of the soldiers so near to
him had a tendency to keep his squaws in a state of terror and that, as a
consequence, they would not be able to regain their health, at least, as
long as the soldiers remained in the neighborhood. The Agent, to put an
end to his continual whining, consented to remove the soldiers to a
position somewhat removed from Dull Knife's teepee, but still near enough
to keep some sort of guard over him if they were at all careful in the
fulfillment of their duty. The soldiers were rollicking, jolly good
fellows, not at all bloodthirsty, and whenever an opportunity presented
itself for merriment they entered into the spirit of the occasion with all
kinds of ardor. Needless to say, they found the task of acting as guard
over one redskin a rather tedious affair, and were compelled to break the
monotony of existence by means originating with themselves. They managed
to pass the time in running horses, playing cards, and with other
diversions. In the meantime the Indians passed back and forth among them
with as much freedom as if there had never existed anything like a guard.

In the meantime the summer was passing away, and Dull Knife had not yet
changed his residence. The Agent was beginning to get somewhat nervous
over the matter. He even went so far as to declare that he would leave the
agency, but that was a matter that could not be attended to without
considerable red tape, and in the meantime he was receiving a good salary
where he was. He could not throw up his position without consulting Uncle
Sam, as Samuel is rather a harsh task-master when it comes to seeing that
his officials fulfill the duties of their position. It was quite evident
that Dull Knife was getting on his nerves.

During all this time, Dull Knife was tearing around like a loose cyclone
that has recently broken away from its moorings, and his lieutenant, Wild
Hog, was not far behind him in activity. He made no secret of what he was
doing. Here and there, all over the Reservation the wily old villian was
meandering for the purpose of getting possession of fire-arms. Anything he
had in his possession he was willing to barter for anything in the shape
of the utensils of war. Cowboys and soldiers, all were requested to barter
something in the nature of guns or ammunition for whatever he could
produce. Anything he had was on the market. At times he succeeded in
trading a couple of ponies for an old, rusty, six-shooter, but in the
general run he was not very successful. As an instance of what he was
willing to do, I shall mention one case. James Smith, a teamster for the
government at the time, was hauling posts to erect a stockade at the fort.
In one of his trips he met Dull Knife. The latter immediately proposed a
swap. He saw Smith had his belt full of cartridges, and these seemed to
take his fancy. He made a trade with the teamster, giving him a new
government overcoat for ten cartridges. This penchant for trading became
an obsession with him, and there were times when he rendered himself a
nuisance to everyone in the neighborhood by his continual proposals to
make a trade.

Finally, this state of things became very monotonous. They had long since
become aware of the fact that Dull Knife had no good intentions in his
desire to become possessed of firearms and ammunition. They began to be
fearful of him, as they did not know the time he would break out and take
the war-path and leave behind him a trail of smoking ruins, with a long
list of murdered victims.

On the first of September, 1878, the Agent was called up by a family of
Indians who informed him that Dull Knife had gone. They said that they had
gone with him a short distance, but changed their minds and came back to
the reservation. The thing that all had been looking for had come to pass,
and they all became anxious for what the near future would make known to
them. Something had to be done without delay. The Agent immediately
summoned Johnny Murphy who had been Gen. Sheridan's confidential ambulance
driver during the campaign on the Washita, during the winter of 1868,
against the Kiowas, Comanches, and Arpahoes, and who was afterwards a
reliable despatch bearer between the different posts in that section of
the country. The Agent explained the situation to Mr. Murphy, and handed
him a despatch to forward immediately to the Commander at Ft. Reno,
telling him of the departure of Dull Knife. When the despatch was handed
to the Commander, he read it attentively, and asked Mr. Murphy, as a
special favor to take it up the river where the troops were still guarding
the Dull Knife camp. Murphy again mounted his faithful old steed, Pegasus,
and proceeded to bore a hole in the darkness until he arrived at the camp.
There he found every one of the soldiers sound asleep while the object of
their tender care was on his way to the hunting grounds in the North. It
is difficult to account for the somnolent tendencies of the soldiers on
this occasion. It does not seem possible that their amusements of the
preceding day would have the effect of producing such a lethargic
condition. In any case, even the sentinel, whose duty it was, at the
expiration of each hour, to shout at the top of his voice and proclaim to
the troops in particular and to the whole world in general that "All is
well," had surrendered to Morpheus, and was so tightly wrapped in his
embrace that Murphy was compelled to roll him out of his blankets and
inform him that the Commander at the fort, and his country was calling him
to duty, and it would be a better procedure to saddle up at once and go to
headquarters as soon as possible.

To the average man, the escape of Dull Knife from under the very eyes of
his guards, may seem increditable, but this is a case where truth is
stranger than fiction. It seems as if Dull Knife's medicine had hypnotized
the guardians of Uncle Sam's peace and dignity. If such were the case, he
must have exercised the same powerful influence over the military until he
was killed close to the Wyoming line. I cannot blame the reader if he
shows a little hesitancy in accepting the statement as a fact, as I myself
would have an inclination to question the matter, and begin to look for
proof if I were in the same conditions as he, were it not that I am
writing this account within a few miles of the locality in which the drama
was enacted. I have been over the trail and visited the scenes of some of
his brutal massacres.

When Dull Knife left the reservation, he had less than one hundred
warriors, but had his full complement of squaws and papooses, which, all
told, would raise the number of the departing contingent to about two
hundred and fifty. The fact that he took down his teepee, packed all his
belongings, and marched off undisturbed by the guard set to watch his
every move, would be enough to stagger the mind of any one except some
dime-novelist who has the happy faculty of accomplishing marvelous deeds
with little or no implements to produce such wonderful results. But,
nevertheless, that is what occurred. He had departed unmolested from the
midst of his guards, and was on his way to his far off land of promise.
When he left the reservation, he continued his march to the Cimmaron river
without much inconvenience from the military men who were supposed to
forestall any such movement on his part. Being that he was poorly provided
with munitions of war, or supplies to maintain his command on their
journey, he was compelled to seek subsistence by raiding ranches, or
killing what stock he met on his way. He did not have much trouble in
providing for his future wants, once he came into possession of some beef.
This he dried and "jerked," a very easy proceeding, for as soon as the
meat was salted and hung out in the sun, it readily cured, and would
remain fit for use for a year or more without any further attention.

The day after the departure of Dull Knife and his followers, the soldiers
under the command of an old German officer, who had seen service in the
army of the Fatherland, Major Randerbrook, set out to arrest the fugitives
and bring them back to the reservation. It was manifest to the observer
that the Major did not relish coming in contact with the rough edges of
army life. Here I may pardonably make mention of the fact that this same
Major, and Captain Gunther, of whom I shall speak later on, were members
of the Slumber Squad who were supposed to keep a wakeful eye upon Dull
Knife's camp. The old Major, when notified by Johnnie Murphy that his
captive had vanished, became indignant to think that Murphy, a mere
messenger, would have the audacity to disturb his sweet repose. However,
realizing that the courier had not acted on his own volition, he summoned
up sufficient courage to leave his comfortable bed, and saddle up for the
purpose of making a journey to the fort. When he arrived there, he
received orders to take charge of the Fourth Cavalry, or that portion of
it that was then at the fort, and set out in pursuit. There were several
troops of the Fourth Cavalry in that section of the country at the time,
as they had been sent down from Fort Sill to keep an eye upon the Kiowas
and Comanches if they should show any disposition to foment disturbances.
Hence it happened that there was only one troop of the Fourth at the fort
at the time of the disappearance of Dull Knife and band. The Commander of
the fort also sent a courier to Fort Sill telling the Commander there
that Dull Knife had gone north, and asked him to intercept the Indians if
possible.

The fugitive had gone northwards only a short distance when he went into
camp in the sand hills which lay north of Dutch Jake's ranch. From his
actions it was plainly evident that he was not at all uneasy about the
presence of the soldiers, nor did he manifest any fear of them. When he
was ready to proceed on his journey, he set out with the same nonchalance
as characterized his encamping so near to the scene of his late restraint.
He advanced on his route until he arrived at the Antelope Hills, north of
the Cimmaron river. There he made another encampment. The soldiers had not
yet overtaken him, a thing which he seemed anxious for them to do. In fact
he became so anxious that they should overtake him that he sent a small
band of warriors back to meet them to make inquiries as to the reason of
their following him. They were informed by Major Randerbrook that he had
been sent out to arrest them and restore them to the reservation. They
positively refused to return with the Major, and stated plainly that they
intended to return to their chief and lay the matter before him. Dull
Knife, as might be expected of him, positively refused to consider the
return to the reservation, in any light. In order that there might be no
mistake about his intentions he began to daub on the war paint in greater
abundance than he was decorated with before. He was simply living up to
his assertion made previously that he would return to the hunting grounds
of the northern territory if the conditions around the reservation did not
suit his fancy, and in his present attitude he was fulfilling up to his
declarations, and would continue to do so, come what might.

The first evening of the march, Major Randerbrook made the startling
discovery that, in the haste and bustle of preparation consequent upon the
order to pursue the fleeing Indians, they had forgotten to pack up his
feather bed, his davenport, also his writing stand and wall tent. He felt
that he could not make a successful journey without these necessary
accessories to his personal comfort, and therefore, he detailed Peter F.
Weasel, a member of the 16th Infantry, who was acting as teamster at the
time, to return to the fort and bring all his belongings (the Major's) and
overtake the troops the next day. This solemn duty Peter set out to
fulfill with proper feelings of submission, but I have never found any
evidence to show that the said Peter ever appeared in the presence of the
Major, laden with his precious feather bed or any of his other belongings.

Do not permit the idea to find lodgment in your head, my reader, that the
Major was a coward. Far from it, as his later actions showed. Later on,
when the Indians refused to surrender when he met them at the Antelope
Hills, he ordered the troops to charge upon them in the camp, which they
did. After a short skirmish with them, he found that he had lost three
soldiers who were killed, and among the injured was the company blacksmith
who was crippled by being shot through the hips. After this skirmish the
soldiers withdrew from the fray and went into camp. There they buried
their dead companions, but when they came to look for the injured
blacksmith he was no where to be found. In fact, they never saw him again.
The loss on the part of the Indians is unknown, but from what I can learn
about the fray, to use the language of the prize ring, that battle might
be considered a "draw." Some years afterwards, acting under orders from
the Department at Washington that all soldiers killed in battle with the
Indians on the plains, where their graves were known, their bodies should
be exhumed and given a military funeral. This order was complied with in
the case of the three soldiers killed in the Antelope Hill fight, and they
were later on removed to the fort where they belonged and properly
interred. The Major himself bore himself in a courageous manner, but he
was suffering from the handicap of age. Brave as any man that ever
straddled a horse, he wanted to be in the thickest of the fray, but owing
to his eyesight being greatly impaired it was not a safe move to permit
him to enter so ardently into an engagement, as he could not distinguish
friend from foe at even a short range, and the difference between an
Indian and any other object at a distance he could by no means make out.
The Major was thoroughly discouraged with the outcome of the affray, and
disgusted with the conduct of his troops on the occasion. He resolved to
give up his commission and turn over his command to a younger man. He
determined to make his resignation at Camp Supply, but before taking his
departure he placed Captain Gunther in charge of the command. This man
proved his unfitness for the position of trust confided to him later on at
Sand Creek where he displayed the cowardice and worthlessness of his
character, which stamped him as one of the most despicable characters who
ever disgraced the uniform of an officer since the days of Benedict
Arnold. The old Major in due time arrived at Camp Supply accompanied by an
escort, whilst Dull Knife after carrying off and secreting his dead
warriors, started northwards across the Cimmaron river, and began a series
of depredations on the ranches and cattle in Clarke county, Kansas.

Once he had crossed the river, he did not confine his band to any definite
route of travel. In place of an orderly line of march, such as
characterizes the trained soldier, his followers scattered out each day in
different directions to perpetrate whatever devilment might offer, with
the purpose of meeting at night at some appointed rendezvous to plot and
plan further rascality to be put in operation on the following day.

There were few stock ranches in the country at the time, and when they had
heard that the Indians were on the warpath, and were in the neighborhood,
they began to make preparations to protect themselves and their stock
against an expected incursion of the marauding band. They rounded up
their horses and kept them under close herd, but that was impossible as
regarded the cattle, as they were scattered far and wide, and consequently
would afford the Indians an opportunity for obtaining possession of what
meat they wanted for their journey. It would have been flying into the
teeth of danger to endeavor to round them up just then, as the ranchmen
would, in all likelihood, have encountered some of the roving bands of
cut-throats in their way, and the result would have been disastrous.
However, it was not the nature of the cowboys to remain supinely inactive
and permit the Indians to work havoc on the herds at will. They determined
to have a hand in the fray, and decided that it was time to give the
Indians their first lesson in civilization if they had not received it
before. They let the cattle take care of themselves, and set out to
deliver their instructions in the only manner that would appeal to the
natives of the plains. The cowboys from Doc Day's ranch, and those from
the Driskill ranch, with those of several other outfits, all turned out to
take a hand in the fray that was sure to come. They set to work with
enthusiasm, and continued it with so much zeal and ardor, that Dull Knife
began to fortify himself against their unremitting attention. He selected
for this purpose a location on what is called Gypsum Creek. The squaws set
to work to dig rifle pits upon the side of the bluffs that overlooks the
stream, where the warriors could fire down upon the persistent cowboys if
they should have the audacity to follow them into their hiding place.

Everybody was, by this time, on the lookout for the invaders and prepared
to give them a warm reception should they appear in the neighborhood,
excepting one man named Sam Kiger. He lived on what is now known as Kiger
Creek, so named in his honor. Sam had a little ranch. He lived in a
dugout, and had a small herd of cattle, and was busy looking after his own
interests. He was so far removed from everybody else, that he did not
hear of the danger that was threatening the neighborhood. It is easy to
understand how he was unaware of the menace of the Indians when it is
stated that he seldom saw any one, seldom went abroad except when
necessity compelled him to do so, and then went to Dodge City which was 45
miles distant, for supplies. He remained in ignorance of his danger until
two weeks after the Indians had left that part of the country. That was
one case where ignorance was bliss. But another man, Sam Williams, was not
so fortunate. He was a sheepman and maintained his flocks on another
creek, and had a very close call, in fact, just escaped being murdered by
the savages by the narrowest margin. He was herding his sheep all alone at
the time. Sam, among the other adornments of nature, was upholstered with
a luxuriant crop of whiskers. They were his pride and he spent his spare
time in combing them. Never did beauteous maiden bestow so much time and
attention upon her personal adornment as Sam spent upon his hirsute
appendage. In fact, the care and attention of those whiskers became a sort
of obsession with him. Well, the first notice that the aforesaid Sam had
of the presence of Indians was when a bullet came singing through the air
from behind a sand hill and ploughed a furrow through his highly
cultivated whiskers. It did not require any very rapid calculation on his
part to tell him that he was living in the midst of alarms, and that he
ought to seek the protection of his dugout so as to be secure from further
manifestations of hostility on the part of the invisible riflemen. To
think was to act, and Sam made the distance between where he was shot at
and the dug-out in record breaking time. In fact, he might have shattered
the record considerably, had he been timed, but there was no time to look
for an official timekeeper then, so his efforts in speed must go
unrecorded. Once inside the dug-out he felt comparatively safe, as an
Indian would be very careful about approaching it as it was virtually
impregnable. There was no mode of assaulting it except from in front, and
no wise Indian, with a view to saving his skin from being perforated,
would care to approach from that direction, as he would be compelled to
take that direction if he wished to create any impression on the occupant
of the dug-out. In the meantime, the proprietor of the place, acting on
the law of self-preservation, would likely be cutting the dust from around
the said Indian's moccasins, if not making a more successful effort to
convert his assailant into what is called a "good Indian." Usually, as the
besieging party came to realize that he could not set fire to the place,
nor make any success of shooting into it, he would abandon his undertaking
for some other more tractable victim. But, the fact that he could not kill
his victim, did not prevent his turning his attention to some other mode
of deviltry at which the Indian was usually adept. In this case, they
rounded up the sheep belonging to Williams and drove them into a
water-hole where six hundred of them were drowned.

