CHAPTER IV
I soon became better acquainted with Dr. Webb, through whose agency our
town of Rome had fallen almost overnight. We visited him often in Hays,
and eventually he presented my partner Rose and myself each with two
lots in the new town.
Webb frequently accompanied me on buffalo-hunting excursions; and
before he had been on the prairie a year there were few men who could
kill more buffalo than he.
Once, when I was riding Brigham, and Webb was mounted on a splendid
thoroughbred bay, we discovered a band of Indians about two miles
distant, maneuvering so as to get between us and the town. A gallop of
three miles brought us between them and home; but by that time they had
come within three-quarters of a mile of us. We stopped to wave our
hands at them, and fired a few shots at long range. But as there were
thirteen in the party, and they were getting a little too close, we
turned and struck out for Hays. They sent some scattering shots in
pursuit, then wheeled and rode off toward the Saline River.
When there were no buffalo to hunt I tried the experiment of hitching
Brigham to one of our railroad scrapers, but he was not gaited for that
sort of work. I had about given up the idea of extending his usefulness
to railroading when news came that buffaloes were coming over the hill.
There had been none in the vicinity for some time. As a consequence,
meat was scarce.
I took the harness from Brigham, mounted him bareback and started after
the game, being armed with my new buffalo killer which I had named
"Lucretia Borgia," an improved breech-loading needle-gun which I had
obtained from the Government.
As I was riding toward the buffaloes I observed five men coming from
the fort. They, too, had seen the herd and had come to join the chase.
As I neared them I saw that they were officers, newly arrived at the
fort, a captain and four lieutenants.
"Hello, my friend!" sang out the captain as they came up. "I see you
are after the same game we are."
"Yes, sir," I returned. "I saw those buffaloes coming. We are out of
fresh meat, so I thought I would get some."
The captain eyed my cheap-looking outfit closely. Brigham, though the
best buffalo horse in the West, was decidedly unprepossessing in
appearance.
"Do you expect to catch any buffaloes on that Gothic steed!" asked the
captain, with a laugh.
"I hope so."
"You'll never catch them in the world, my fine fellow. It requires a
fast horse to overtake those animals."
"Does it?" I asked innocently.
"Yes. But come along with us. We're going to kill them more for the
sport than anything else. After we take the tongues and a piece of the
tenderloin, you may have what is left."
Eleven animals were in the herd, which was about a mile distant. I
noticed they were making toward the creek for water. I knew buffalo
nature, and was aware that it would be difficult to turn them from
their course. I therefore started toward the creek to head them off,
while the officers dashed madly up behind them.
The herd came rushing up past me, not a hundred yards distant, while
their pursuers followed, three hundred yards in the rear.
"Now," thought I, "is the time to get in my work." I pulled the blind
bridle from Brigham, who knew as well as I did what was expected of
him. The moment he was free of the bridle he set out at top speed,
running in ahead of the officers. In a few jumps he brought me
alongside the rear buffalo. Raising old "Lucretia Borgia," I killed the
animal with one shot. On went Brigham to the next buffalo, ten feet
farther along, and another was disposed of. As fast as one animal would
fall, Brigham would pass to the next, getting so close that I could
almost touch it with my gun. In this fashion I killed eleven buffaloes
with twelve shots.
As the last one dropped my horse stopped. I jumped to the ground.
Turning round to the astonished officers, who had by this time caught
up, I said:
"Now, gentlemen, allow me to present you with all the tongues and
tenderloins from these animals that you want."
Captain Graham, who, I soon learned, was the senior officer, gasped.
"Well, I never saw the like before! Who are you, anyway?"
"My name is Cody," I said.
Lieutenant Thompson, one of the party, who had met me at Fort Harker,
cried out: "Why, that is Bill Cody, our old scout." He introduced me to
his comrades, Captain Graham and Lieutenants Reed, Emmick, and Ezekial.
Graham, something of a horseman himself, greatly admired Brigham. "That
horse of yours has running points," he admitted.