While prowling among the Sand Hills, the Indians chanced upon and, after a
running fight, killed a man, named La Force, a brother of Perry La Force
who was foreman on the Diamond F. ranch, owned by the Franklin Land and
Cattle Co., and managed by B. B. Groom, part owner of the stock. He was a
fine type of Kentucky gentleman, actuated by the highest ideals, and one
who ran true to the standard of the highest kind of hospitality. When the
ranchman became aware of the absence of La Force, as he had not returned
from his tour of inspection, or whatever duty took him away from the
remainder of the party for the day, they organized a search party to
discover his whereabouts. They probably had more than a suspicion that he
had met with something more than an accident, as they were aware of the
fact that the Indians were on the rampage, but it would not be according
to the ethics of their mode of life to abandon him unless they were
positive that he had met death. For weeks they maintained the search, but
with no success. Finally, in one of their excursions, they came across a
skeleton, or what was left of it, as the bones had been disjointed and
scattered in all directions. They were not yet positive that it was the
remains of their friend. However, they were not long left in their
uncertainty for they discovered La Force's six-shooter. Every chamber of
it was empty, which went to show that he had not yielded tamely to his
fate, but fought manfully against whatever odds he had encountered. How
many there were opposed to him, the searching party had no idea of
calculating, but there was no doubt in their minds that he had accounted
for more than one of his foes. The condition of his remains was due to the
fact that they had left his body where he had fallen, and the coyotes had
gnawed every particle of flesh from the bones. They gathered up what bones
they could find and bore them to the ranch and buried them with all the
tributes of respect that could be shown to one who had been not only a
friend, but who had held a very exalted place in their regard. They then
notified his brother Perry La Force, of the untimely death of his brother,
giving him what information they could of his tragic end. He came from the
Panhandle where he was living at the time and had the remains exhumed and
took them to Mobeetie, Texas, where he laid them in their last resting
place.

Whilst these acts of thievery, murder, and other rascality were being
perpetrated on the Cimmaron, and Big, and Little Sand creeks, a small
contingent paid a visit to a personal friend of mine, named Charles Coe.
He, at the time, was holding a herd of beef cattle in the southwestern
part of Ford county, awaiting an opportunity to ship them from Dodge City.
The herd was owned by Tuttle and Chapman. In his employment he had a negro
who performed the duties of cook, as well as acting as chore boy around
the outfit. This same Charlie Coe was afterwards book-keeper for the
George S. Emerson Mercantile Co. in Dodge City, Kan. At the time I
mention he was what was termed a tenderfoot, and along with being
inexperienced in the ways of the west, had little or no knowledge of the
Indians mode of existence, especially on the warpath. Anything he happened
to know of them, he had gleaned from rumor and reading. His tent was
located not far from Crooked Creek. When the Indians came upon him, decked
out in their war regalia, he was in a quandry what to do. It would have
been useless for him to endeavor to seek shelter behind the bank of the
creek, as the distance was rather far just then, and his tent would offer
no protection from the bullets of the enemy. Plainly he was confronting a
proposition the like of which he had never encountered before. It did not
take him long to realize the danger of the situation, and he saw at a
glance that it was death or glory for him, no matter which horn of the
dilemma he chose to take. Instead of seeking safety in flight, he
preferred to break a long established precedent of running away, and faced
the danger unflinchingly. He seized his gun and stepped outside and waited
the coming of his foes. As soon as they came within range, he took careful
aim and fired. His first shot brought to earth the horse of the leader of
the band. Indications showed that he wrought some damage upon the rider
also, as he had to be assisted by his comrades in rascality. They picked
him off the ground where he lay, and placed him on a pony behind another
redskin. The bold front shown by the white man had the effect of halting
the marauders in their mad career, and at the same time had a stimulating
effect upon young Coe. He continued to fire at them as long as they
remained within range. The reception they had received was wholly
unexpected by the Indians, and after firing several random shots at him,
without inflicting any damage, turned their horses around and withdrew to
the Sand Hills about a mile distant. As soon as they had departed the
young tenderfoot entered his tent to take stock of his means of defense. A
brief glance at his small supply of ammunition showed him that he was not
in a position to stand much of the siege. In fact he had very few
cartridges left, and considering prudence the better part of valor decided
to make an improvement in his conditions by seeking safety in flight. He
gave orders to his stable attendant to hitch up the horses and they would
set out for Dodge, which was about thirty miles away. He told the negro
the condition of affairs and showed him that they would likely lose their
scalps and their lives if the Indians should make another descent upon
their camp. To the proposal to abandon the place, the negro made reply,
"No, sah, I ain't agwine to leave Marse Tuttle's mules heah for dem
pestificatin red debils to get. Ise agwine to take dem along." Having
delivered himself of this proclamation of loyalty, he started to hitch up.
Coe could not persuade him that he was exposing himself to unnecessary
danger, and while Mr. Tuttle would appreciate his feelings of loyalty to
his interests, at the same time he was not cruel enough to wish to expose
him to the danger of losing his life. This and all other arguments that
Coe could urge, were of no avail. He had determined to follow his own
course in the matter, and nothing could move him from that determination.
He had a strong liking for that team of mules, and a very strong affection
for Mr. Tuttle, and in less than an hour later he lost his life through
his fidelity to his master's interests. Reluctantly Coe started off for
Dodge City. Sharp eyes were watching every move he made. From the Sand
Hills they had noticed the preparations made at the tent, and saw the
paleface ride away in the direction of the city. They felt that it was
useless to follow him, as they knew he was well armed, and they remembered
too well the manner of reception he tendered them but an hour before, and
knew that he would be prompt to repeat it if they offered him another
opportunity. They had no desire to lose any members of their band, and
they felt that it would be a certainty that they would suffer some loss
if they pursued him, so they let him proceed on his way. Not so did they
show any consideration for the negro. When they saw him set out they
started in pursuit. They rode down from the Hills, gradually converging to
a point in which the darky and the team of mules was the center of
attraction. When the negro saw them coming with the evident intention of
intercepting him, he put the mules to a gallop, but it was impossible for
the team dragging the heavy wagon to outrun the war ponies of the Indians.
When they were drawing down upon him they began to shout and shoot at the
same time. The poor darkey was terrified. The mules were stampeded and ran
away. They overturned the wagon in their flight. In their mad career, the
driver had been shot in the back several times and was killed outright.
They overtook the mules and unhitching them, led them back to the Sand
Hills where Dull Knife had now established his temporary headquarters.
They did not scalp the negro, nor burn the wagon as was their custom.
Evidently they must have come to the conclusion that the team of mules and
the plunder of the tent was sufficient for one day. The darkey was later
found and buried by some cowmen, and his grave for a long time was used as
a landmark for travelers along the Jones and Plummer trail. Mr. Tuttle was
in Dodge City at the time his faithful attendant gave up his life for his
interests. Naturally he felt the loss of his servant rather keenly. When
the news was brought to him that his wagon was still out there along the
trail where it had been upset, he hired Hoodoo Brown, an old scout, to go
out and bring it into Dodge, for repairs. The old scout often told me of
his experience upon that dangerous journey.

It was late in the afternoon when he had the wagon fixed up in such a
fashion that he could haul it into the city. He made the return trip the
same night as he did not care to expose himself to the danger of meeting
the same or worse fate than the negro. He said that he imagined he could
see an Indian hiding behind every sage brush, or cactus in the country.
But as it proved to be nothing more real than a fancy of the imagination,
he had no difficulty in making the journey, for which Mr. Tuttle paid him
handsomely.

This band that had just perpetrated the deviltry, had returned to Sand
Creek just in time to avoid a possee of cowboys who were in pursuit of
them. They had but recently run the rest of the Dull Knife band into the
canyon which they had fortified, and it would have gone hard with the
battle contingent that had just come from murdering the negro if the
cowboys had a chance to meet them before they sought shelter in the rifle
pits the squaws had recently dug.

By this time, the whole country was well aware that Captain Gunther and
Dull Knife had been playing a game of "hide and seek" for the past ten
days. The cowmen became weary of such dilatory tactics, and determined to
go into the canyon and fight it out with the Indians. At this time Captain
Gunther had arrived on the scene with the 4th Cavalry, and demanded that
the cowmen withdraw from the sight as he was going to take that matter
into his own hands. He said that the Indians were well fortified and that
he would have considerable trouble in dislodging them. He stated that he
intended to place sentinels around the canyon so that none of them could
escape, and intended to hold a conference with Dull Knife in the morning.
He assured the cowmen that he was well acquainted with the old warrior and
felt certain that he would have no difficulty in persuading him to return
to the reservation with all his followers.

After the captain had arranged his guards around the canyon in such a
manner as he thought would preclude the possibility of the Indians making
their escape, he busied himself with preparations for encamping down the
creek. While he was thus engaged, he was approached by Ben Jackson, the
noted scout and buffalo hunter, who saluted him in military fashion, as
far as his knowledge of that accomplishment would permit, and proposed
that he, the captain, give him a despatch to be delivered to the commander
at Fort Dodge requesting him to send more troops to aid in capturing the
Indians. This despatch he promised to deliver within a few hours. The
captain, not knowing the resourcefulness of the man making the request,
replied that he could not spare an escort for the undertaking. To which
the scout replied that he did not need an escort as he was well acquainted
with the country and did not have any fears about the prompt delivery of
the message. The captain answered that such a course of proceedings was
unnecessary, as he was well acquainted with Dull Knife personally. He said
that he intended to hold the conference with him the next morning, and
that when matters were set before him in the proper light, there would be
no further trouble in the case, as he was positive the Indians would be
perfectly satisfied and return to the agency without any further
difficulty. When this short interview had been completed, the captain
proceeded down the creek and went into camp. In the meantime the pickets
were on duty around the canyon, or rather were supposed to be, but, in
some manner or other, Dull Knife's medicine hypnotized them as it did on
the former occasion when he escaped from the North Canadian. I am not
going to make any remarks about the private soldiers of this campaign, as
they were ever ready and willing to do their duty if they had a proper
officer to lead them; nor am I going to make any comments, nor pretend to
fix the blame where it belongs, but will state the facts and let the
reader judge for himself who was culpable in the matter; but it seems
incredible that 250 Indians could come out of that canyon, supposedly well
guarded, and pass through a cordon of pickets without a gun being fired.
Incredible it is, but, nevertheless, that is the unvarnished truth of the
matter. When dawn appeared the following morning, the Indians had
vanished, as if they had been swallowed up by the earth. Their trail
indicated that they had gone northward. They pursued their line of flight
to Crooked Creek, in Meade County, Kansas, and after crossing that stream
near what is called the "Three Bends," they came to a hay camp that was
conducted by G. S. Emerson. Here they did not give themselves up to their
usual depredations, but contented themselves with taking some provisions
and cutting up a pair of calf skin boots belonging to the proprietor. That
they did not commit any murders, was due to the fact that the men of the
outfit were absent. From there they proceeded to what was intended to be
the county seat of Meade county, which development did not extend further
than the erection of a story-and-a-half frame building, with an unfinished
well nearby, at which the city fathers were working when the Indians
arrived. They immediately set out to explore the contents of the house and
surroundings. Their efforts were not rewarded very highly, but one thing
attracted their attention, a grindstone standing near at hand. The sole
occupant of the dwelling, Captain French, was compelled to perform the
task of turning the grindstone while they were sharpening their knives. To
test the acuteness of the finish they had put on their weapons, they
contented themselves with drawing them across the captain's throat. To
show him further that they were not at all unselfish in their attentions
to him, the squaws lent a hand in pulling and hauling him around and
inflicting all manners of abuse upon him, but they did not attempt to kill
him. I asked the captain shortly afterwards why they did not take his
life, and he replied that they knew better than try that. He stated that
he had a picture of George Washington hanging on the wall of his dwelling,
and they knew that if they killed him the government would soon be in
pursuit of them. Poor old Cap! He did not know that the government was on
their trail at the time.

Although there were four or five men working at the well at the time the
Indians devoted their attention to the captain. They did not molest them
but continued on their way northward. On their route they encountered a
man, Wash Connors, who had been to Dodge City to do some trading. He had
spent the previous night with a friend of mine, C. M. Rice, and set out
early in the morning so as to reach his destination in good time, as he
had some material for those who were digging the well at the new
town-site. Mr. Rice urged him to remain and have breakfast with him, but
he said that he was in a hurry and would attend to that duly when he
reached his destination. With a good team of mules hitched to his lumber
wagon, he started off in good spirits, little thinking he would never
reach the end of his journey. He was proceeding on his way in a brisk
fashion and had come in sight of the town-site when the members of Dull
Knife's band met him. They stopped him without any ceremony and attacked
him before he could get out of his wagon. They cut his throat, tore the
harness off his mules and went their way taking his team. The well-diggers
saw the whole proceedings, but were unable to render assistance as they
were not in a position to do so.

Leaving the victim of their murderous assault dying in his wagon, they set
out toward the north again. Between the scene of their latest crime and
the Arkansas they committed no further depredation. They crossed the river
west of Dodge City, not far from where the present station of Cimmaron is
located on the Santa Fe railroad. Their depredations after crossing the
river were few, as there was little to attract their attention, excepting
some wild cattle and the accompanying cowboys. They did not molest the
latter as they had a wholesome respect for that individual by reason of
the fact that he was generally armed with a brace of six-shooters and a
Winchester rifle, and was an expert in the use of both. Meeting a
cow-puncher under such conditions was a hazardous thing, as the Indian
knew the cowboy would not trade even. They had no doubt about their
ability to eventually kill him, but the price to be paid was too great,
as he usually sent three or four of the wily redskins across the Great
Divide before succumbing to their prowess, and they did not usually care
to pay the price.


[Illustration]


By this time the whole country was aroused. The news was heralded abroad
on the wings of the wind. The newspapers, as is their custom, in glaring
headlines, magnified the extent of the depredations, and gave alarming
accounts of the atrocities committed by the Indians. Everybody was on the
lookout, those in the neighborhood fearing a visitation of the marauders,
and those far away living in expectation of the next savage depredation.
The excitement reached such a high degree of intensity that the department
ordered Lieutenant-Colonel Lewis to take charge of the field of action,
which for some time had been a field of inaction as the gentleman who was
supposed to be at the head of the movement against the Indians was but a
poor apology for a successful military commander. It may be well to remark
that this man was soon relegated to the military scrap-heap in disgrace.

When Lieut-Col. Lewis was notified of the appointment, he responded with
alacrity. He set out at once from Dodge City with his command. He soon was
on the trail of the Indians. A short journey westward brought him to the
point where the band had crossed the Arkansas on their way northward.

In the meantime the Indians were pursuing their way with considerable
speed. They may have realized that another expedition would be organized
to follow on their trail, or another commander would be put in charge of
the one they had left so unceremoniously on the night of their escape, but
whatever their conclusions were, they did not stop to commit any more
outrages until they reached the North Beaver, or Sand Creek. On their
arrival there, they saw they were about to have a fight on their hands, as
the lieutenant-colonel had followed their trail with such speed that he
was almost upon them. Escape for the time being was out of the question,
and they resolved to fight. Lewis did not want to kill them, but
preferred to have them surrender and return to the reservation. Such idea
did not enter into Dull Knife's calculations, and he decided to fight
rather than return to the place of his recent abode.

It was now getting late in the afternoon. Considerable sharp-shooting had
been done on both sides for some time, and then a skirmish took place.
Each party was doing what execution it could without exposing itself to
any more danger than was necessary. The Indians endeavored to make every
shot count as their ammunition was getting scarce, and the soldiers were
employing the same mode of warfare as their opponents, though it was not
the scarcity of powder, but rather the desire to preserve their anatomy
from the missiles of the enemy that induced them to seek shelter behind
every bush and hillock. The lieutenant-colonel was a busy man, directing
the operations of his troops, and looking after things in general. The
battle lagged along until evening, without much evidence of success for
either party. Towards evening Lewis rode out to the firing line to get a
closer view of things and to lend his men the encouragement of his
presence. When he reached the zone of fire, one of the Indian scouts
approached him and advised him to dismount from his horse as he would very
probably be shot if he remained exposed in such a manner to the fire of
the enemy. The lieutenant-colonel did not heed the advice so freely given
by his scout, and in less than ten minutes he received a bullet in the
thigh. The missile struck an artery, and as a result, the
lieutenant-colonel died a few hours later from loss of blood, (My
authority for the above statement is G. W. Brown, who was lying not twenty
feet away when the scout gave the warning of danger. This gentleman, is
now living at Cushion Oil Field). He piloted the ambulance bearing the
lieutenant colonel under the command of Lieutenant Gardner and escort to
Fort Wallace that same night, as he was familiar with that part of the
country owing to the fact that he had hunted buffalo all through that
section of the country in the early days. After the escort had proceeded
on its journey for about six miles, a rider returned to the lieutenant and
told him that the lieutenant-colonel had died. This sad news was a shock
to the company, as he was a man of the highest type of bravery, and his
demise was regretted by every man in the command. When the news was first
broken to the troops a look of grim determination settled upon the
countenance of every man, which meant that at the first opportunity they
would avenge the death of him who they loved so well. The fortunes of war
averted the blow for the present, for, during the night, Dull Knife and
his followers fled, leaving nothing behind but the embers of his camp
fires to show where he had taken his stand. The soldiers started in hot
pursuit, as they did not want their enemies to go unpunished. They had not
followed the trail very far when they learned that the Indians had divided
their forces and gone in different directions. Wild Hog, the chief adviser
of Dull Knife went towards the north-east, over to Sappa Creek, where he
and his followers murdered over forty persons, pillaged their stock and
burned what they could not conveniently carry off. Dull Knife with the
rest of the band headed due north. This division of the Indians compelled
the soldiers to adopt the same method of procedure. They were accordingly
organized into two divisions and set off in hot pursuit of their wily
foes. From this time onward the expedition assumed the character of a
running fight. This system of pillage, and plunder, on the part of the
Indians, with the pursuit on the part of the soldiers, was maintained
until the 7th Cavalry, under General Samuel D. Sturgis succeeded in
capturing both bands on the Niobrara River in the vicinity of the place in
which Camp Niobrara was built, and about 15 miles east of Camp Sheridan.
This event occured in the month of October, 1878, but I cannot give the
exact date of the occurrence. The captives were then taken as prisoners
of war to Fort Robinson, Neb., or, as it was then called, Camp Robinson.
They were placed in the guard house and held there until New Year's night,
1879, when they broke out, killed the guards and made their escape through
the sand hills until they had almost reached the Wyoming line.

When the news was brought that Dull Knife had killed his guards and made
his escape, everything was in a flutter of excitement. Preparations were
immediately made for pursuit. At dawn, as soon as it was possible to
observe the direction of the trail, the bugle sounded and the Third
Cavalry mounted their horses and set out in pursuit of the wily old
villain who had so often eluded them. They followed hastily all forenoon
and the further they advanced, the clearer the signs manifested to them
the fact that they were close upon the fleeing Indians. In the afternoon
they overtook the band in the said hills close to the border line of
Wyoming. When Captain Wessels rode up to them, he immediately ordered them
to surrender. Dull Knife's reply to this was a rifle shot that killed an
Indian scout belonging to the cavalry. He repeated with another shot at
Captain Wessels. The bullet struck the captain but did not inflict a
mortal wound. The action of Dull Knife was a sufficient guarantee that he
did not intend to surrender, and immediately the troops poured a
succession of volleys into the foe. When the smoke of battle cleared away,
and the few who remained alive surrendered, it was discovered that Dull
Knife himself, his daughter who was present, and about two thirds of his
followers had all gone to the Happy Hunting Grounds together. After giving
the proper attention to the wounded, and burying the dead, the troops with
the prisoners returned to Camp Robinson. Among the number returning to the
fort were Wild Hog and many other leading spirits of the movement. They
were held there until the spring of 1879, when the leaders were sent to
Dodge City, Ford county, Kansas to be tried for murder and other crimes.

I called upon those notable characters while they were supposed to be in
durance vile, and found them the most conspicuous and best entertained men
in prison. The representatives of different illustrated newspapers were
there, sketching their pictures, and treating them to cigars. It was
certainly a very novel sight to me, and I thought it strange that the
citizens of Dodge City had not formed a necktie party for the
entertainment of the whole party of savages, for they were well aware of
the characters of their guests and well acquainted with the amount of
crime and rascality they had perpetrated almost within view of the town
itself. However, everything seemed to be following along the even tenor of
its way, and I came to the conclusion that Dodge City was a very law
abiding city, and was a good town to live in (especially when one is
acquainted with the early history of the place). I cannot refrain from
remarking that, if a white man, or a body of white men, had been guilty of
one-tenth of the crimes perpetrated by the Indians who were then
sojourning in their town, they would have been hanged as high as they
could be raised on a lariat rope, or shot to pieces in the streets.
Strange are the dealings of man with man.



CHAPTER XXII.

Great Awakening of the West; Buffalo Hunters; Quakers' Influence; Indian
Disturbances; A Treaty Made and Broken, Etc.


When the first railroad construction train started West from the Missouri
River, with its gangs of graders, tie-slingers, and track layers, the
sound of the locomotive whistle proclaimed to the Indian more plainly than
any language could do, that the days of his activity over that vast
expanse of country were about to terminate, peaceably if possible, but
forcibly if necessary. The company kept in its employ one or more buffalo
hunters to supply the boarding car with fresh meat which was plentiful on
the prairie in those days. The engineers had staked out the right-of-way,
and established the different grades in advance, and everything was kept
in good shape for the speedy progress of the work. The Indian saw all
this. He also saw the graders, the tracklayers, the spike drivers, and
heard the locomotive whistle. He saw the engineers and the buffalo
hunters, but he failed to see the real cause of his trouble. He could not
see the promoters of that great undertaking and enterprise, because they
were beyond the reach of his limited vision. They were in their luxurious
offices figuring on the possibilities and probabilities of one day
declaring large dividends on that stupendous undertaking that was to reach
out to the gold mines of Colorado and on through the mountains to the
Pacific coast. The promoters could see at a glance that it was useless to
expect any great returns from the capital invested if they were to be
dependent on any freight or traffic from the Indian. They needed not to be
told that he was not an agriculturist. He was not a stockman and had no
use for agricultural implements such as threshers, sulky plows, fanning
mills or corn shellers. He made his living by hunting and fishing and was
to a certain extent self supporting and independent of all railroads. He
was not accustomed to take his squaw and papooses to any foreign watering
place to spend the summer. Whenever he felt like taking a few days'
recreation, he bundled his camp equipage and with his family started for
some creek where there were plenty of fish and there remained until his
visit was completed. Sometimes several families went together and had a
big time talking over Indian customs and the ways of the white man. This
had been their custom from time immemorial and any act performed by the
white man to disturb his equanimity or distract him, was looked upon as an
outrage and sacrilege, and any who did such things were served with
summary punishment.

The capitalists could see at a glance that the Indians were not a class of
people to build up a profitable industry and felt it their duty to remove
them from that section of the country in order to induce stockmen and
farmers to occupy it. As a step in that direction they created a market
for buffalo hides, which seemed to have the desired effect, for it was but
a short time until many adventurous spirits who could gather together
enough money to buy a span of ponies, a wagon and ammunition for the
purpose, were engaged in the business, some as hunters, others as
skinners. As soon as they had a load of hide they shipped them to market
and with the proceeds prepared for another trip to the range again. Few
but the hardiest and bravest young men could stand the dangers, trials,
and exposure which they confronted in all kinds of weather.

There was one young man that I feel a pardonable pride in mentioning as
engaged in that undertaking, namely W. F. Cody, who by his dexterity with
the rifle had acquired the title of "Buffalo Bill," and who had become
famous as an Indian scout and had established an international reputation
as the greatest marksman and horseback rider in the western plains. He
was also chief of scouts and confidential friend of General Phil Sheridan,
and at this writing is the owner and proprietor of Buffalo Bill's Wild
West Show. His was a plain case of 'survival of the fittest.' The Indian
looked upon his kind as trespassers and intruders and as he had no navy or
war department behind him other than the tribal medicine man who decided
the war movements of his tribe by incantations or by observation of the
way the smoke blew from his camp fire, after deliberating on the general
condition of the country, the signs of the moon, as well as the inroads
the hunters were making on the buffalo which he considered his private
property, decided to go on the warpath and kill off a few buffalo hunters
and discourage any future invasion of what he felt was his private right.
When he began his undertaking he soon learned that hunting the buffalo
hunter was entirely different from hunting the buffalo, and it was a work
that two could engage in from opposite angles, at the same time, with the
advantage greatly in favor of the buffalo hunter as he was always well
armed, and an expert marksman; and in this particular they soon learned to
have a high regard for Buffalo Bill. To such a degree did they come to
admire him that they looked upon him as a being of a higher order, and not
of the common clay. Things came to such a pass after some experience with
the buffalo hunter, that the Indian never took any chances with him, but
when the hunter pointed to a distant horizon, the aborigines usually
followed the direction without further parley.

Prior to the time of which I write, the Quaker sect came into close touch
with the Indian Department in Washington, D. C., and formed what was
called the Indian Bureau. They urged the only sane and proper way to
civilize the Indian was to educate him and teach him agriculture. General
Hazen was placed at the head of the movement and a conference was called
at Medicine Lodge, Kansas, which the Comanches, Kiowas, Cheyennes, and
Arapahoes were invited to attend. General Harney presided, surrounded by
reporters, interpreters and such other attendants as were required to lend
dignity to a court of such magnitude. After several days of vexation and
worry, they succeeded in formulating a treaty which was supposed to be
signed by all the chiefs of those different tribes, by which they agreed,
for certain considerations made and provided, to vacate all that country
lying between the Platte and Arkansas Rivers and go southward to take up
their permanent abode in what was then known as Indian Territory. The
Comanches and Kiowas were located on Red River and in the vicinity of the
Wichita mountains. The Arapahoes were located south of the North Canadian.
The Cheyennes were allotted the country along Pond Creek, in what was
known as Cherokee strip. The Quakers were not slow to learn that they had
made a fatal mistake in locating the Cheyennes so close to the state line
of Kansas, as the State of Kansas at that time was not governed by
prohibition laws and the bootlegger was abroad in the land, and unless
some steps were taken very speedily it would be a question of only a short
time before the bootlegger would have all the Indians' portable
possessions over in the State of Kansas. I happen to be personally
acquainted with a man who was engaged in that business and he told me that
at one time he had traded a boot full of whiskey for nine head of ponies.
He had no jug and rather than lose the deal, he pulled off his boot and
filled it from his keg and then started off with his ponies for Kansas.
The agent left in charge readily saw that such conditions could not hold
out long. There were marshals who had been appointed to guard and protect
the interests of the Indians, but some of them were in secret collusion
with the bootlegger and received a share of the gain. As a consequence of
this condition the agent decided to remove the Cheyennes southward to the
North Canadian where a permanent agency was established and put under the
control and management of Mr. Darling and even to this day is known as
the Darlington Agency. A large portion of the Cheyenne tribe settled there
and adopted the white man's way of farming. After they drew their
allottments, the government employed white men to go among them and
instruct them in the management of their affairs, and how to sow and
cultivate their crops. Women were also sent as matrons among them to
instruct the squaws in the art of fulfilling household and social duties.
Schools were built and teachers employed, and the advance they have made
is really surprising.

The treaty of Medicine Lodge, it was hoped, would put an end to all
hostilities between the Indians and the whites and bring about a settled
condition of affairs, but such was not to be the case, for a large percent
of the Cheyennes and a considerable portion of the Arapahoes became
disgruntled and claimed they had not signed the treaty, and others claimed
that the interpreters did not properly translate their wishes and said
they were not going south to the Territory and would not comply with any
of the requirements of the treaty, or, in other words, they were going to
stay where they were, and go and come as they pleased regardless of the
white man's feelings in the matter. The leaders of this discontented
branch of the different tribes were Roman Nose, Black Kettle, Turkey Leg,
and Dull Knife, with a few smaller chiefs. These bands of Indians kept
roaming back and forth between the Platte River on the north and the
Cimmaron River on the south and west to the Rocky Mountains, and at one
time went eastward as far as Council Grove, Kansas, where the Kaw Indians,
a peaceable tribe, were located. They raided them and after killing a few
of them, ran off their stock and returned to their favorite hunting
grounds.

This was kept up continually for years. Robbing stage coaches, killing
freighters, raiding stock ranches, or murdering the frontier settlers
seemed to be a favorite pastime with them. Ever since the treaty of
Medicine Lodge, they kept growing bolder and more threatening. Brigadier
General Sully who was in command at Fort Larned at that time, called their
attention to the fact that there had to be a change in their attitude
toward the whites, or he would be compelled to take action against them.
When they received this notice a delegation of the leaders called on the
General for a conference. They reported that all the mischief had been
perpetrated by some young Indians that were dissatisfied with the treaty,
and had acted entirely contrary to the wishes of their leaders. They
begged him to supply them with ammunition and arms, and assured him that
there would be no more trouble along that line. The foxy old bucks knew
that they were lying and if the old general had been educated on the
plains instead of a military academy, he would have known it too but he
was one of those good-natured, easy-going old fogies who were much more
intended to take charge of a Sunday school class than of a branch of the
army. At all events, after a good deal of palavering and soft-soaping the
old general issued an order for the agent to turn over to them the
firearms with the understanding that they should return to the reservation
and behave themselves and commit no further depredations on any person;
all of which they meekly agreed to perform. It was not 24 hours after
receiving the arms until old Black Kettle with a few of his confederates
were making medicine on the Pawnee and Walnut Creeks. The band started
north to the Saline River and commenced the most atrocious murders, rapes,
and other acts too abominable to be placed in print. They did not stop
there to complete their work of plunder and pillage, but hastened on until
they reached the Solomon river where their villanous and blood-thirsty
designs were carried out in full force and effect. They murdered about
fifteen farmers and two women, and committed other depredations and
horrors too hideous to repeat here. They carried off all the stock they
could find, besides taking away two little girls who were never heard of
afterwards. On their return to the Saline River they started in to
complete the work of destruction they had only partly accomplished on
their way to the Solomon. By this time the farmers had congregated at a
farm house and were making ready to fight them when they should arrive.
They did not have long to wait, for they were hardly inside the farm house
when the Indians appeared and began their pow-wow and war cry and firing
into the dwelling. Just about the time they were getting under headway
with the work of pillage and plunder, Captain Benteen heard the firing and
came to the rescue of the settlers. He had heard at Fort Zarah that the
Indians were on the war-path and how they had treated two women who were
afterwards taken to the fort for care and protection after their bitter
experience with the noble red Man. He started out with a troop of cavalry
and reached the besieged just in time to save them from the horrors which
they would be compelled to face if captured. There were 200 Cheyennes on
that raid and when Captain Benteen appeared on the scene, they scattered
like a flock of quail. These Indians drifted back in the direction whence
they had come and remained a short while with the Black Kettle band on the
Walnut and finally crossed the Arkansas and went southward toward the
Cimmaron River.

The old brigadier general had by this time awakened from his lethargy and
found that he had been out-generalled by the Indians. He decided to take
immediate steps to punish them for their treachery and deception. There
was a large body of Indians operating between the Arkansas and Cimmaron,
and Brigadier General Sully concluded to go out and give them a good
thrashing to settle accounts for their past treachery and misdeeds. These
Indians were a mixed body of different tribes and seemed as anxious to
meet the general as he was to meet them. After three different engagements
in which the general was defeated, he was compelled to return to Fort
Dodge to avoid being captured by them.



CHAPTER XXIII.

Sheridan's Arrival; Kansas Volunteers' Disasterous March; Sheridan's
Activity; Custer's Engagement With the Indians, Etc.


About this time General Phil. H. Sheridan made his appearance in the
Indian country, bringing some additional soldiers under the command of
General Custer. He also asked for a regiment of Kansas volunteers. His
request was granted and the recruits were placed under the command of
Colonel Crawford with orders to meet General Sheridan at the junction of
Wolf and Beaver Creeks, or what is now known as Camp Supply.

When the regiment had been enrolled and the men were ready and anxious to
make the journey, General Sheridan, in order to facilitate matters and
avoid any disappointment, sent two guides to pilot the new recruits to
their destination. It was now getting late in the year and each day
brought its quota of snow, rain, or sleet, but in spite of such
unfavorable conditions, the boys made no complaint, but rode patiently
along their tedious journey. After they had been out a few days the
colonel seemed to grow impatient and irritable, and began to dictate to
the guides and volunteered his advice as to the direction they should
pursue. He wanted to turn to the left and cross the Cimmaron River and
insisted on his idea to such a degree that the guides, or scouts, withdrew
their services then and there and left him to select when and where he
would elect to ford the river. The weather being stormy the Colonel lost
his way and through his impatience finally lost his head and did not know
where he was. The brakes and canyons on the north side of the river were
filled with snow that had drifted in from the prairie. In his desperation
he started to cross the stream and spent several days floundering around
through the snowbanks and drifts. After he succeeded in crossing the river
he found it as hard to get out of the difficulty as it was to get into it.
To add to his misfortune, he had neglected to bring along sufficient food
for horses or men. However, he succeeded in getting out and up on the
flats south of the river at the expense of a great number of horses, but
was fortunate enough not to lose a single man. The situation was not
improved in any measure as he did not know where he was. He continued
southward until he reached the North Canadian River. Here his remaining
horses kept themselves alive by browsing in the timber while the men were
compelled to live on what hackberries they could find.