The officers were a little sore at not getting a single shot; but the
way I had killed the buffaloes, they said, amply repaid them for their
disappointment. It was the first time they had ever seen or heard of a
white man running buffaloes without either saddle or bridle.
I told them Brigham knew nearly as much about the business as I did. He
was a wonderful horse. If the buffalo did not fall at the first shot he
would stop to give me a second chance; but if, on the second shot, I
did not kill the game, he would go on impatiently as if to say: "I
can't fool away my time by giving you more than two shots!"
Captain Graham told me that he would be stationed at Fort Hays during
the summer. In the event of his being sent out on a scouting expedition
he wanted me as scout and guide. I said that although I was very busy
with my railroad contract I would be glad to go with him.
That night the Indians unexpectedly raided our horses, and ran off five
or six of the best work-teams. At daylight I jumped on Brigham, rode to
Fort Hays, and reported the raid to the commanding officer. Captain
Graham and Lieutenant Emmick were ordered out with their company of one
hundred colored troops. In an hour we were under way. The darkies had
never been in an Indian fight and were anxious to "sweep de red debbils
off de face ob de earth." Graham was a dashing officer, eager to make a
record, and it was with difficulty that I could trail fast enough to
keep out of the way of the impatient soldiers. Every few moments the
captain would ride up to see if the trail was freshening, and to ask
how soon we would overtake the marauders.
At the Saline River we found the Indians had stopped only to graze and
water the animals and had pushed on toward Solomon. After crossing the
river they made no effort to conceal their trail, thinking they were
safe from pursuit. We reached Solomon at sunset. Requesting Captain
Graham to keep his command where it was, I went ahead to try to locate
the redmen.
Riding down a ravine that led to the river, I left my horse, and,
creeping uphill, looked cautiously over the summit upon Solomon. In
plain sight, not a mile away, was a herd of horses grazing, among them
the animals which had been stolen from us. Presently I made out the
Indian camp, noted its "lay," and calculated how best we could approach
it.
Graham's eyes danced with excitement when I reported the prospect of an
immediate encounter. We decided to wait until the moon rose, and then
make a sudden dash, taking the redskins by surprise.
We thought we had everything cut and dried, but alas! just as we were
nearing the point where we were to take the open ground and make our
charge, one of the colored gentlemen became so excited that he fired
his gun.
We began the charge immediately, but the warning had been sounded. The
Indians at once sprang to their horses, and were away before we reached
their camp. Captain Graham shouted, "Follow me, boys!" and follow him
we did, but in the darkness the Indians made good their escape. The
bugle sounded the recall, but some of the darkies did not get back to
camp until the next morning, having, in their fright, allowed the
horses to run wherever it suited them to go.
We followed the trail awhile the next day, but it became evident that
it would be a long chase, and as we were short of rations we started
back to camp. Captain Graham was bitterly disappointed at being cheated
out of a fight that seemed at hand. He roundly cursed the darky who bad
given, the warning with his gun. That gentleman, as a punishment, was
compelled to walk all the way back to Fort Hays.
The western end of the Kansas Pacific was at this time in the heart of
the buffalo country. Twelve hundred men were employed in the
construction of the road. The Indians were very troublesome, and it was
difficult to obtain fresh meat for the hands. The company therefore
concluded to engage expert hunters to kill buffaloes.
Having heard of my experience and success as a buffalo hunter, Goddard
Brothers, who had the contract for feeding the men, made me a good
offer to become their hunter. They said they would require about twelve
buffaloes a day--twenty-four hams and twelve humps, as only the hump
and hindquarters of each animal were utilized. The work was dangerous.
Indians were riding all over that section of the country, and my duties
would require me to journey from five to ten miles from the railroad
every day in order to secure the game, accompanied by only one man with
a light wagon to haul the meat back to camp. I demanded a large salary,
which they could well afford to pay, as the meat itself would cost them
nothing. Under the terms of the contract which I signed with them, I
was to receive five hundred dollars a month, agreeing on my part to
supply them with all the meat they wanted.
Leaving Rose to complete our grading contract, I at once began my
career as a buffalo hunter for the Kansas Pacific. It was not long
before I acquired a considerable reputation, and it was at this time
that the title "Buffalo Bill" was conferred upon me by the railroad
hands. Of this title, which has stuck to me through life, I have never
been ashamed.
During my engagement as hunter for the company, which covered a period
of eighteen months, I killed 4,280 buffaloes and had many exciting
adventures with the Indians, including a number of hairbreadth escapes,
some of which are well worth relating.
One day, in the spring of 1868, I mounted Brigham and started for Smoky
Hill River. After a gallop of twenty miles I reached the top of a small
hill overlooking that beautiful stream. Gazing out over the landscape,
I saw a band of about thirty Indians some half-mile distant. I knew by
the way they jumped on their horses they had seen me as soon as I saw
them.
My one chance for my life was to run. I wheeled my horse and started
for the railroad. Brigham struck out as if he comprehended that this
was a life-or-death matter. On reaching the next ridge I looked around
and saw the Indians, evidently well mounted, and coming for me full
speed. Brigham put his whole strength into the flight, and for a few
minutes did some of the prettiest running I ever saw. But the Indians
had nearly as good mounts as he, and one of their horses in particular,
a spotted animal, gained on me steadily.
Occasionally the brave who was riding this fleet horse would send a
bullet whistling after me. Soon they began to strike too near for
comfort. The other Indians were strung out along behind, and could do
no immediate damage. But I saw that the fellow in the lead must be
checked, or a stray bullet might hit me or the horse. Suddenly stopping
Brigham, therefore, I raised old "Lucretia" to my shoulder and took
deliberate aim, hoping to hit either the horse or the rider. He was not
eighty yards behind me. At the crack of the rifle down went the horse.
Not waiting to see if he regained his feet, Brigham and I went fairly
flying toward our destination. We had urgent business just then and
were in a hurry to attend to it.
The other Indians had gained while I stopped to drop the leader. A
volley of shots whizzed past me. Fortunately none of them hit. Now and
then, to return the compliment, I wheeled and fired. One of my shots
broke the leg of one of my pursuers' mounts.
But seven or eight Indians now remained in dangerous proximity to me.
As their horses were beginning to lag, I checked Brigham to give him an
opportunity to get a few extra breaths. I had determined that if the
worst came to the worst I would drop into a buffalo wallow, where I
might possibly stand off my pursuers. I was not compelled to do this,
for Brigham carried me through nobly.
When we came within three miles of the railroad track, where two
companies of soldiers were stationed, one of the outposts gave the
alarm. In a few minutes, to my great delight, I saw men on foot and on
horseback hurrying to the rescue. The Indians quickly turned and
galloped away as fast as they had come. When I reached my friends, I
turned Brigham over to them. He was led away and given the care and
rub-down that he richly deserved.
Captain Nolan of the Tenth Cavalry now came up with forty men, and on
hearing my account of what had happened determined to pursue the
Indians. I was given a cavalry horse for a remount and we were off.
Our horses were all fresh and excellent stock. We soon began shortening
the distance between ourselves and the fugitives. Before they had fled
five miles we overtook them and killed eight of their number. The
others succeeded in making their escape. Upon coming to the place where
I had dropped the spotted horse that carried the leader of my pursuers
I found that my bullet had struck him in the forehead, killing him
instantly. He was a fine animal, and should have been engaged in better
business.
On our return we found old Brigham grazing contentedly. He looked up
inquiring, as if to ask if we had punished the redskins who pursued us.
I think he read the answer in my eyes.
Another adventure which deserves a place in these reminiscences
occurred near the Saline River. My companion at the time was Scotty,
the butcher who accompanied me on my hunts, to cut up the meat and load
it on the wagon for hauling to the railroad camp.
I had killed fifteen buffaloes, and we were on our way home with a
wagonload of meat when we were jumped by a big band of Indians.