As Colonel Crawford did not arrive at the expected time, nor for several
days afterward, General Sheridan became anxious for his safety and sent
out scouts to see if any trace of him could be found. With much risk and
effort they found the colonel and what was left of his cavalry about
twenty miles below the designated place of meeting. To say they were in a
deplorable condition, would be putting it mildly. The moment General
Sheridan received word of the disaster that had befallen Colonel
Crawford's command, he sent out men and teams to their relief with
instructions to bring them into camp. The relief party did not arrive any
too soon as the men and horses were in a very sorry plight, owing to their
lack of nourishing food. One thing alone was in their favor in their
present deplorable condition and that was the abundant supply of dead
timber at hand which afforded them an opportunity to keep warm, or rather
keep from freezing, a thing which was entirely lacking on the Cimmaron. I
may as well say that they were all afoot by this time, as the horses that
were still alive, were reduced to such a state of weakness that they were
unable to carry their riders. It took two days to get them into camp,
owing to their enfeebled condition. General Sheridan's headquarters was
then located on the north bank of the North Canadian river about four or
five miles south east of where the present city of Woodward, Okla., is
situated. On the departure of the command from Topeka the newspapers in
flaming headlines announced the affair to the world, but their great
expectations were converted into "Crawford's Calamity."

In the face of all this vexatious delay, awaiting re-enforcements from
Colonel Crawford, General Sheridan did not relax his energy in the least.
He kept everybody at work fixing up a base of supplies that would be in
his reach until the termination of that campaign which he intended to
settle during the winter months whilst the Indian ponies were poor and
weak and unable to transport belongings any distance. He also knew that if
he delayed matters until warm weather when there would be plenty of grass,
he would have to fight those Indians from the British possessions to
Texas. He was down there to fight those Indians or make them return to
their reservations to remain there and behave themselves and stop prowling
all over the country committing depredations. He had no time to engage in
peace treaties and had no guns to turn over to them, and there was no
chance for any trickery or treachery with him. He did not want to smoke
the pipe of peace with them and then be shot in the back and killed as
Turkey Legs and his band did with his scouts Comstock and Glover. He was
there for permanent peace or a permanent fight and the choice rested with
them. There was no swapping of horses or palavering. He meant business.

By this time General Sheridan's headquarters very much resembled a
Canadian North-west logging camp. Everybody was kept busy, some hauling
logs, others digging trenches for the stockades, others were bringing
poles and brush to cover rude pole sheds for the purpose of affording a
temporary shelter for the stock. If there was anybody idle, it was some
one who was too ill to work, or who had hidden in the brush to avoid work.
The scouts were kept busy scouring the country in search of some trail or
sign of the Indians and finally were rewarded by the discovery of a trail
leading southward, which showed a large body of Indians had gone in that
direction. On receiving that information General Custer asked permission
from General Sheridan to fit out an expedition to follow them. The request
was readily granted by General Sheridan, as he was anxious to bring the
campaign to a close as speedily as possible. As soon as Custer had his
troops in proper shape he set out in the direction indicated by the
scouts. After crossing Wolf Creek and getting well up on the divide he
discovered the trail, but found it very difficult to follow owing to the
snow having drifted and covered any marks they had left behind them.
Occasionally, where the wind had blown the snow from some high place he
found all evidence required to justify him in keeping up the pursuit. He
maintained his route until he reached the north brakes of the South
Canadian and went into camp for the night in the least protected place he
could find and made things as comfortable as circumstances would permit.
Next morning after taking a survey of the situation he found himself
confronted with a great and dangerous undertaking through having to ford
the river. As every man who has ever crossed it with a loaded wagon knows,
it is one of the most treacherous streams to ford, in the Southwest; and
to add to the miry condition of the river it was frozen over, but the ice
was not of sufficient thickness to bear the weight of the horses, much
less the heavy wagons that were to follow them. General Custer, a
persevering and an energetic man, was not daunted by this present
difficulty. He sloped down the bank of the river and set his men to work
cutting a channel across and clearing the ice from it, so that it would
not cut or injure the stock in crossing. After passing the cavalry back
and forth several times to settle the quicksand, he sent forward the
freight and supply wagons and with great difficulty succeeded in landing
on the south side. Here he stopped for dinner as it was after twelve
o'clock when the last wagon passed up the bank. After dinner they hooked
up and started on their perilous under taking of climbing and winding
their dangerous way through the canyons and sand hills until they reached
the flats that divide the South Canadian and Washita Rivers. The distance
traveled that afternoon was not very great but the difficulties and
obstacles to be overcome were very trying. The general decided to have an
early supper and after a consultation with his officers determined to make
a night drive as the moon shone brightly and the trail was now becoming so
plain that the scouts felt there would be no difficulty in following it.
Accordingly they hitched up after their slight rest and set out under the
leadership of two Osage Indian scouts together with California Joe, a
white man who had been on the frontier all his life and who understood the
language of the different tribes. Custer had learned from his scouts that
it was the intention of the Indians to go into winter quarters on the
Washita, but was not certain of the exact locality. Consequently he had to
use great caution in trying to discover their where abouts. He found some
smouldering campfires, which showed that they were not very far in
advance. The scouts did not proceed very much farther until one of them on
looking over a bluff discovered the main camp and then hastened back and
made the fact known to the general. Custer then and there stopped the
outfit and went into consultation with his officers. It was now past
twelve o'clock and he decided to make no attack until after daybreak. He
arranged to divide his force into four different sections, each squad to
be under the command of an officer, and at daylight, at the sound of the
bugle, they were to make a charge. All was carried out as planned, with
the precision of clockwork. At dawn the bugle sounded and the band struck
up the tune of "Garry Owen" and the troops dashed in on the gallop. When
they reached the camp from the different directions, the battle began. At
the first volley fired, the Indians tried to escape, and some of them,
succeeded in getting away, but the most of them, were shot down, either in
their teepees, or as they were fleeing to some place of safety; others
dropped behind trees or logs and fought like demons, but it was useless as
they were overmatched. When the smoke of battle cleared away there were
over one hundred dead Indians lying on the camp ground.

It was General Sherman, I believe, who said "war is hell," a statement
which, proved to be absolutely correct in this instance for the wailing of
the squaws and the screaming of the papooses together with the groans of
the dying made a wierd accompaniment to the cracking of rifles and the
commands of the officers. After the flurry of the battle had somewhat
subsided, Custer ordered all that were alive, squaws and papooses, to be
taken prisoners and put in charge of a squad of soldiers, whilst the
remainder busied themselves burning the teepees, provisions, and other
camp equipage found there. When the work of destruction was completed he
ordered all their ponies, about two hundred in number, to be brought in
and shot. To the reader this may appear cruel and inhuman, but it was only
a just retribution for the deeds this same band had committed on the
Saline and Solomon Rivers in Kansas, where they spared neither age nor
sex, but perpetrated outrages on women that are too beastly for
publication, and this was a small installment on what was due them. On
roll call it was found that Major Elliot and fifteen men were missing.

The Kiowas and the Comanche tribes were camped but three or four miles
below where the battle took place, and it did not take them very long to
make their appearance about five or six thousand strong. Here was a fresh
problem for Custer to solve. If he was looking for a fight with the
Indians, they were at hand. Why did he not attack them? Why did they not
attack him? Why did not Custer make an effort to find out what had become
of Major Elliot and the fifteen missing men who had been with him. I shall
explain that as I see it from my point of view. There is no doubt in my
mind that General Custer was afraid to attack those two tribes, and was
also afraid to make an attempt to find Major Elliot and his companions, as
his conduct that evening abundantly proves. He had sent his scout,
California Joe, with a dispatch telling Sheridan of his condition and
asking him to send re-enforcements at once. That afternoon he held a
consultation with his officers and decided to return to Camp Supply to
reorganize his men and get more forces to engage in battle with those two
tribes. Now the question might be asked, why did not the Indians attack
him? There was but one reason and that was that they were afraid. They had
force enough to defeat Custer, but there was something else to take into
consideration. They knew General Sheridan was someplace in the country and
was, perhaps, at that time waiting to catch them in a trap. They were not
afraid of Custer and his command, but they knew that if Sheridan ever got
them in a tight place, it would be good-bye, Mr. Indian, for there would
be nothing left of him. It was a plain case of where Custer was afraid and
the other 'dassent,' it averted, as a result, one of the worst slaughters
that ever occured in the Indian Territory.

In looking over the dead, Chief Black Kettle was identified. He had been
instrumental in starting out the band that had committed all the
depredations in the Saline and Solomon valleys, and but a few months prior
to this time had defiantly refused, when asked by General Sheridan to come
into Fort Dodge with the promise that he would be properly cared for. He
declared that he was going on the warpath and made good his declaration as
the battle on the Washita will show.



CHAPTER XXIV.

Sheridan's Camp; Discovery of Elliot and Companions; A Truce; Capture of
Comanches and Kiowas Return to Camp.


The night of the battle, Custer started for Camp Supply and very nearly
overtook his scout, California Joe, as the latter had to hide so much on
the way to avoid being caught by the Indians; and I believe that Custer
made a record trip, as he was afraid of the same thing. When he returned
and Major Elliot's absence was not satisfactorily explained, General
Sheridan showed great dissatisfaction. He issued an order to get
everything in readiness at once and decided to take a hand in that
business himself to see if he could not discover what had become of
Elliot. The Kansas volunteers having lost most of their horses in the snow
banks on the Cimmaron River, with the remainder unfit for service, were
organized as infantry and taken along. In fact, every available man was
taken from Camp Supply except those who were required to guard the
provisions and look after the stock. Although Sheridan was a graduate of
West Point, he never encumbered himself with any West Point tactics in
fighting Indians. He just put on his fighting clothes and set out to whip
them into subjection regardless of any military parade, and usually
accomplished what he set out to do. There was one feature of all his
expeditions which he never neglected, and that was that he never failed to
keep in touch with the best and most reliable scouts and guides to be
found, and once he had secured them he never failed to be governed by
their instructions, as he was well aware that such men understood the
topography of the country much better than some titled professor of a
military academy. Such scouts he found on this occasion. He took along as
his guide and chief of scouts, one Ben Clark, because Ben was married into
the Cheyenne tribe and understood and spoke the tribal languages fluently.
He also took along California Joe, as he was a good scout and was familiar
with all the customs and habits of the Indians, having lived and dealt
with them all the way from California to Texas. He was invaluable as a
scout and guide, but had one fault, of which I shall speak later on, that
tried the patience of the general sorely at times, but still Sheridan
could not afford to part with him. Those two, with the addition to two
Osage Indian scouts, were all that he brought into service. When
everything was in readiness the general set out with the firm
determination to settle the Indian trouble for once and for all time to
come, if possible. He took General Custer with him, as he was familiar
with the route and also with the locality of the recent battle. He took as
his ambulance driver Johnny Murphy, a lad scarcely out of his teens and
who acted in that capacity until the close of the campaign. The first
night out they camped on the south bank of Wolf Creek where they found an
abundance of timber and living water, two essentials at that time as the
weather was hovering around the zero mark. The men were becoming
accustomed to the cold and stood up in it like Esquimaux. Next morning
they were up and away to cross the divide to the South Canadian. The snow
was still quite deep on the flats and the moisture had softened the soil
which had not frozen sufficiently to hold up the heavy freight wagons,
which made it a tedious and toilsome trip to reach the river. Clark being
acquainted with the country guided them down a canyon where they found
timber and a fair shelter. There they went into camp for the night. Next
morning one of the real trials of the journey confronted them. The river
had to be forded and they were forced to repeat the labors that Custer had
performed on the former occasion and as the ice was not thick enough to
bear a heavy weight. They had to cut a channel and remove the ice from it
and trample the quicksand with the cavalry to make it fordable for the
wagons. They accomplished the crossing with a great deal of difficulty and
hardships, as most of them were wet from trampeling through the stream or
assisting the lumbering wagons on their way. When the last team had
crossed they were glad to know that this difficulty had been overcome.
(The reader sitting on a balcony, viewing troops of cavalry prancing along
the paved streets seems to enjoy the spectacle and can easily come to
imagine that the cavalry man's life is one continual round of pleasure,
but let him change his location and go and sit with me on the south porch
of a snow bank and see those same soldiers fording a treacherous stream in
the winter season and his impressions of the gay and happy life will be
suddenly changed.) When out of the brakes and the canyons they were on the
last lap of their journey to the battle ground where Custer had wound up
the wild and turbulent career of Black Kettle and his band of Cheyenne
warriors. This day was but a repetition of the day before except that at
noon they camped long enough to feed the stock some grain, as the mules
were becoming tired and jaded from the bad condition of the prairie. After
dinner they resumed their journey and that evening went into camp about
two miles from the scene of Custer's fight with the Cheyennes a few days
previous. Next morning they set out and in a short time arrived at the
battle ground. They stopped to examine the place which gave every evidence
of a severe conflict. After Sheridan had examined the field he sent out
scouts and squads of soldiers to scour the surrounding country in search
of Major Elliott and the fifteen missing men. They were found about two
miles from the battle ground, dead, and stripped of their clothing and
mutilated in the most horrible manner. The mutilation was the work of the
squaws. They had not been scalped and their bodies lay not very far apart
and the number of empty shells lying near each body showed the desperate
defense they had made. It was learned afterward that Major Elliott had
followed a band of fugitives and captured them, and when returning was met
and overpowered by a large band of Kiowas and their dead bodies were left
there for the squaws to mutilate. When this discovery was made and the
news brought to Gen. Sheridan, he was in no frame of mind to adopt any
conciliatory measures towards the Indians, besides it had a strong
tendency to lessen his respect for Gen. Custer for not making some effort
to learn what had become of Major Elliot and his fifteen companions.
Sheridan was now in the right humor for a fight. He wanted to fight and
was going to have a fight or a footrace with the first Indians he met. He
started down the Washita, where the Kiowas and the Comanches had their
headquarters. His progress was closely watched by the Indians. They pulled
up everything and moved on in advance of him, but well out of his reach.
They were certainly in a predicament as they could not cover up their
trail by scattering out over the plain, as they would do in summer time,
as the snow on the prairie gave evidence of every move they made and
things were in such a shape that it was either fight or surrender. Gen.
Sheridan did not seem to care which. They continued to move down stream
with Sheridan in pursuit until the third day when they sent a messenger
back carrying a white flag and a letter from Gen. Hazen, chairman of the
peace committee, asking for a conference with the General. The reader can
readily see about how Sheridan felt on the subject. He sent back word to
them that there was but one way in which he would recognize Hazen's
request for a conference and that was that he would give them twenty-four
hours to surrender and come in as prisoners of war, or a fight would start
at the expiration of that time. He was compelled to acknowledge the flag
of truce and the Indians were well aware of that fact. Reluctantly he gave
them the 24 hours to surrender or prepare for battle, as the recent
outrages on the settlers on the Saline and Solomon Rivers, the barbarous
treatment of Major Elliot and his companions were fresh in the mind of
Sheridan. The Indian, aware of the value of the flag of truce used it
always to his advantage when in a tight place, though they had no respect
for it in their own dealings with others. Sheridan was waiting anxiously
for the expiration of the time of truce, but the Indians forestalled the
allotted time by about four hours. If the thing was to be done over again,
I do not believe that Sheridan would have paid any attention to the flag
of truce, as the first sight that met the General's eye after he had
marched into their camp and taken Chief Lone Wolf and Chief Satanta
prisoners, was the body of a white woman who had been kidnapped from near
Fort Lyon by Satanta and kept to gratify his savage lust. When he found
escape impossible, he shot her to avoid giving her up to her rescuers and
took her white child by the feet and dashed its brains out against a tree.
When the fiend shot the woman, whose name was Mrs. Blynn, he held the gun
so close to her that her face was powder-burned. In her death, I imagine
that there was relief brought to one poor tortured soul.

During the armistice, which did not last twenty-four hours, the Indians
killed all their ponies rather than turn them over to their conquerors.
After the preliminaries of surrender were completed, they were ordered
back to Ft. Cobb and accordingly started back to fulfill their agreement.
Any one familiar with the lay of that country can begin to appreciate the
difficulty Gen. Sheridan had on hand. Moreover, the reluctance of the
Indians to return made the journey all the more difficult. They had a
thousand different excuses to delay the journey, but it availed them
nothing. They were kept on the move and closely watched. In spite of the
vigilance exercised by the troops, some of the Indians managed to escape.
At every opportunity some of them would dodge through the brush along the
way and make their escape. Satanta seeing the success of his companions,
made a dash for liberty also. He was immediately captured by the soldiers
and put in handcuffs. To show no partiality in the matter, Chief Lone Wolf
was also manacled. To give further proof of his intentions to compel them
to submit, he told Lone Wolf and Satanta that unless those Indians who had
made their escape did not return very soon, he would hang the two of them
without ceremony. That put a different complexion on things. The two
chiefs immediately communicated with their followers, who at once sent out
runners in different directions to bring back the escaped prisoners. They
succeeded in bringing in most of them in fact enough of them returned to
move Sheridan to defer the hanging of the two chiefs.