[Illustration: WINNING MY NAME--"BUFFALO BILL"]
I was mounted on a splendid horse belonging to the company, and could
easily have made my escape, but Scotty had only the mule team, which
drew the wagon as a means of flight, and of course I could not leave
him.
To think was to act in those days. Scotty and I had often talked of
what we would do in case of a sudden attack, and we forthwith proceeded
to carry out the plan we had made.
Jumping to the ground, we unhitched the mules more quickly than that
operation had ever been performed before. The mules and my horse we
tied to the wagon. We threw the buffalo hams on the ground and piled
them about the wheels so as to form a breastwork. Then, with an extra
box of ammunition and three or four extra revolvers which we always
carried with us, we crept under the wagon, prepared to give our
visitors a reception they would remember.
On came the Indians, pell-mell, but when they got within a hundred
yards of us we opened such a sudden and galling fire that they held up
and began circling about us.
Several times they charged. Their shots killed the two mules and my
horse. But we gave it to them right and left, and had the satisfaction
of seeing three of them fall to the ground not more than fifty feet
away.
When we had been cooped up in our little fort for about an hour we saw
the cavalry coming toward us, full gallop, over the prairie. The
Indians saw the soldiers almost as soon as we did. Mounting their
horses, they disappeared down the canon of the creek. When the cavalry
arrived we had the satisfaction of showing them five Indians who would
be "good" for all time. Two hours later we reached the camp with our
meat, which we found to be all right, although it had a few bullets and
arrows imbedded in it.
It was while I was hunting for the railroad that I became acquainted
with Kit Carson, one of the most noted of the guides, scouts, and
hunters that the West ever produced. He was going through our country
on his way to Washington. I met him again on his return, and he was my
guest for a few days in Hays City. He then proceeded to Fort Lyon,
Colorado, near which his son-in-law, Mr. Boggs, resided. His health had
been failing for some time, and shortly afterward he died at Mr.
Boggs's residence on Picket Wire Creek.
Soon after the adventure with Scotty I had my celebrated buffalo
shooting contest with Billy Comstock, a well-known guide, scout, and
interpreter. Comstock, who was chief of scouts at Fort Wallace, had a
reputation of being a successful buffalo hunter, and his friends at the
fort--the officers in particular--were anxious to back him against me.
It was arranged that I should shoot a match with him, and the
preliminaries were easily and satisfactorily arranged. We were to hunt
one day of eight hours, beginning at eight o'clock in the morning. The
wager was five hundred dollars a side, and the man who should kill the
greater number of buffaloes from horseback was to be declared the
winner. Incidentally my title of "Buffalo Bill" was at stake.
The hunt took place twenty miles east of Sheridan. It had been well
advertised, and there was a big "gallery." An excursion party, whose
members came chiefly from St. Louis and numbered nearly a hundred
ladies and gentlemen, came on a special train to view the sport. Among
them was my wife and my little daughter Arta, who had come to visit me
for a time.
Buffaloes were plentiful. It had been agreed that we should go into the
herd at the same time and make our "runs," each man killing as many
animals as possible. A referee followed each of us, horseback, and
counted the buffaloes killed by each man. The excursionists and other
spectators rode out to the hunting-grounds in wagons and on horseback,
keeping well out of sight of the buffaloes, so as not to frighten them
until the time came for us to dash into the herd. They were permitted
to approach closely enough to see what was going on.
For the first "run" we were fortunate in getting good ground. Comstock
was mounted on his favorite horse. I rode old Brigham. I felt confident
that I had the advantage in two things: first, I had the best buffalo
horse in the country; second, I was using what was known at the time as
a needle-gun, a breech-loading Springfield rifle, caliber .50. This was
"Lucretia," the weapon of which I have already told you. Comstock's
Henry rifle, though it could fire more rapidly than mine, did not, I
felt certain, carry powder and lead enough to equal my weapon in
execution.
When the time came to go into the herd, Comstock and I dashed forward,
followed by the referees. The animals separated. Comstock took the left
bunch, I the right. My great forte in killing buffaloes was to get them
circling by riding my horse at the head of the herd and shooting their
leaders. Thus the brutes behind were crowded to the left, so that they
were soon going round and round.
This particular morning the animals were very accommodating. I soon had
them running in a beautiful circle. I dropped them thick and fast till
I had killed thirty-eight, which finished my "run."
Comstock began shooting at the rear of the buffaloes he was chasing,
and they kept on in a straight line. He succeeded in killing
twenty-three, but they were scattered over a distance of three miles.
The animals I had shot lay close together.
Our St. Louis friends set out champagne when the result of the first
run was announced. It proved a good drink on a Kansas prairie, and a
buffalo hunter proved an excellent man to dispose of it.
While we were resting we espied another herd approaching. It was a
small drove, but we prepared to make it serve our purpose. The
buffaloes were cows and calves, quicker in their movements than the
bulls. We charged in among them, and I got eighteen to Comstock's
fourteen.
Again the spectators approached, and once more the champagne went
round. After a luncheon we resumed the hunt. Three miles distant we saw
another herd. I was so far ahead of my competitor now that I thought I
could afford to give an exhibition of my skill. Leaving my saddle and
bridle behind, I rode, with my competitor, to windward of the
buffaloes.
I soon had thirteen down, the last one of which I had driven close to
the wagons, where the ladies were watching the contest. It frightened
some of the tender creatures to see a buffalo coming at full speed
directly toward them, but I dropped him in his tracks before he had got
within fifty yards of the wagon. This finished my "run" with a score of
sixty-nine buffaloes for the day. Comstock had killed forty-six.
It was now late in the afternoon. Comstock and his backers gave up the
idea of beating me. The referee declared me the winner of the match,
and the champion buffalo hunter of the Plains.
On our return to camp we brought with us the best bits of meat, as well
as the biggest and best buffalo heads. The heads I always turned over
to the company, which found a very good use for them. They were mounted
in the finest possible manner and sent to the principal cities along
the road, as well as to the railroad centers of the country. Here they
were prominently placed at the leading hotels and in the stations,
where they made an excellent advertisement for the road Today they
attract the attention of travelers almost everywhere. Often, while
touring the country, I see one of them, and feel reasonably certain
that I brought down the animal it once ornamented. Many a wild and
exciting hunt is thus called to my mind.
In May, 1868, the Kansas Pacific track was pushed as far as Sheridan.
Construction was abandoned for the time, and my services as buffalo
hunter were no longer required. A general Indian war was now raging all
along the Western borders. General Sheridan had taken up headquarters
at Fort Hays, in order to be on the job in person. Scouts and guides
were once more in great demand, and I decided to go back to my old
calling.
I did not wish to kill my faithful old Brigham by the rigors of a
scouting campaign. I had no suitable place to leave him, and determined
to dispose of him. At the suggestion of a number of friends, all of
whom wanted him, I put him up at a raffle, selling ten chances at
thirty dollars each, which were all quickly taken. Ike Bonham, who won
him, took him to Wyandotte, Kansas, where he soon added fresh laurels
to his already shining wreath. In the crowning event of a tournament he
easily outdistanced all entries in a four-mile race to Wyandotte,
winning $250 for his owner, who had been laughed at for entering such
an unprepossessing animal.
I lost track of him after that. For several years I did not know what
had become of him. But many years after, while in Memphis, I met Mr.
Wilcox, who had once been superintendent of construction on the Kansas
Pacific. He informed me that he owned Brigham, and I rode out to his
place to take a look at my gallant old friend. He seemed to remember
me, as I put my arms about his neck and caressed him like a long-lost
child.
When I had received my appointment as guide and scout I was ordered to
report to the commandant of Fort Larned, Captain Daingerfield Parker. I
knew that it would be necessary to take my family, who had been with me
at Sheridan, to Leavenworth and leave them there. This I did at once.