It is my belief that Sheridan afterward regretted that he did not hang the
two of them, as they richly deserved it for their past atrocities. I had
the pleasure last year, 1912, of seeing old Chief Lone Wolf strutting
around the streets of Hobart, Okla., wearing a celluloid collar and derby
hat, breaking himself into the habits and customs of the white man. The
sight of him caused me to wonder if he ever stopped to consider how near
he came to having his neck cracked by Gen. Sheridan and how richly he
deserved it.

After carefully looking over the situation in all its different aspects,
Sheridan concluded that Fort Cobb was not the proper place to establish
his headquarters. He decided to take all his prisoners over to Cache Creek
where he would have more and better material to construct a small fort for
the protection of the frontier of Texas. This part had been subjected to
the raids of the Indians very frequently in the past and they were likely
to make an incursion at any time. When he had brought most of the Indians
there, he set to work building temporary headquarters and gave the place
the name of Fort Sill, after one of his old schoolmates. He held Satanta,
Lone Wolf; Little Robe, and several other lesser chiefs as hostages for
the faithful performance of all the conditions of the surrender with the
explicit understanding that any violation of any of the terms of it would
mean the hanging of the whole party. This understanding had a very
salutary effect and a strong tendency to establish order and discipline.
These acts may seem to show Sheridan to be a cruel man, but I will say,
judging from his action in caring for the remains of Mrs. Blynn and her
child who had been so brutally murdered, in taking them to Fort Arbuckle
and giving them a Christian burial, he has shown that his heart was in the
right place.



CHAPTER XXV.

California Joe's Weakness; A Trip to Camp Supply; Bringing in Renegade
Indians; Expedition to Panhandle, etc.


Previously to the time of which I am writing, the General had sent a bunch
of cavalry horses to Fort Arbuckle where he had made arrangements for
their keep. The Chickasaw and Choctaw Indians raised some crops and had
feed to spare and agreed to look after the horses. The General thought by
this time they would be sufficiently recuperated to be of service to him
in his present needs. Consequently he fitted up an escort and an ambulance
and took California Joe along as scout and guide to go and get them. (I
promised the reader to tell him of Joe's one fault and will take this
opportunity of doing so.) When they had arrived at Ft. Arbuckle, they
found everything in better shape than they had expected. The General began
making preparations for his return to Fort Sill. When everything was ready
he found to his surprise and amazement that California Joe was gloriously
drunk. As the prohibitory law in regard to the sale of intoxicants was in
full force, in the Indian Territory, he could not account for Joe's
condition. He thought he would remain over a day or so to give Joe a
chance to sleep off the effects of his overdose of liquid joy. The next
day found Joe as happy as a clam in high water and there was no indication
of a scarcity of liquor. The General was face to face with a difficulty.
He could not remain longer at Ft. Arbuckle, and he could not go on without
Joe, as he might need his services at any time. Patience ceased to be a
virtue and he bundled Joe into the ambulance, jumped in himself and
started off. They all reached Fort Sill the next day safe and sober. In
the meantime the General had not learned where his scout had obtained the
liquor to make him drunk. Joe himself told me years afterwards that he had
obtained access to the General's jug.

Upon his arrival at the fort, he found everything in as good condition as
the circumstances might warrant. It was a city of soldiers and Indians.
The habitations consisted of teepees and tents, while dug-outs were in
course of construction in case of a storm.

As it was one of Gen. Sheridan's principles to allow no guilty man to
escape, he ordered Gen. Custer to take a company of men, mounted on the
horses he had brought from Ft. Arbuckle, with some scouts among whom was
to be found California Joe, and proceed to the head of the Red river and
bring back those Indians who had escaped after the surrender when
returning to Ft. Cobb.

After Gen. Custer had taken his departure, Gen. Sheridan made provision
for the policing and government of the camp, also for the distribution of
rations to the Indians during his absence. As soon as he had completed
these regulations in a satisfactory manner, he began his own preparations
for a trip to Camp Supply. All these things took time and caused him no
little vexation, but he was equal to the emergency, and as soon as the
work was done he took his escort and full camp equipage and set out. It
was now getting along toward the first of March and the soft soil made the
wheeling of all vehicles a slavish task for man and beast. In spite of
this difficulty, he proceeded on his way and crossed the Washita above Ft.
Cobb and continued in a northerly direction until he reached the South
Canadian where to his great surprise he found the water very low, and what
was more pleasing, he found that the ice was all gone. The season was not
far enough advanced to thaw the snow on the mountains and consequently,
the river being almost dry, was easily forded. It is unnecessary for me to
go into details of that journey as it was but a repetition of his former
trip to Fort Sill, except for the floundering around in the snow banks and
the cutting of a passage through the ice to make a crossing possible.
These latter difficulties he escaped, owing to the lateness of the season.
Difficult passages through bad canyons were also avoided owing to Ben
Clark's thorough knowledge of the country. At best, it was a tedious
journey and on the seventh day after leaving Fort Sill, he crossed the
North Canadian just below the junction where the Beaver and Wolf Creeks
form the headquarters of the North Canadian. From there he proceeded to
Camp Supply, which was only a short distance away. When Sheridan arrived
at the camp, he found a message awaiting him, which had been brought from
Fort Dodge, Kansas, by stage. The despatch contained the announcement of
his promotion to the position of Lieut. General of the army and requested
him to proceed at once to Washington, D. C. Sheridan did not seem much
surprised at his promotion, and continued to perform his usual duties of
looking after the Indians and ordering supplies. (He saw to it that those
old squaws who had mangled and mutilated his soldier-comrades should be
properly cared for as prisoners of war.) (In fact, he was about the
busiest man in camp.)

Before Gen. Sheridan had left Camp Sill, Gen. Custer had returned from his
trip to the head of Red river, which he had made at his own request. He
reported that he had found nothing but a bleak waste. He stated that there
was no sign of animal or vegetable life to be seen and that he did not
think it possible for the Indians to subsist there. On hearing this report
Gen. Sheridan said nothing but took the matter into consideration and,
after revolving the affair in his own mind for some time, it was plain to
be seen that he was dissatisfied with the report. He ordered Gen. Custer
to increase his force by taking the Kansas volunteers and mounting them on
the horses he had brought from Fort Arbuckle, to refit and refurnish them
thirty days rations and return. He also ordered him to take a full
complement of scouts and scour the country until he did find the Indians
and bring them into Camp Supply, or whip them into subjection, with all of
which Custer was ready to cheerfully comply. The camp was now alive, each
soldier fitting up his belongings for a return trip. Gen. Sheridan told
Custer that he had to return to Supply and that he wanted the Indian
business closed up as soon as possible and for all time to come; that he
did not want the band left at liberty until the grass was green as they
would then be self-supporting and could prey upon the stockmen and the
settlers at will; that it was his duty to prevent this and he would,
regardless of consequences.

It did not take long to make the proper preparations for the return trip,
and Custer took a sufficient number of men to overpower any ordinary band
of Indians, and on the following morning set out for the Panhandle
country. Gen. Sheridan intended to set out the same day, but as he said he
had neglected his correspondence, he thought it better to take another day
to devote to that matter and arrange everything of that nature before
leaving.

On the second day afterwards he had his baggage and other effects packed
ready for the trip and went down to the corral to bid his old comrades and
teamsters good-bye. He made them a short talk, thanking them for their
faithful services they had always so readily rendered. He said that whilst
he did not ever expect to return to that post again, that he would be glad
to meet any of them, at any time or place. After shaking hands with all
the boys he started for the ambulance which was to take him away. When he
met Johnny Murphy, his tried and trusty teamster all through the campaign,
he said, "Well, Johnnie, I am going to leave you. Be a good boy, and if
you should ever come to Washington, call on me. I shall always be glad to
meet you." He shook hands with him and when he had gone a short distance,
he turned and shouted back, "Now, Johnnie, do not fail to call on me." At
his departure there could be seen on the cheeks of more than one of those
old battle-scarred veterans, a glistening tear, the true token of
deep-seated regret. It was a sorrowful parting as these men had followed
him through the din of battle for four years during the rebellion and
through the Indian campaigns and had come to look upon him as their
dearest friend for whom it was a pleasure to shed their blood in the
performance of duty. But such was life in the west. When he had gone, each
turned to his duty and tried to forget his sorrow. It was such little
traits as this that made Sheridan loved by his own men, revered by his
friends, and admired and respected by his enemies.

The General had hoped to be able to reach Washington to lead his old
command in the Inaugural parade on March 4th, but such was not to be, as
his duties in the Territory delayed him, too long, as it was now March
2nd. He set out as soon as it was possible for him to leave his command.
If there was any bad weather, it seemed to be his luck to be out in it. It
sleeted and as scout and guide to go and get them. I promised the rained
all during the journey to Bluff Creek and continued to do the same all the
way to Dodge City.

Gen. Custer, a very energetic man and strict disciplinarian, too strict in
fact to always retain the respect of his men, kept everybody and
everything on the move. The snow was now fast disappearing from the
Territory, but the mud and slush caused by the thawing snow, made
travelling a slavish task. Each day was a repetition of the preceding one
and such it continued to be until they reached the Panhandle country where
they found more snow and less protection from the winds. They still
advanced keeping the scouts well to the fore to escape any chance of being
taken by surprise. Each day brought the same routine of duties and the
same results until it became monotonous, so much so that the boys said
that they would like to have a little fight just for a change and to liven
things up a little. On and on they went across the dreary desolate plain,
with not even a buffalo to be seen as they had been driven from the flats
by the severe storms that swept that part of the country prior to the
trip. A gray wolf might be seen occasionally, or perhaps an antelope, but
that was about all as the wild horses or mustangs had sought shelter in
the canyons or brakes. Desolation reigned supreme and were it not for the
company they found in each other they wouldn't have been able to endure
the loneliness of the place. Duty urged them on, and forward they went
well out on the Staked Plains. One day the scouts returned with the
information that they had discovered an Indian village. Such news was
music to their ears and each and all began to prepare for the impending
conflict. Strange as it may seem, those Indians were aware of the approach
of the scouts and fully realized their danger. The scouts had scarcely
returned to camp when Custer saw through his field-glasses a lively
movement among the Indians. He knew that he had sufficient force to crush
them, but hesitated to do so as he had learned that they held two white
women as captives, and thought it best to parley with them, for if he
attacked them they might repeat the act of cruelty and cold-blooded murder
that was perpetrated by Satanta on the Washita rather than deliver her up
to her rescuers. They did not have to wait, for it was a short time until
the white flag which the Indian always kept within easy reach, was brought
forth. When well out from the village and not far distant from the train,
the general and his staff with an interpreter went out to meet them. It
did not take long to arrange the preliminaries as they were anxious to
surrender, or more so, than he was to capture them. Whilst the
negotiations were being conducted for their surrender and return to Camp
Supply, Chief Tall Bull made his escape with a few followers and was not
heard of until a year later when the report was made that General Parr
had made a final settlement with him and sent him "where the wicked cease
from troubling", and "the weary are at rest," up on the Republican river
in Colorado.

About the first request made by these Indians was for chuckaway as they
were almost famished for want of something to eat. Custer readily acceded
to their demand and gave them a liberal supply of rations. Then they made
ready to move. They had no pianos, sewing machines, or bric-a-brac to pack
and crate, but they had a good quantity of buffalo robes, blankets, tanned
buckskin, pots, skillets, and other belongings of an Indian camp and it
took some time to get them in readiness for transportation. To a person
who has never witnessed such a thing, it is very interesting. The teepees
had to be taken down and put in shape to be packed on ponies. In fact,
everything had to be packed on ponies as a wagon was an unknown thing to
them. They had a substitute for the wagon which they made from a green cow
hide. This while soft and pliable they fastened by each corner to a post
and weighted down the center until it assumed the form of a large dish.
When it became dry and hard, they attached it to two long teepee poles
fastened one on each side of a pony. Into the hide they then put anything
they wished to transport and turned the pony loose with the rest of the
herd. I have seen them place papooses in this rude vehicle and the old
pony wandered at will over the prairie. The teepee poles were made of
cedar and were very light. Sometimes as many as a dozen poles would be
fastened to a pony with other luggage fastened on his back. The young
babies, or small papooses, were strapped to the squaws shoulders where she
usually carried it in all kinds of weather. The older children climbed on
the back of a pony, as that is about the first thing they learned, and
were ready for any kind of a journey. The Indian ponies are usually very
docile as they are broken to handle from colthood. It is a very rare thing
to see one of them bucking or running away, and consequently we seldom
hear of an accident to an Indian caused by a vicious horse.

When everything was in readiness, the general gave orders to set out and
off they started on their return trip to Camp Supply. Their progress was
necessarily very slow owing to the starved condition of their ponies, but
Custer urged them on to the limit of their endurance as he had now a great
many new boarders on hand and he feared that he might run short of
supplies. Each day of the journey was like the other. One thing was
favorable, the weather was warmer and the ground was not so soft and muddy
as on their advance into that country. One day one of the soldiers shot a
buffalo and he and his comrades cut off the hump and one hind quarter to
divide among his companions. He told the Indians to help themselves to the
rest. The general called a halt to give the Indians a chance to attend to
the remnant of the buffalo and put the cook to work preparing some of the
hump for himself. They also fed the stock some grain and by the time the
General finished his slice of hump there was not enough of that buffalo
left to bait a mouse trap. There was nothing left but the horns, hooves,
and bones. Even the entrails did not escape their ravenous appetite.
Nevertheless, the buffalo saved the General's commissary the necessity of
providing one good meal and that was quite a consideration at that
particular time, as provisions were beginning to get low. Each day brought
its quota of petty annoyances. Sometimes a wagon would bog down in the
creek, or a whiffle-tree would break or a mule balk. But that is all the
part of a journey. On they went until they came to the South Canadian
river where they expected to meet the greatest difficulty of their trip,
but to the surprise of all parties, the water was very low and they
succeeded in crossing it with much less trouble than they had to contend
with in crossing some of the smaller streams. The quicksand was their
greatest obstacle to be encountered in the way. The Indian ponies, as I
have said, being very poor and weak, one of them would frequently fall and
flounder around in the quicksand throwing his burden, a squaw and her
papoose. There they struggled with the treacherous sands until a soldier
equal to the emergency would gallantly go to their rescue and bring them
back to safety on the opposite bank. The bucks faced the ordeal very
reluctantly, but seeing that it was a case of the 'devil take the
hindmost' they removed their moccasins, blankets, and in many cases
reduced themselves to a state of primitive simplicity, and made their way
across as best they could. Much to the relief of the commanding officer
the last of them, after a good deal of struggling and snorting, landed on
the north bank of the treacherous stream in safety. The general in his
eagerness to proceed, did not wait for them to arrange their toilets, but
pushed on through the brakes and canyons until he reached the flats where
he went into camp. He was eager to reach his destination to unload his
responsibility and one cannot blame him for that feeling after performing
such an arduous task. It took three more days to reach Camp Supply where
Gen. Custer turned over his charge to the Indian Department and in due
course of time discharged the regiment that had rendered such valuable
service. During that expedition Custer had brought back those renegades
and turned them over to the Department without firing a gun except at game
on the way.



CHAPTER XXVI.

Civilizing the Indian; A Period of Unrest; An Outbreak; Murder of a
Freighter.


At this time the Quakers were largely in control of the Indian Department
and were indorsed in their views by Pres. U. S. Grant. They believed the
Indian could be civilized and kept under control by moral suasion by the
erection of school houses for his children, and by imparting a knowledge
of the proper system of agriculture. Under their influence, rations were
issued and blankets distributed among them. They were also given wagons,
plows, and other farm implements which they knew nothing about. They would
not ride on a spring seat, nor sit in a wagon box, but for some reason
best known to themselves, they would remove the box and place teepee poles
on the wagon bolsters and all climb in when they were ready for a trip.
The plows and other implements which were sent out among them to encourage
them to farm, I have seen suspended from trees. I cannot understand why
they did so, unless it was to show contempt for the white man's way. It is
true, some of them raised small patches of corn, which with the rations
issued by the Agency and the game they killed, kept the wolf from the
door, or rather the flaps of their teepees. Occasionally a small band of
them would get a permit from the Fort Commander to go on a hunt, with the
understanding that they were to return at a stipulated time and behave
themselves during their absence and not commit any depredations. All this
they complied with. I have met these hunting parties up in No Man's Land
and other places and never heard of their perpetrating any mischief on
persons or stock whilst out under a permit.

The squaws, when not busy in the corn patch or in their little garden,
were engaged in making ornaments or other fancy needlework at which they
were experts. These articles they afterwards sold to tourists from the
East, at the Agency, as souvenirs of their trip among the Indians. Some of
this kind of work had a real intrinsic value far above the ornamental part
of it. I knew one chief's daughter who had a blanket ornamented with elk's
teeth and shells, that was valued at $1500. She was taken ill and died,
and the blanket which she loved to wear at festivals was used as a shroud.
A few days afterwards, some person passing by noticed that the grave had
been disturbed. He notified her people and an investigation being made,
they found that some white man or men had been there and had stolen the
blanket or robe in which she was wrapped. If they were ever captured, I am
not aware of it. I said that white men did it, because a negro is too
superstitious to do it, and I do not believe there is an Indian in the
Territory who would stoop to such a ghoulish act; so I shall give some
white animal the credit for the deed.

The government also built large corrals or cowpens where the cattle were
issued to the Indians. On the size of the family depended the size of the
cow or steer issued. The Agent had the name of each family and the number
of persons comprising it. When a steer was selected a cowpuncher rode
among the herd and cut out the desired animal and rushed him through the
gate of the corral where the Indians were waiting with bows and arrows to
kill him. They seldom killed him at the first or second shot. More
frequently a dozen shots were required before they struck a vital spot.
When the beast fell, the squaws, papooses and dogs came along to do the
skinning and oversee the division of the meat. Each one came in for a
share. After the killing, the lordly old buck would seek out the shelter
of some tree or other shady place to rest his manly form until the animal
was dressed and ready for consumption; then he would return and fill his
capacious stomach with wohaw. The Government shortly changed the arrow
shooting feat as it considered that such a practice had no civilizing
influence on the Indian and, besides, it wanted them to forget their old
habits as soon as possible. Thereafter, when on issuing day a beef was
selected, a man was there to shoot it in the corral and the Indian entered
with his ponies to drag away the carcass to dress it outside.

After some time the Department decided to remove a large number of the
Indians at Camp Supply to the Darlington Agency which is located about 140
miles south-east of Supply on the north bank of the North Canadian river,
and about two miles from Fort Reno. Here they settled down submissively
and appeared to be content with their existing condition. At times there
were some small complaints about the agent, which upon investigation
proved oftentimes to be correct. On the other hand there was a disturbing
element. This thing is not common to the Indian alone, but may be found
among civilized folks who are not at peace with themselves or the world at
large. Taking everything into consideration, they were doing about as well
as could be expected under the circumstances.

The other band of Cheyennes who had located on Pond Creek, were also
brought down to the Darlington Agency. This left the Cherokee Strip
comparatively deserted, but it did not remain so long as the cowmen
entered there and built ranches and stocked them with cattle under leases
from the Indians. There were the Turkey Track, the Box T. R-S, Bull Foot
and other ranches too numerous to mention, all located in the Cherokee
Strip.

Everything moved along smoothly with but little trouble from the Indians
until the year 1874, when the spirit of unrest seized them again and
extended to all the Indians over the western plains. Some had one
grievance and some had another. They began making medicine, which to a
man acquainted with the Indians meant trouble sooner or later. At that
time, supplies to Anadarko, Ft. Reno, and the Darlington Agency were
freighted from Wichita, Kansas, and distributed to the different bands at
these places. As there were no railroads in this country, it gave
employment to hundreds of men and teams on the trails to enable them to
keep up the supplies. The freighting business was a great boon to the
early settlers of Kansas as the grasshoppers had destroyed everything in
the form of vegetation and the settlers who had teams went to Wichita and
engaged in freighting for the government. Even the white folks at this
time were reduced to a great state of privation and had to depend on the
bounty of the outside world. The more fortunate in the older states
responded to their appeal and tided them over their distress until
prosperity placed them beyond the reach of want.

About this time small bands of discontented Cheyennes began prowling
around over the country and occasionally went beyond the limit allowed
them by the Agent, and then returned to draw their rations with the other
Indians at the Agency. They continued to do this for some time and finally
began to make depredations on stock or anything else that came within
their reach. The Agent prone to avoid trouble with them, treated them
leniently, but the more leniency he showed, the bolder they became until a
small band under the leadership of Tall Meat, a petty chief, went north as
far as Buffalo Springs on the south line of the Cherokee Strip. There they
could see the freight wagons in the distance laden with government
supplies heading for Anadarko, and came to the immediate decision of
raiding the train. They withdrew into a canyon on the side of the trail so
as to be out of sight when the train arrived. They intended to murder the
teamsters and plunder their goods of whatever they wanted and then make
their escape. A man named Patrick Hennessey was driving the lead wagon of
one of the trains. He was trudging along on foot beside his team without
the slightest suspicion of any danger. As soon as he had passed where they
were hiding they shot him in the back. When the shooting took place the
team stampeded and dragged Hennessey in his dying condition along the
ground. The wagon upset and a bag of grain fell across Hennessey's lower
limbs and there he lay dead. In the meantime the drivers of the other
wagons together with a passenger who was working his way down the country,
abandoned their teams and wagons and fled. Next day the Indian Agent with
an escort happened to pass that way and discovered the work of destruction
of the day previous. They found the remnants of the wagon which had been
set on fire. Some of the oats which comprised part of the load were still
burning, and the sack that had fallen across poor Hennessey's limbs in
burning had charred his legs to a crisp. The agent, John D. Miles, and his
escort, Billy Mulally, dug a kind of temporary grave to protect the
remains from the coyotes and the buzzards and marked the place with a few
rocks. Every freighter that passed that way felt it his duty to see that
the grave was kept in as good condition as circumstances would permit. The
resting place of Pat Hennessey became a landmark for all travellers in
that section until the Rock Island railroad was built, when the remains
were removed to their present place of rest. The city of Hennessey, one of
the most prosperous little cities in the state is named in his honor. I
have since been told that the women of Hennessey have erected a monument
with suitable inscription at his grave. The other teamsters who fled when
the first shot was fired were overtaken and killed at some distance from
where Hennessey fell.

This little band of highwaymen could not expect to be allowed to pursue
their murderous way with impunity. They had no following, as such acts
would be condemned by the best Indians of their tribe, and again they were
surrounded by forts. Supply on the north, Elliot on the west, Sill on the
south, and Reno at home. A small band of white men might escape under
such conditions as it would be possible for them to avoid detection, but
not for Indians of the kind, as their approach would be a signal to begin
shooting. It was a very short time until they were captured and brought
into the agency. Several others were rounded up at the same time. Then an
official investigation was made and after a great deal of red tape
ceremonies and other preliminaries, it was thought best for the interests
of the Indians, as well as for the safety of the white settlers, to
transport them to the Dry Tortugas. I have never visited that locality,
but from what I have learned from persons who did, it was not a very
desirable place to locate a people who might expect any great degree of
personal comfort. I had been told by a man who spent some time there, that
if the government sent those folks there to confine and punish them, it
had struck the exact spot where everything had a tendency to add to human
misery, and he believed it was located so close to the region of the lost
that he could hear old Cerberus barking across the dead line.

To show the reader a fine sense of filial affection and brotherly
attachment is not a stranger to the savage breast, I must mention a little
circumstance that occurred. When all that were to be sent off were
standing around and their friends were giving their farewell greetings,
one young Indian stepped forward and asked the officer in command if he
were going to take his brother away where maybe so he not come back some
time. The officer replied that such was the present intention, but
modified his remark by saying that at some time in the future they might
regain their liberty if they were good Indians. The young Indian hesitated
a moment and then said, "Well, me go too. Me not want for stay here and my
brother he take away some place I not know and maybe so he not come back
at all sometime. Me go, too." The commanding officer granted his request
and gave him transportation along with his brother to the Dry Tortugas,
situated 175 miles west of Key West in the Gulf of Mexico.

When the Indians were removed, in a short time everything dropped back
into peaceful channels and ran along in a comparatively smoother fashion
until Chief Dull Knife became uneasy and wanted to return to the Black
Hill country. His outbreak will form the subject of another chapter.

Since writing the above I have had occasion to visit one of the public
schools of El Reno, where I found a history of Oklahoma written by Joseph
B. Thoburn, former secretary of agriculture, and Isaac M. Holcomb, former
superintendent of Oklahoma City schools. On page 133 I found a brief
history of the tragic death of Pat. Hennessey on July 3rd, 1874, and what
a brave defense he made against such odds and when captured was bound to a
wagon wheel and burned alive. Also, there was a foot-note stating that it
was reported and generally believed that it was the deed of white men
disguised as Indians, in order to have it charged up to the Indians. Such
was not the case and the above statement is misleading and incorrect, and
for the benefit of the school children of the State of Oklahoma, as well
as in justice to the Indian I shall set down the correct statement of the
case.

My authority for my version of the affair are the following gentlemen:
John Murphy of El Reno, and H. A. Todd of Calumet, brother-in-law of Billy
Mulally who assisted John D. Miles, Indian agent at Darlington, to bury
Pat. Hennessey, while on their way to Wichita, Kansas. Billy Mulally is
still living at Calumet and can be consulted in regard to the matter.
Their version of the affair is as follows:

Patrick Hennessey in the lead of a wagon train was going from Wichita,
Kansas, to Anadarko, I. T. loaded with grain and other supplies for the
government. He had been warned at Buffalo Springs ranch, kept by a man
named Mosher, that the Cheyenne Indians were on the war-path, and was
advised to go no farther. He persisted in going and in like manner did the
two other teams of the train. With them was a passenger who was working
his way with them. When not far from where Hennessey, Okla. is now
located, a band a Cheyenne Indians, under the leadership of Bear Shield
and Tall Meat, came out of a draw and shot Hennessey in the back. The
commotion caused by them stampeded the mules Hennessey was driving. He in
his dying condition hung on to the lines and was dragged along the ground,
as he had been walking alongside the wagon. Presently the wagon upset and
a sack of oats fell across Hennessey's prostrate form and pinned him to
the ground. He was dead. The other drivers with their passenger leaped
from their wagons and ran north-east in the direction of Skeleton Creek
where they were followed by the Chyennes and killed, and were afterwards
buried by the cowboys and Mosher. This accounts for their not being buried
with Hennessey. The burning of Hennessey cannot be attributed to the
Cheyennes as the Osages happened along about this time and the Cheyennes
fled. The Osages after plundering the wagons of all they wanted, set fire
to what they could not carry away. The following forenoon, John D. Miles,
Indian Agent at Darlington, accompanied by Billy Mulally, a cowman on his
way to Kansas, came across the wreckage. The grain was still burning and
Pat Hennessey's body lay partly under a sack of grain which was still
smouldering, and not tied to the wagon wheel as the history has it. From,
there they removed him and buried him in a temporary grave. From this
resting place he was afterwards removed to what is now called Hennessey,
Okla., where there stands a splendid monument erected to his memory by the
women of Oklahoma.

Note--This correction is only one of many that might be made in our
present day history which pretend to set forth a correct idea of the
early days of our state. For any further reference to such matters, living
witnesses are at hand to give a correct version of many erroneous
statements that have crept into our text books and other writings.



CHAPTER XXVII.

A Decade of Warfare; Custer's Massacre; Sheridan, etc.


For several years, I might say the whole decade from 1870 to 1880, the
Indians occupied the attention of the public. In the Northwest they were
very active. The Utes, Apaches, Cheyennes, and the Sioux were almost
continuously on the warpath, and their activities were so widespread and
far-reaching that, at times, they almost blocked the progress of the
wheels of commerce, and made trade and travel a very dangerous proceeding.
The movement on the part of the Indian developed a corresponding activity
on the part of the military department. Gen. P. H. Sheridan, Gen. Crook,
Gen. Custer, and Gen. Nelson A. Miles and many other men high up in
military affairs devoted their time and attention to the pressing
condition of affairs and took up their position in localities where they
would be able to suppress the movements of the Indians and bring about a
peaceable solution of their difficulties.

The various bands of Indians adopted practically the same mode of
procedure in their warlike movements. Each spring and summer, when there
was plenty of green grass and abundance of water, usually found them
opening up a new campaign against the encroachments of the white
population. It was very galling for them to stand by and see the source of
their supplies, the buffalo, exterminated without making any contrary
movement. In fact, they did not propose to do so, but set out to
exterminate the hunters who were intent on making a desert of the plains
that teemed with millions of their favorite game. Their efforts were
sometimes crowned with success, and frequently they encountered disaster.
In spite of the reverses they suffered, as at the Chivington massacre on
Sand Creek, Colorado, they did not abandon their efforts to retain their
rights to the land they had so long retained as their lawful hunting
ground. The fact that he had practically no further means of gaining a
livelihood, made them all the more determined to fight to the finish with
those whom they considered usurpers of their ancestral kingdom.

To add to his difficulties in the way of the encroachments of the whites,
an unexpected circumstances arose that made conditions much more difficult
to bear. Gold had been discovered in the Black Hills. There was a rush
made upon the gold-bearing district, which stirred the Indians to greater
excitement. Immigrant trains from Missouri, Kansas, Nebraska, and as far
east as Ohio and Michigan, began to wind their long sinuous way across the
plains in the direction of the new gold fields. They were not entirely
unacquainted with the excited condition of the territory through which
they were compelled to travel, and consequently made preparations to meet
the difficulties and dangers of the way. They were well aware that the
Indians were on the warpath and ready to give them a warm reception on
their invasion on the Indians' domain. To meet the perils of such a
journey as they were compelled to make, each wagon train consisting of
numerous outfits, was under the guidance of some experienced plainsman. He
showed them the proper manner of procedure in the method of self-defense
in case they were subjected to an attack from the marauding bands of
red-men on the way. It was well, as far as their own safety was concerned,
that they learned how to corral their wagons and stock in the time of
danger, as more than one wagon train was attacked and completely destroyed
and the members of the party massacred on their way across the plains. In
justice to the Indians, I wish to remark that all the massacres and
plunderings of the early days were not wrought by the Indians. It is a
well-known fact that the Mormans in Utah played a part in such inhuman
affairs, as is evidenced by the actions of John D. Lee and his followers,
disguised as Indians, when they perpetrated the Mountain Meadow massacre.
To leave the impression that it was the work of the tribesmen they scalped
their victims, ran off their stock, and burned their wagons. There are
several other instances that might be mentioned, wherein the whiteman in
the guise of the Indian, performed deeds of deviltry and endeavored to
cast the blame upon the redman. While charging the Indian with his crimes,
let us not forget to give him credit for his virtues also, or as Theodore
Roosevelt would say, "let us give him a square deal."

Time passed on, each year bringing its quota of trouble and disaster,
without any indication or improvement in the general condition of affairs.
All the frontier posts were supplied with soldiers who seemed anxious for
something to turn up to relieve the monotony of camp life. They finally
had their wishes fulfilled, for in the spring of 1876, Sitting Bull, the
Napoleon of the Sioux tribe, succeeded in concentrating his whole force in
the valley of the Little Big Horn. No opportunity was more desired by the
whites for putting an end to the activity of the Indians. Gen. Custer lost
not a moment in taking the field against him. His past successes in
fighting the savages seemed to guarantee him victory in his present
undertaking. In his impetuosity he set out flushed with the thought of the
success that was to perch upon his arms. In his ardour lay his crushing
defeat. Custer had about 700 men--only 256 with him in actual fight where
he fell, every man killed except Curley the Crow scout who escaped. Reno
and Benteen were already held in check on the hill they retreated to when
attacked before Custer engaged the Indians. The Indians had 3600 braves or
warriors. Sitting Bull was the Bismark of the Sioux and Gall the Von
Molkte. Custer and Terry had been informed by Indian agent at Standing
Rock that only 800 braves were to be engaged. Sitting Bull had defeated
General Crook a few days before he encountered Custer. Sitting Bull
fearing also General Gibbons and Crook at any minute to reinforce the
Seventh Cavalry hastened to make his escape to Canada, otherwise he would
have annihilated Reno and the balance of the Seventh Cavalry. These
Indians in 1881 returned to the United States and I helped put them on
steam boats at Fort Buford and Fort Keogh, or Miles City now, and sent
them to Standing Rock agency, Rain in the Face's band being at Keogh.
Sitting Bull, by strategy, succeeded in decoying General Custer, with his
entire command, into a position that was suicidal. The wily Indian chief,
with about nine thousand warriors, on the 25th of June, 1876, attacked him
and annihilated the whole command, carrying off all Custer's munitions of
war as trophies of victory. Acting on the principle that "to the victor
belong the spoils," Siting Bull, by the total annihilation of the enemy
was able to replenish his larder at the expense of Uncle Sam. It was a
veritable windfall for him, as the supplies of food, guns, ammunition,
horses, blankets, and everything that was needed for comfort and safety,
were very much in demand about that time, as the Indian's resources were
almost at the vanishing point at the time. It is not my purpose here to
offer any explanation of Custer's failure, but it was commonly reported
that General Reno had been expected to take part in the engagement, but
did not do so. Others lay the disaster to Custer's impetuosity, not
waiting for his auxiliaries to arrive. I am not prepared to say who was to
blame for the calamity.