When I arrived at Larned, I found the scouts under command of Dick
Curtis, an old-time scout of whom I have spoken in these reminiscences.
Three hundred lodges of Kiowa and Comanche Indians were encamped near
the fort. These savages had not yet gone on the warpath, but they were
restless and discontented. Their leading chief and other warriors were
becoming sullen and insolent. The Post was garrisoned by only two
companies of infantry and one troop of cavalry. General Hazen, who was
at the post, was endeavoring to pacify the Indians; I was appointed as
his special scout.
Early one morning in August I accompanied him to Fort Zarrah, from
which post he proceeded, without an escort, to Fort Harker.
Instructions were left that the escort with me should return to Larned
the next day. After he had gone I went to the sergeant in command of
the squad and informed him I intended to return that afternoon. I
saddled my mule and set out. All went well till I got about halfway
between the two posts, when at Pawnee Rock I was suddenly jumped by at
least forty Indians, who came rushing up, extending their hands and
saying, "How?" "How?" These redskins had been hanging about Fort Larned
that morning. I saw that they had on their warpaint, and looked for
trouble.
As they seemed desirous to shake hands, however, I obeyed my first
friendly impulse, and held out my hand. One of them seized it with a
tight grip and jerked me violently forward. Another grabbed my mule by
the bridle. In a few minutes I was completely surrounded.
Before I could do anything at all in my defense, they had taken my
revolvers from the holsters and I received a blow on the head from a
tomahawk which rendered me nearly senseless. My gun, which was lying
across the saddle, was snatched from its place. Finally two Indians,
laying hold of the bridle, started off in the direction of the Arkansas
River, leading the mule, which was lashed by the other Indians who
followed along after.
The whole crowd was whooping, singing, and yelling as only Indians can.
Looking toward the opposite side of the river, I saw the people of a
big village moving along the bank, and made up my mind that the redmen
had left the Post, and were on the warpath in dead earnest.
My captors crossed the stream with me, and as we waded through the
shallow water they lashed both the mule and me. Soon they brought me
before an important-looking body of Indians, who proved to be the
chiefs and principal warriors. Among them I recognized, old Satanta and
others whom I knew. I supposed that all was over with me.
All at once Satanta asked me where I had been, and I suddenly had an
inspiration.
I said I had been after a herd of cattle or "Whoa-haws" as they called
them. The Indians had been out of meat for several weeks, and a large
herd of cattle which had been promised them had not arrived.
As soon as I said I had been after "Whoa-haws" old Satanta began
questioning me closely. When he asked where the cattle were I replied
that they were only a few miles distant and that I had been sent by
General Hazen to inform him that the herd was coming, and that they
were intended for his people. This seemed to please the old rascal. He
asked if there were any soldiers with the herd. I said there were.
Thereupon the chiefs held a consultation. Presently Satanta asked me if
the general had really said they were to have the cattle. I assured him
that he had. I followed this by a dignified inquiry as to why his young
men had treated me so roughly.
He intimated that this was only a boyish freak, for which he was very
sorry. The young men had merely wanted to test my courage. The whole
thing, he said, was a joke. The old liar was now beating me at the
lying game, but I did not care, since I was getting the best of it.
I did not let him suspect that I doubted his word. He ordered the young
men to restore my arms and reprimanded them for their conduct. He was
playing a crafty game, for he preferred to get the meat without
fighting if possible, and my story that soldiers were coming had given
him food for reflection. After another council the old man asked me if
I would go and bring the cattle down. "Of course," I told him. "Such
are my instructions from General Hazen."
In response to an inquiry if I wanted any of his young men to accompany
me I said that it would be best to go alone. Wheeling my mule around, I
was soon across the river, leaving the chief firmly believing that I
was really going for the cattle, which existed only in my imagination.
I knew if I could get the river between me and the Indians I would have
a good three-quarters of a mile start of them and could make a run for
Fort Larned. But as I reached the river bank I looked about and saw ten
or fifteen Indians who had begun to suspect that all was not as it
should be.