In the death of General Custer, the country lost one of the bravest men
that ever donned the uniform of the soldier. He had his faults but
cowardice was not one of them. He was true to his country and his flag and
his fall where the fight was thickest, was an indication of his military
character.

I thought it proper to write this short sketch in order to show the
influence it exercised on succeeding events. It was several days before
the results of the day's disaster became known to the general public.
There were several reasons for the delay. First, those who were to join
Custer in his attack on the Indians did not arrive for some time after the
battle and as there was not a living soul left to tell the tale of the
deeds of heroism performed in that desperate encounter, nor give any
inkling as to the whereabouts of the dead bodies of the slain, it was more
by chance than design that their location was discovered as soon as it
was. Even to those who came upon them where they lay stiff and cold in
death, it did not seem possible that there could be such a complete
massacre that not a living man was left to relate what happened. Again,
the means of communication with the world at large were very meagre. There
was the pony express, a very slow method at its best. However, the news
was finally forwarded to the country at large, and as usual, the
newspapers went into glaring accounts of the disaster, calling upon
imagination for what they lacked from authorative sources. The whole
country was aroused.

When the other Indian tribes had learned of Sitting Bull's successful
annihilation of the hated pale-face command, their enthusiasm knew no
bounds. They began to see at last the extermination of the white man. No
more would the buffalo hunter deprive them of their means of subsistence.
No more would the freighter and the settler occupy the lands that belonged
to the Indian long before the white man had set his foot on American soil.
The prophecy of the Messiah was coming true, and they were ready and
willing to have a share in hastening the day of their deliverance from the
white usurper. Naturally, they began to make their war medicine and
prepare themselves to aid in freeing their beloved plains from the
objectionable intruder. Herein, they reckoned without Uncle Sam. No sooner
had the news of Custer's defeat and annihilation been brought to him, than
he began to make preparations for another expedition against them,
determined to wipe out the stain of recent defeat. The purpose of the new
expedition was probable more comprehensive than the former efforts of a
like nature. The government began to realize that it was face to face with
no common danger. The forts were put in proper condition to resist any
attack that the Indian might contemplate making upon them. New forts were
established at different points of vantage and men enlisted for the
purpose of bringing the defense up to a proper footing, as well as to
afford protection for the trade and commerce of that disturbed region.

The year of 1877 was but a repetition of the preceding years with very few
exceptions. The Indian was becoming accustomed to the ways of the white
man, especially in the art of making war. Whenever and wherever possible
he discarded his primitive weapons, the bow and arrow, for the more
up-to-date and efficient firearms. These they acquired, sometimes by
barter and frequently by successful engagements in battle, as in the case
of the Custer massacre where they obtained sufficient munitions of war to
make them feel rather bold in their dealings with the boys in blue.

One thing noticeable about this time, was the change in the method of
conducting warfare by the organized forces of Uncle Sam. The old army
method of fighting was improved by adopting the strategy of the enemy
while fighting on his native heath. Heretofore they had followed the
tactics of civilized warfare acquired by experience in the years of the
Great Rebellion, but they were glad to adopt the latter and improved
method of bringing the battle to the Indians in the manner that was more
conductive to personal safety and at the same time offered opportunities
for personal initiative. The change seemed to be more agreeable to the men
in the ranks, for they seemed to enjoy mounting a horse and scurrying over
the plains in free-lance fashion. One great drawback to their success was
their ignorance of the topography of the country in which they were
operating. They were oftentimes compelled to rely upon the knowledge of
scouts who were frequently as ignorant as themselves. Since so much
depended on the accurate information given by the guide, one may imagine
the plight of a body of men guided by an unreliable scout in an expedition
through the mountains or over the plains. Happily, men of such character
were the exception and not the rule. The rank and file of the scouts were
composed of men whose knowledge of the plains seemed almost uncanny, whose
personal courage was on a par with that of the bravest of men, and who
could be relied upon to accomplish their undertakings with prudence and
despatch. Such men as Ben Clark, Buffalo Bill, Amos Chapman, W. F.
Brannan, Jack Stillwell, Billy Dixon, and others too numerous to mention
filled all the requirements for a successful scout, and rendered service
to the country that can not be properly estimated or fitly described
within the limits of a short narrative. Some of them I am acquainted with
personally, and I feel myself honored by it. They were the men that guided
the U. S. troops through the most difficult and dangerous campaigns,
blazing the highways for them, and making civilization possible on the
western plains.

The summer of 1877 passed away in very much the same fashion as the
preceeding seasons of Indian warfare. The first snow fall was a harbinger
of peace, as the tribesmen do not favor the winter time as one fitted for
the activities of warfare. They preferred to sit around the camp fire in
their winter quarters and wait till the grass was green and the plains
free from snow before taking the warpath again. They were never known to
break the custom of generations, until General Phil. H. Sheridan arrived
at the conclusion that it was not advantageous to allow the Indians to go
into winter quarters to wait for another season of warfare. That looked
too much like allowing the enemy to say when, where, and how they would
fight, and that was contrary to the notions Sheridan had of conducting a
successful campaign. He it was who ordered the winter campaign against
the Kiowas, Comanches, and Cheyennes, which proved successful and paved
the way to permanent peace with those tribes. Nelson A. Miles adopted the
same plan and drove Sitting Bull through the snowbanks across the boundary
into the Dominion of Canada, where he was quite willing to promise to
behave himself in the future if permitted to return to the land of his
fathers. I know for a certainty that he lived up to his promises, though I
do not know how far he would have done so if he had not lost his power as
a medicine man with the Sioux. He was shortly after his return shot and
killed by the Indian police. His death removed one of the greatest leaders
and warriors that ever led the Sioux tribe into battle, and conduced to
the establishment of permanent peace with that nation.


CUSTER'S LAST BATTLE.

The 7th U. S. Cavalry, 700 men and 28 officers, 2 companies of the 17th U.
S. Infantry, 1 company 6th U. S. Infantry--8 officers and 135 men; One
Platoon of Gatling guns, 2 officers and 32 men, of the 20th U. S. Infantry
and 40 Ree scouts, the 7th Cavalry being commanded by General Geo. A.
Custer, and the expeditionary forces under command of Brigadier General
Alfred H. Terry, at the sounding of the "general" at 5 o'clock in the
morning of may 17th, 1876 proceeded to march to the camp of Sitting Bull
in the Little Big Horn country, by 7 a. m. the 7th Cavalry was marching in
column of platoons through the post and around the parade ground, of Fort
A. Lincoln, the band mounted on white horses playing "Garry Owen" the
Seventh's battle tune, first used when this gallant regiment charged at
the battle of Washita. The column halted just outside of the garrison and
dismounted where their wives and members of the families came out and bid
their husbands and fathers good bye, many of whom they would see no more,
after the farewells, the signals "mount" and "forward" were sounded and
the command headed by the Gallant Seventh, marched away the band playing
"The Girl I Left Behind Me."

The command proceeded until on the Rosebud, Indian trails were discovered
June 19th. The mouth of the Rosebud was reached June 21st, where
preparations were made for the battle that followed on the Little Big Horn
June 25th and 26th, 1876.

The Indians attacked in this campaign were various Sioux tribes, also
Northern Cheyennes and Arapahoes, the leading chiefs being Sitting Bull,
Rain in the Face, Crow King, Low Dog, Big Road, Spotted Eagle and Little
Horse of the Northern Cheyennes--Gall, Crow King, and Crazy Horse were the
three ruling fighting chiefs; the total fighting strength of the combined
Indian forces was 3000.

General Custer was ordered by General Terry to engage the Indians, reports
from the Indian agencies leading him to believe that there were only about
800 bucks in the field.

General Crook had engaged Sitting Bull's command before on June 17th and
was badly defeated by the Indians, indeed glad to escape without total
annihilation. General Gibbons was near, but the three commands operated
independently of each other while had they co-operated together, attacking
as a whole, the Custer massacre as it is called would never have occured.

On June 25th, 1876, the Indians were attacked by one battalion under Major
Reno, consisting of Troop "M"; Captain French, Troop "A"; Captain Moylan,
Troop "G", Lieutenant McIntosh, the Indian scouts under Lieutenants Varnum
and Hare and Interpreter Girard, Lieutenant Hodson acting adjutant,
Doctors DeWolf and Porter Medical officers, this battalion marched down a
valley that developed into a small tributary to the Little Big Horn, now
called Sundance or Benteen's Creek, where they reached the river, and
crossing were routed by the Indians in great force and retreated across
the river to the bluffs loosing three officers and 29 enlisted men killed,
seven enlisted men and one officer wounded, one officer and fourteen
enlisted men missing, the Ree scouts ran away and continued their flight
until outside of the danger zone. Some Crow scouts remained with the
troops.

The battalion commanded by General Custer, consisted of Troop, "I",
Captain Keogh, Lieutenant Porter, Troop "F", Captain Yates, Lieutenant
Relly; Troop "C", Captain Tom Custer and Lieutenant Harrington; Troop "E",
Lieutenants Smith and Strugis, troop "L", Lieutenants Calhoun and
Crittenden; Lieutenant Cook was adjutant, Dr. G. E. Lord, Medical officer.

The third battalion was under Captain Benteen, the ranking captain of the
Seventh Cavalry, consisted of Troop "H", Benteen, captain, Lieutenant
Gibson; Troop "D", Captain Weir and Lieutenant Edgerly; and Troop "K",
Lieutenant Godfrey. The pack train was in command of Lieutenant Mathey,
escorted by Troop "B", Captain McDougall, this battalion was to proceed to
the right and supposed to cut off Indians routed by Reno, but on coming
into view of the Little Big Horn Valley succeeded in joining Reno on the
hills where he was being engaged by the Indians; while Gall was leading
the attack against Reno, Iron Cedar, one of his warriors, announced that
more soldiers were coming, which was the battalion under General Custer,
the Indians withdrawing from attack on Reno concentrated on Custer, who
never forded the river but being attacked by overwhelming forces made his
stand on a ridge where he and every one of his command went down to
defeat, not one man escaped to tell the tale--212 bodies were buried on
the battle field, all stripped and mutilated except General Custer who was
shot in the temple and left side. The bodies of Dr. Lord and Lieutenant
Porter, Harrington and Sturgis were never found, at least not recognized,
the clothing of Lieutenant Porter and Sturgis was found in the debris,
and showed they had been killed. The total killed of the entire command
was 265, wounded 52. Little plots of wild sun flowers mark the graves of
those resting here who died on that memorable June 25th, 1876, no one will
ever know the heroic death they met or the terrible scenes enacted but
they attest the services of the Gallant Seventh Cavalry who did more to
clear the country in the early days from Mexico to Canada than almost all
the other regiments combined. "Garry Owen" can not awake them to glory
again, and the girls they left behind will mourn until death shall enable
them let us hope, to join their departed dead never seen after that fatal
parting, May 17, 1876, at old Fort Abraham Lincoln on the banks of the
historical Missouri River.

GENERAL H. M. CREEL.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

Trouble With the Northern Cheyennes; Little Chief Conducted to the Agency
at Reno, I. T.


The year 1878 found the Northern Cheyennes up in arms and on the warpath,
as were the other tribes on the plains and in the mountains. Prominent
among the roving bands of warriors was the Little Chief band of Northern
Cheyennes. They were very active and indications seemed to point out that
they were likely to make things very disagreeable for the troops as well
as for the ranch man in that section.

Little Chief and his band were brought to Fort A. Lincoln in December 1877
and remained there until July 24th, 1878, when they left with the 7th
cavalry for the Black Hills to locate a fort, named later Meade. The
fortunes of war proved very unfavorable for him and he was forced to
surrender early in the season. His whole band consisting of 375 warriors,
with the Little Chief himself at their head, was taken to fort Abraham
Lincoln as prisoners of war and placed in charge of Major Tilford who was
in command of the place at that time. They remained there till the latter
part of July, when he selected Ben Clark, General Sheridan's chief of
scouts and indian interpreter, to take charge of them and take them under
military escort from thence to their destination at Fort Reno reservation,
in the Indian Territory. I herewith give Clark's commission in full.

    HEADQUARTERS

    Fort Abraham, Lincoln, Dakota,
    July 20th, 1878.

    To Mr. Ben Clark, in charge of the Cheyenne Indians.

    Sir: I am directed by the commanding officer to inform you that it
    is his intention to have the Cheyenne Indians, prisoners of war, leave
    this post for their destination early next week, and that you will
    make the necessary arrangements for their departure at that time. If
    you need any assistance or information in this connection, you will
    report to the commanding officer in person. Very respectfully, Your
    Obedient Servant,

    F. M. GIBSON,
    1st Lieutenant 7th Cavalry, Post Adjutant.


[Illustration: GENERAL H. M. CREEL]


Ben Clark accepted the appointment and at once began to make the
preparations necessary for the removal of the indians to their destination
at Fort Reno, I. T. It was a perilous undertaking at that season of the
year as the plains were alive with hostile Indians. Another incident arose
about the time to make the journey more hazardous than usual, viz, the
report that Dull Knife had left the reservation at Fort Reno and was on
his way northward to his former hunting grounds. In other words, Dull
Knife was on the warpath and as explained in a former chapter, was
committing all kinds of depredations. It may be easily imagined what would
occur if the tribe that had just broken away from Reno reservation were to
join forces with the Little Chief band on their way to the place the other
had just quitted. Naturally the tensity of the situation exercised its
influence on the whole force accompanying the Little Chief band. At this
juncture Ben Clark received the following telegram:

    HEADQUARTERS

    Fort Abraham Lincoln,
    July 24th, 1878.

    Special Order, No. 175.

    Companies H and L, 7th Cavalry, will move into camp on the hill in the
    rear of the post at one o'clock, p. m., preparatory to taking the
    field tomorrow, the 25th of July, 1878, to join troops operating from
    Bear Buttes, Dakota, Ter. The Cheyenne Indian prisoners will leave
    this post with this command enroute to Camp Robinson under the charge
    of Ben Clark who will draw for these Indians thirty-two days Indian
    rations, and will attend to the loading, hauling, and issuing of the
    same during the march. By command, Major Tilford,

    F. M. GIBSON,
    1st Lieutenant, 7th Cavalry, Post Adjutant.

When everything was in readiness, and there was considerable difficulty in
the task just accomplished, the expedition set out for Bear Buttes.
General Sam D. Sturgis, Colonel of the Seventh Cavalry, in command.
Captain Benteen, in command of the escort. The journey was rather tedious
as the distance to be traveled each day was limited by Ben Clark to 15
miles. When they reached Bear Buttes they were met by Second Lieutenant H.
M. Creel, of K troop of the 7th Cavalry, and Captain Mathey, who took
charge of the escort from that place to Fort Robinson. Everything went
along as well as the trying conditions of the march would permit, and
through the watchfulness of Ben Clark the Indians had little cause to
murmur, as he looked after their interests and comfort in a manner that
reflects great credit upon him. When they reached Sidney Barracks farther
south, the following telegram was awaiting them.

    Omaha, Barracks, Neb.,
    Sept. 14th, 1878, 12:35 p. m.

    To Ben Clark, in charge of Cheyenne Indians,
    In care of Commanding Officer, Sidney Barracks, Neb.

    As the Northern Cheyenne Indians who were at Fort Reno, I. T., have
    left there and are trying to make their way back north, the Department
    Commander desires to know if you think it advisable for the Indians
    under your charge to continue their journey south at present. Is there
    any liklihood of their trying to join those who have left Fort Reno?
    Where do you think those who have left Fort Reno will try to cross the
    Union Pacific Railroad? Telegraph reply to this and any other
    information or opinion regarding movements of those from Fort Reno
    which may be useful. By command,

                   GEN. CROOK.
    (Signed.)      R. WILLIAMS,
                   Ass't Adjut. General.

Major Mauck took charge of the escort under Ben Clark at Sidney Barracks.
Things went along according to the usual routine until they reached the
vicinity of the Red Cloud agency. The close proximity of that agency to
the present position of the prisoners of war, no doubt, had some influence
on the Little Chief band, as they used to belong to that section of the
territory. At this place, Iron Shirt and Black Wolf, chiefs of no mean
repute, decided that they would go no further. They declared that they
preferred to go to the Red Cloud agency and did not want to go any further
south. For a time it seemed as if there was going to be some difficulty in
getting the expedition under way again as Iron Shirt, in particular, who
was looked upon as a military genius by his followers, was quite
determined in his attitude against any further advance towards Reno.
However, the matter was promptly adjusted by the commanding officer, by
the use of a little diplomacy, as he explained matters to them through the
interpreter and put the affair in such a light that it seemed satisfactory
to all concerned. The Indians had been rather loathe to leave Fort Abraham
Lincoln and would in all probably openly resisted were it not for an
agreement made between them and General P. H. Sheridan wherein he promised
them good locations, plenty of rations, good hunting on the North
Canadian, and besides, gave them permission to retain their firearms as
there was an abundance of game in the land to which they were going. The
reader will discover later on how this agreement was respected by the war
department.

The expedition journeyed along from Sidney Barracks under command of
Major Mauck, via Fort Wallace, Fort Dodge, and Camp Supply, without any
interruption of any importance, though it was a very tickelish situation
all the way as they knew not at what time or place they might encounter
the Dull Knife band. It took all the wariness of Ben Clark to keep the
band out of all possibility of meeting their kinsmen who were then on the
warpath. That he did it successfully, is to his credit, and for it he
deserves the highest commendation of not only those immediately concerned
with the expedition, but of the country at large, for if those two bands
of Cheyennes united, there would have ensued another massacre appaling in
its execution.

Little Chief and his band escorted by four troops of the fourth cavalry
under Major Mauck arrived at Camp Supply, I. T., in December, 1878, after
a few days' rest started for Fort Reno, the first day's march brought them
to the junction of Wolf and Beaver Creek, forming the North Fork Canadian
River, where the command camped, the next morning in the midst of a heavy
snow storm Major Mauck came to Lieutenant Creel's tent about five o'clock
with a telegraphic order from General Pope commanding department of
Missouri directing him to disarm and dismount the Northern Cheyennes in
his charge and en route for Fort Reno, as the interior department at the
instigation of the Indian office refused to allow the Indians to enter the
Territory unless this was done--this was done to prevent a repetition of
the Dull Knife raid of that year. General Pope being entirely ignorant of
the promises made by General Sheridan to these Indians that they should
retain their arms and ammunition and he had called their attention to the
excellent hunting in the Indian Territory. Now on this morning the Indians
expected to start out on a great hunt and had asked Lieutenant Creel to go
with them, but immediately after reveille and breakfast were confronted
with the four troops of the Fourth Cavalry mounted and asked to deliver up
their arms and ponies. Lieutenant Creel told Major Mauck of the promises
made the Indians by General Sheridan and pointed to the interpretation
that would be placed upon such treatment and asked Major Mauck if he could
not defer action until they could get into communication with General
Sheridan, Division commander, but due to poor means of communication Major
Mauck was afraid to assume the responsibility. Later when General Sheridan
learned of this action on request of the Indian office, it is needless to
say he was much incensed and it was due to this fact that he in a short
time affected the transfer of all Northern Cheyennes in this band who
desired, to return to their old hunting grounds in Montana.

On the arrival of the expedition at Camp Supply, they were confronted with
a dispatch from the war department through General Pope, demanding the
immediate disarmament of the Indians. When the order was made known to
Little Chief, he at once objected to its enforcement, and with his band,
stood with arms drawn and ready to rebel against such open violation of
their treaty with General Sheridan.

The Indians when asked to surrender their arms and ponies refused, and
formed in battle line in semicircular formation, the women and children in
the center. Iron Shirt exhorting them to die fighting for their rights,
telling them that they had been lied to long enough, during this time had
one gun gone off, it would have been the commencement of a bloody massacre
of women and children. All the women and children that could crowd into
Lieutenant Creel's two tents, thinking that when the firing commenced they
would be immune. Until eleven o'clock the Indians maintained a bold and
relenting attitude, their guns in hand, they stood immovable not yielding
one inch; during this tense interval when any moment one shot would have
precipitated a bloody fight, Lieutenant Creel remained with the Indians in
their midst, walking quietly up and down their line urging carefulness and
pleading for the lives of their women and children until they finally
surrendered. The Northern Cheyennes as Little Wolf said at Washington in
the winter of 1913, had made him an adopted member of their tribe, and the
history of the Cheyenne nation or people would not be complete without his
name in it, that no white man, an officer in the gallant Seventh Cavalry
had when death was near, stood with the Indians in their midst, and on
their side as he had done, every other white man had left the Indian camp
including William Roland, a half-breed Cheyenne interpreter for these
Indians, saying there was going to be a massacre.

It was certainly a very trying situation. There was not a man of the whole
command who did not admit the justice of the Indian Chief's refusal to
turn over the arms which he had been promised to be allowed to keep as he
would need them in his new location for the purpose of killing game. The
cavalry were ordered to mount and enforce the unjust order. At this point
there occured one of those little incidents that oftentimes raises a man
above his fellows and marks him for all time as one to whom the regard for
justice is paramount above all things, even life itself.

The troops had mounted and were holding themselves in readiness for
further orders, when H. M. Creel, second lieutenant of K troop, indignant
at the injustice of the order, went to the Indians and urged them to
refrain from bringing on an engagement which would prove disasterous to
themselves and cause a massacre of their women and children. As the
lieutenant could speak the Cheyenne tongue fluently, and was familiar with
the customs and habits of the tribe, he received a hearing that was
respectful. He succeeded in bringing about a conciliation by becoming
personally responsible for their firearms and anything else which they
might have that was considered contraband of war. By his course of action
in the matter, he at once won the undying gratitude of the Cheyennes,
which endures to this day, and will continue to do so as long as the
traditions of the Cheyenne are handed down to posterity.


[Illustration: BEN CLARK

Gen. P. H. Sheridan's Chief of Scouts]


The trouble being averted, the escort started on its way again, Ben Clark
guiding them down the river. But the danger was not yet past. General Pope
insisted on the order being carried out in spite of the fact that justice
and decency forbade it. However, he succeeded in having it fulfilled, but
when it was carried into effect there were not enough guns of any value to
arm a corporal's guard. I have always been under the impression that the
Indians during the march from where the trouble arose to the place where
they were disarmed, succeeded in secreting the best of their arms, which
was not very difficult as the soldiers were not too strict in trying to
prevent their doing so as they saw that an injustice was being done to
their charges. I do not know what General Sheridan thought or said when he
learned how his treaty of peace with the Indians had been observed by the
war department, but, I am under the impression, that if one could have
taken a kaleidoscopic view of his thoughts at the time, there would likely
have been a very lurid tint about them.

Once the Indians were disarmed, the work trials of the expedition were
practically at an end. It was a very short march down the North Canadian
to the place of their future abode. Ben Clark saw to it that things were
carried out, as far as possible, to the satisfaction of all.

Nor did Lieutenant Creel leave the wards of the government at once. In
fact he remained with them for a considerable length of time in the
capacity of agent, and the confidence they had in him is shown by the
results of his tenure of office among them. He came to be looked upon as a
father to all of them, to whom they might go to have all wrongs righted,
and their rights preserved. The result of such confidential relationship
between Lieutenant Creel and the Indians is manifest today in the
high-class of citizenship that exists among the wards of the government,
and their advancement in the various pursuits of life according to the
white man's ways.

Creel was the man of the hour. He devoted his time, talents, and energy to
the elevation of the children of the plains. He set out to improve their
educational facilities. He wrote a grammar and a dictionary of the
Cheyenne tongue, of which he had a complete mastery. Also work on the sign
language of the North American Indians. His work in this regard was of
such a high order as to be preserved in the Smithsonian Institute in
Washington, D. C.



CHAPTER XXIX.

Ben Clark; General Creel; Some Observation in Conclusion.


In concluding the little work, I deem it impossible to close without
paying tribute to two men who have done so much in the way of settling the
difficulties of the west, and making it possible for the white settlers to
live in peace and prosperity, freed entirely from the haunting spectre of
an Indian raid. Many have contributed their share to the important work,
and credit must be given them, nevertheless in any undertaking, there are
men who seem by nature to be better adapted to the work than others; so it
was in the closing days of the Indian troubles of the West, when the
Indian had good cause for looking on the white man with suspicion, and the
result as shown in those numerous raids upon the white settlements during
the decade of 1870 and 1880.

In the long array of men who endeavored to bring the difficulties that
disturbed the West to a satisfactory close, we find two who played an
important part within the scope of their opportunities, and the results of
their work are manifest at this date.

Ben Clark was a scout. The term to the ordinary man of affairs does not
mean much, but if one could ask General Sheridan's opinion of the man and
scout, he would place him in the very first rank of all scouts of the
West. He was a man particularly gifted by nature with the endowments
requisite to achieve success in his calling. He seemed to have an uncanny
knowledge of the plains. Like an open book he read her every mood. On his
knowledge of that vast trackless plain depended the success of many an
expedition, and there yet remains no failure to mar the brilliant record
of his achievements. Not only soldiers, but generals placed themselves
unreservedly in his hands and felt safe. He was not a soldier, but no
soldier ever showed greater qualities of generalship than he. Generals
commanded the armies, he commanded the generals and they gladly obeyed
him. Amid all the trials and vicissitudes of his life of hardship, he ever
maintained an evenness of temperament that carried him down to the present
day, to a ripe old age, after more than fifty years of service in the
Army, not a soldier, but as a scout, respected and retaining the
confidence of the men with whom he spent days and years of hardship on the
plains.

Associated with Ben Clark in the later days was one who has risen by dint
of devotion to duty to a very high position in the sphere of military
affairs. I refer to General Creel, as he is now called. Among the many
positions that General Creel has held was that of adjutant general of his
state, North Dakota, where he raised the national guard of his state from
chaos to such a degree of efficiency that the war department after full
inspection and field maneuver of the guard with regulars declared ninety
per cent fit for duty in the field on a par with the regular army. General
Creel on his own request was highly complimented by the governor for his
distinguished services, and retired with the rank of major general as
provided by law. Of his soldierly qualities there is not much need of
making the record here, as it is open to all who wish to consult the
archives of the army. Fighting qualities are expected in a soldier,
otherwise he would be out of place in the ranks, but there are other
qualities that set a man apart from his fellows. Some men have
administrative ability, some diplomacy, others skill in various lines, but
a man must have a special adaptation by nature who can take the rough,
untamed spirits of the plains away from their native heaths, from all that
is dear to them, and at the same time make them love him. Some could do it
by force, but the result would not be lasting, as is instanced in the
case of Dull Knife; others could do it by love of justice and fair play
and convert the savage into a high-class citizen of the state. The latter
was the method used by General Creel, and to show that they have not
forgotten the spirit of fairness that characterized the man, one would but
have to visit the Darlington Agency, Oklahoma, when the general makes a
trip to the scene of his early efforts as an Indian pacifier, and see how
they gather around him and show marks not merely of respect, but of real
affection. To the work of his office he added occupations of his own
choice. He devoted himself to a thorough study of the Cheyenne tongue, and
his efforts resulted in a grammar and dictionary of that language. Not
only is the general an authority on the Cheyenne dialect, but his work on
the sign language is masterly. He is not only a man well versed in Indian
affairs, though that itself would be sufficient for most men, but is one
of the directors of the 1914 Chatauqua institute. One would be inclined to
think that with all the successes that attend his efforts, and the title
of general that he bears, that he would be inclined to be swelled with the
sense of his own importance, but not so. You will not find a more modest
man in the whole range of activity than the general. He is the last man
that you would take to be one of the great geniuses of the West if you
were to estimate him by his general behavior.

In conclusion, much might be written about the complex nature of the
Indian and the trouble he created for the white man during the last half
century. But if the white man were to put himself in the place of the
Indian I doubt if he would act differently. One cannot see an intruder
come into one's domain and lay waste the very foundation of one's
existance without finding that trouble has originated that is likely to be
far reaching. That was the situation. The Indian had been master of the
plains from time immemorial, and like every possessor of territory; he
had no idea of yielding up his home, his life, without a struggle. He had
not admitted the sovereignty of the government when the white man came
among the tribes. Any territorial extension that had been made on the part
of the government was made by treaty, and any one conversant with history
well knows how faithlessly the truces and pacts with the Indians have been
kept. In fact, it is one of the standing disgraces to our country that so
many of the agreements with the original holders of the land have been
broken. It looks as if the principle that "might makes right" were the
only one in vogue when dealing with the Indian. He has not only been
deceived frequently in the past, and treaties with him violated, but he
has also been plundered in ruthless fashion by those whom the government
sent to look after his affairs. Scandal upon scandal has occured among the
agents in charge of the different reservations, with the result that the
Indians not only became disgusted with the treatment they received, but
broke away from their locations and went on the warpath. If the different
tribes that surrendered had been treated with the proper amount of
justice, half or more of the blood-curdling atrocities of the latter part
of the decade of 1870 would not have occured. What was wanted was more men
like General Sheridan, and General Creel, and less of the grafters and
boodlers who looked upon the Indian as lawful prey to be robbed and
pillaged with ruthless abandon.

The government, I have no doubt was willing to do the right thing, but was
frequently unfortunate in the choice of the means adopted. The Quakers who
came upon the scene early in the management of Indian affairs, meant well,
but their peaceful measures were not adapted to the nature and character
of the tribes of the plains. They did not understand the nature of the
Indians who were wont to travel with unrestrained freedom over the vast
plains, living their lives according to their lights and traditions. The
Quaker method of curbing their dauntless spirit was about as effective as
trying to tame a wildcat by saying, "pussy." As I said, they meant well,
did their best, but their efforts caused the Indian to smile on more than
one occasion.

The methods frequently used by the war office to bring the Indians into
subjection did not always meet with the success that the efforts exerted
would warrant. True, it was a novel kind of warfare for civilized men to
undertake, but I do not think that the utmost care was always exercised in
carrying out the different campaigns. There is much to show that there
must have been considerable laxity in different places, as is shown in the
ease with which Dull Knife marched, by, past, and around, different forts
in his way north, and with a mere handful of men set at naught the efforts
of several regiments. There is no question about the willingness of the
private soldier to do his duty, for he was usually found at his post and
fighting to the last ditch, but there were men wearing the garb of
officers who did not exercise the judgment of skilled fighters in handling
a difficult situation, or in following an efficient plan of campaign. All
this naturally tended to give the Indian an opportunity he was looking
for, and the blows he dealt in return were of considerable heft.

The day is coming slowly but surely when the last red man will have
disappeared from the domain wherein he roamed a monarch. He does not seem
to be able to thrive on the white man's mode of life. It may be that the
veneer of civilization that he had acquired in recent years is more of a
restraint than a benefit to him. The vices of the white man have had their
effect upon him also. Whatever the causes, the race seems to be doomed to
extinction, the buffalo and the Indian seemed to be an essential part of
the plains. The buffalo is practically only a memory, and the red man is
following his trail toward the setting sun, soon to disappear over the
horizon of time.



AFTERWORD


Before taking leave of my readers, I cannot refrain from expressing the
appreciation I feel for the assistance I have received from numerous
reliable sources. The best authority for an account of any happening is
the chief actor in the drama, and this is undoubtedly true when the
authors themselves are men of integrity, reliability, modesty and truth.
Men of this type necessarily leave the impression of truthfulness and
reliability, on any narration of events they may make. Such men I have
consulted in my work to guarantee the authenticity and veracity of my
narrative. I take a great pleasure in acknowledging my indebtedness to
General H. M. Creel, Ben Clark and Mr. John Murphy. Others who have
assisted me in compiling the preceeding chapters, I have mentioned in
various parts of the book, but those I enumerate here, have assisted me in
a special manner and I feel it a duty to thank them abundantly for their
favor in directing me in setting down the correct narrative of events
described. As these gentlemen are still living, it is a very easy matter
for any one to consult them in regard to the historical events of the
preceeding chapters, but any one who knows the character of these
gentlemen will deem it sufficient that they have placed the stamp of their
approval on the pages of the preceeding work.

To my wife, who so faithfully kept the light in the window as a beacon to
insure my safe return, this little volume is most respectfully dedicated.

THE AUTHOR.





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