The moment my mule secured a good foothold on the bank I urged him into
a gentle lope toward the place where, according to my story, the cattle
were to be brought.
Upon reaching the top of the ridge and riding down the other side out
of view, I turned my mount and headed westward for Fort Larned. I let
him out for all he was worth, and when I reached a little rise and
looked back the Indian village lay in plain sight.
My pursuers were by this time on the ridge I had passed over, and were
looking for me in every direction. Soon they discovered me, and
discovered also that I was running away. They struck out in swift
pursuit. In a few minutes it became painfully evident that they were
gaining.
When I crossed Pawnee Fork, two miles from the Post, two or three of
them were but a quarter of a mile behind. As I gained the opposite side
of the creek I was overjoyed to see some soldiers in a Government wagon
a short distance away. I yelled at the top of my lungs that the Indians
were after me.
When Denver Jim, an old scout, who was with the party, was informed
that there were ten or fifteen Indians in the pursuit he said:
"Let's lay for them."
The wagon was driven hurriedly in among the trees and low box-elder
bushes, and secreted, while we waited. We did not wait long. Soon up
came the Indians, lashing their horses, which were blowing and panting.
We let two of them pass, then opened a lively fire on the next three or
four, killing two at the first volley. The others discovering that they
had run into an ambush, whirled around and ran back in the direction
from which they had come. The two who had passed heard the firing and
made their escape.
The Indians that were killed were scalped, and we appropriated their
arms and equipment. Then, after catching the horses, we made our way
into the Post. The soldiers had heard us firing, and as we entered the
fort drums were beating and the buglers were sounding the call to fall
in. The officers had thought Satanta and his warriors were coming in to
capture the fort.
That very morning, two hours after General Hazen had left, the old
chief drove into the Post in an ambulance which he had received some
months before from the Government. He seemed angry and bent on
mischief. In an interview with Captain Parker, the ranking officer, he
asked why General Hazen had left the fort without supplying him with
beef cattle. The captain said the cattle were then on the road, but
could not explain why they were delayed.
The chief made numerous threats. He said that if he wanted to he could
capture the whole Post. Captain Parker, who was a brave man, gave him
to understand that he was reckoning beyond his powers. Satanta finally
left in anger. Going to the sutler's store, he sold his ambulance to
the post-trader, and a part of the proceeds he secretly invested in
whisky, which could always be secured by the Indians from rascally men
about a Post, notwithstanding the military and civil laws.
He then mounted his horse and rode rapidly to his village. He returned
in an hour with seven or eight hundred of his warriors, and it looked
as if he intended to carry out his threat of capturing the fort. The
garrison at once turned out. The redskins, when within a half mile,
began circling around the fort, firing several shots into it.
While this circling movement was taking place, the soldiers observed
that the whole village had packed up and was on the move. The mounted
warriors remained behind some little time, to give their families an
opportunity to get away. At last they circled the Post several times
more, fired a few parting shots, and then galloped over the prairie to
overtake the fast-departing village. On their way they surprised and
killed a party of woodchoppers on Pawnee Fork, as well as a party of
herders guarding beef cattle.
The soldiers with the wagon I had opportunely met at the crossing had
been out looking for the bodies of these victims, seven or eight in
all. Under the circumstances it was not surprising that the report of
our guns should have persuaded the garrison that Satanta's men were
coming back to make their threatened assault.
There was much excitement at the Post. The guards had been doubled.
Captain Parker had all the scouts at his headquarters. He was seeking
to get one of them to take dispatches to General Sheridan at Fort Hays.
I reported to him at once, telling him of my encounter and my escape.
"You were lucky to think of that cattle story, Cody," he said. "But for
that little game your scalp would now be ornamenting a Kiowa lodge."
"Cody," put in Dick Curtis, "the captain is trying to get somebody to
take dispatches to General Sheridan. None of the scouts here seem
willing to undertake the trip. They say they are not well enough
acquainted with the country to find the way at night."
A storm was coming up, and it was sure to be a dark night. Not only did
the scouts fear they would lose the way, but, with hostile Indians all
about, the undertaking was exceedingly dangerous. A large party of
redskins was known to be encamped at Walnut Creek, on the direct road
to Fort Hays.
Observing that Curtis was obviously trying to induce me to volunteer, I
made an evasive answer. I was wearied from my long day's ride, and the
beating I received from the Indians had not rested me any. But Curtis
was persistent. He said:
"I wish you were not so tired, Bill. You know the country better than
the rest of us. I'm certain you could go through."
"As far as the ride is concerned," I said, "that would not matter. But
this is risky business just now, with the country full of hostile
Indians. Still, if no other man will volunteer I will chance it,
provided I am supplied with a good horse. I am tired of dodging Indians
on a Government mule."
At this, Captain Nolan, who had been listening, said:
"Bill, you can have the best horse in my company."
I picked the horse ridden by Captain Nolan's first sergeant. To the
captain's inquiry as to whether I was sure I could find my way, I
replied:
"I have hunted on every acre of ground between here and Fort Hays. I
can almost keep my route by the bones of the dead buffaloes."
"Never fear about Cody, captain," Curtis added; "he is as good in the
dark as he is in the daylight."
By ten o'clock that night I was on my way to Fort Hays, sixty-five
miles distant across the country.
It was pitch-dark, but this I liked, as it lessened the probability of
the Indians' seeing me unless I stumbled on them by accident. My
greatest danger was that my horse might run into a hole and fall, and
in this way get away from me. To avoid any such accident I tied one end
of my rawhide lariat to my belt and the other to the bridle. I did not
propose to be left alone, on foot, on that prairie.
Before I had traveled three miles the horse, sure enough, stepped into
a prairie dog's hole. Down he went, throwing me over his head. He
sprang to his feet before I could catch the bridle, and galloped away
into the darkness. But when he reached the end of his lariat he
discovered that he was picketed to Bison William. I brought him up
standing, recovered my gun, which had fallen to the ground, and was
soon in the saddle again.
Twenty-five miles from Fort Larned the country became rougher, and I
had to travel more carefully. Also I proceeded as quietly as possible,
for I knew I was in the vicinity of the Indians who had been lately
encamped on Walnut Creek. But when I came up near the creek I
unexpectedly rode in among a herd of horses. The animals became
frightened, and ran off in all directions. Without pausing to make any
apology, I backed out as quickly as possible. But just at that minute a
dog, not fifty yards away, set up a howl. Soon I heard Indians talking.
They had been guarding the horses, and had heard the hoofbeats of my
horse. In an instant they were on their ponies and after me.
I urged my mount to full speed up the creek bottom, taking chances of
his falling into a hole. The Indians followed me as fast as they could,
but I soon outdistanced them.
I struck the old Santa Fe trail ten miles from Fort Hays just at
daybreak. Shortly after reveille I rode into the post, where Colonel
Moore, to whom I reported, asked for the dispatches from Captain Parker
for General Sheridan. He asked me to give them into his hands, but I
said I preferred to hand them to the general in person. Sheridan, who
was sleeping in the same building, heard our voices and bade me come
into his room.
"Hello, Cody!" he said. "Is that you?"
"Yes, sir," I said. "I have dispatches for you."
He read them hurriedly, told me they were very important, and asked all
about the outbreak of the Kiowas and Comanches. I gave him all the
information I possessed.
"Bill," said General Sheridan, "you've had a pretty lively ride. I
suppose you're tired after your long journey."
"Not very," I said.
"Come in and have breakfast with me."
"No, thank you. Hays City is only a mile from here. I know every one
there and want to go over and have a time."
"Very well, do as you please, but come back this afternoon, for I want
to see you."
I got little rest at Hays City, and yet I was soon to set out on
another hard ninety-five-mile journey.
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