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twg_000000052500 | the premises; then going to the pasture, they drove off all the horses; my pony Prince afterward succeeding in breaking away from them and came back home. Father lay secreted in the corn-field for three days, as there were men in the vicinity who were watching for him all the time; he finally made his escape, and reached Fort Leavenworth | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052501 | in safety, whither the pro-slavery men did not dare to follow him. While he was staying at Fort Leavenworth, he heard that Jim Lane, Captain Cleveland and Captain Chandler were on their way from Indiana to Kansas with a body of Free State men, between two and three hundred strong. They were to cross the Missouri river near Doniphan, between | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052502 | Leavenworth and Nebraska City; their destination being Lawrence. Father determined to join them, and took passage on a steamboat which was going up the river. Having reached the place of crossing, he made himself known to the leaders of the party, by whom he was most cordially received. The pro-slavery men, hearing of the approach of the Free State party, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052503 | resolved to drive them out of the territory. The two parties met at Hickory Point, where a severe battle was fought, several being killed; the victory resulted in favor of the Free State men, who passed on to Lawrence without much further opposition. My father finally left them, and seeing that he could no longer live at home, went to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052504 | Grasshopper Falls, thirty-five miles west of Leavenworth; there he began the erection of a saw-mill. While he was thus engaged we learned from one of our hired workmen at home, that the pro-slavery men had laid another plan to kill him, and were on their way to Grasshopper Falls to carry out their intention. Mother at once started me off | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052505 | on Prince to warn father of the coming danger. When I had gone about seven miles I suddenly came upon a party of men, who were camped at the crossing of Stranger Creek. As I passed along I heard one of them, who recognized me, say, "That's the son of the old abolitionist we are after;" and the next moment | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052506 | I was commanded to halt. [Illustration: LIFE OR DEATH.] Instead of stopping I instantly started my pony on a run, and on looking back I saw that I was being pursued by three or four of the party, who had mounted their horses, no doubt supposing that they could easily capture me. It was very fortunate that I had heard | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052507 | the remark about my being "the son of the abolitionist," for then I knew in an instant that they were _en route_ to Grasshopper Falls to murder my father. I at once saw the importance of my escaping and warning father in time. It was a matter of life or death to him. So I urged Prince to his utmost | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052508 | speed, feeling that upon him and myself depended a human life--a life that was dearer to me than that of any other man in the world. I led my pursuers a lively chase for four or five miles; finally, when they saw they could not catch me, they returned to their camp. I kept straight on to Grasshopper Falls, arriving | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052509 | there in ample time to inform him of the approach of his old enemies. That same night father and I rode to Lawrence, which had become the headquarters of the Free State men. There he met Jim Lane and several other leading characters, who were then organizing what was known as the Lecompton Legislature. Father was elected as a member | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052510 | of that body, and took an active part in organizing the first legislature of Kansas, under Governor Reeder, who, by the way, was a Free State man and a great friend of father's. About this time agents were being sent to the East to induce emigrants to locate in Kansas, and father was sent as one of these agents to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052511 | Ohio. After the legislature had been organized at Lawrence, he departed for Ohio and was absent several months. A few days after he had gone, I started for home by the way of Fort Leavenworth, accompanied by two men, who were going to the fort on business. As we were crossing a stream called Little Stranger, we were fired upon | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052512 | by some unknown party; one of my companions, whose name has escaped my memory, was killed. The other man and myself put spurs to our horses and made a dash for our lives. We succeeded in making our escape, though a farewell shot or two was sent after us. At Fort Leavenworth I parted company with my companion, and reached | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052513 | home without any further adventure. My mother and sisters, who had not heard of my father or myself since I had been sent to warn him of his danger, had become very anxious and uneasy about us, and were uncertain as to whether we were dead or alive. I received a warm welcome home, and as I entered the house, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052514 | mother seemed to read from the expression of my countenance that father was safe; of course the very first question she asked was as to his whereabouts, and in reply I handed her a long letter from him which explained everything. Mother blessed me again and again for having saved his life. While father was absent in Ohio, we were | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052515 | almost daily visited by some of the pro-slavery men, who helped themselves to anything they saw fit, and frequently compelled my mother and sisters to cook for them, and to otherwise submit to a great deal of bad treatment. Hardly a day passed without some of them inquiring "where the old man was," saying they would kill him on sight. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052516 | Thus we passed the summer of , remaining at our home notwithstanding the unpleasant surroundings, as mother had made up her mind not to be driven out of the country. My uncle and other friends advised her to leave Kansas and move to Missouri, because they did not consider our lives safe, as we lived so near the headquarters of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052517 | the pro-slavery men, who had sworn vengeance upon father. Nothing, however, could persuade mother to change her determination. She said that the pro-slavery men had taken everything except the land and the little home, and she proposed to remain there as long as she lived, happen what might. Our only friends in Salt Creek valley were two families; one named | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052518 | Lawrence, the other Hathaway, and the peaceable Indians, who occasionally visited us. My uncle, living in Missouri and being somewhat in fear of the pro-slavery men, could not assist us much, beyond expressing his sympathy and sending us provisions. In the winter of - father returned from Ohio, but as soon as his old enemies learned that he was with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052519 | us, they again compelled him to leave. He proceeded to Lawrence, and there spent the winter in attending the Lecompton Legislature. The remainder of the year he passed mostly at Grasshopper Falls, where he completed his saw-mill. He occasionally visited home under cover of the night, and in the most secret manner; virtually carrying his life in his hand. In | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052520 | the spring of this year () a pro-slavery party came to our house to search for father; not finding him, they departed, taking with them my pony, Prince. I shall never forget the man who stole that pony. He afterwards rose from the low level of a horse thief to the high dignity of a justice of the peace, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052521 | I think still lives at Kickapoo. The loss of my faithful pony nearly broke my heart and bankrupted me in business, as I had nothing to ride. One day, soon afterwards, I met my old friend, Mr. Russell, to whom I related all my troubles, and his generous heart was touched by my story. "Billy, my boy," said he, "cheer | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052522 | up, and come to Leavenworth, and I'll employ you. I'll give you twenty-five dollars a month to herd cattle." I accepted the offer, and heartily thanking him, hurried home to obtain mother's consent. She refused to let me go, and all my pleading was in vain. Young as I was--being then only in my tenth year, my ideas and knowledge | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052523 | of the world, however, being far in advance of my age--I determined to run away from home. Mr. Russell's offer of twenty-five dollars a month was a temptation which I could not resist. The remuneration for my services seemed very large to me, and I accordingly stole away and walked to Leavenworth. Mr. Badger, one of Mr. Russell's superintendents, immediately | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052524 | sent me out, mounted on a little gray mule, to herd cattle. I worked at this for two months, and then came into Leavenworth. I had not been home during all this time, but mother had learned from Mr. Russell where I was, and she no longer felt uneasy, as he had advised her to let me remain in his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052525 | employ. He assured her that I was all right, and said that when the herd came in he would allow me to make a visit home. Upon my arrival in Leavenworth with the herd of cattle, Mr. Russell instructed his book-keeper, Mr. Byers, to pay me my wages, amounting to fifty dollars. Byers gave me the sum all in half-dollar | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052526 | pieces. I put the bright silver coins into a sack, which I tied to my mule, and started home, thinking myself a _millionaire_. This money I gave to mother, who had already forgiven me for running away. Thus began my service for the firm of Russell & Majors, afterwards Russell, Majors & Waddell, with whom I spent seven years of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052527 | my life in different capacities--such as cavallard-driver, wagon-master, pony express rider and driver. I continued to work for Mr. Russell during the rest of the summer of , and in the winter of - I attended school. Father, who still continued to secretly visit home, was anxious to have his children receive as much of an education as possible, under | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052528 | the adverse circumstances surrounding us, and he employed a teacher, Miss Jennie Lyons, to come to our house and teach. My mother was well educated--more so than my father--and it used to worry her a great deal because her children could not receive better educational advantages. However, the little school at home got along exceedingly well, and we all made | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052529 | rapid advances in our studies, as Miss Lyons was an excellent teacher. She afterwards married a gentleman named Hook, who became the first mayor of Cheyenne, where she now lives. The Kansas troubles reached their highest pitch in the spring of , and our family continued to be harassed as much as ever by our old enemies. I cannot now | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052530 | recollect one-half of the serious difficulties that we had to encounter; but I very distinctly remember one incident well worth relating. I came home one night on a visit from Leavenworth, being accompanied by a fellow-herder--a young man. During the night we heard a noise outside of the house, and soon the dogs began barking loudly. We looked out to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052531 | ascertain the cause of the disturbance, and saw that the house was surrounded by a party of men. Mother had become accustomed to such occurrences, and on this occasion she seemed to be master of the situation from the start. Opening a window, she coolly sang out, in a firm tone of voice: "Who are you? What do you want | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052532 | here?" "We are after that old abolition husband of yours," was the answer from one of the crowd. "He is not in this house, and has not been here for a long time," said my mother. "That's a lie! We know he is in the house, and we are bound to have him," said the spokesman of the party. I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052533 | afterwards learned they had mistaken the herder, who had ridden home with me, for my father for whom they had been watching. "My husband is not at home," emphatically repeated my heroic mother--for if there ever was a heroine she certainly was one--"but the house is full of armed men," continued she, "and I'll give you just two minutes to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052534 | get out of the yard; if you are not out by the end of that time I shall order them to fire on you." She withdrew from the window for a few moments and hurriedly instructed the herder to call aloud certain names--any that he might think of--just as if the house was full of men to whom he was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052535 | giving orders. He followed her directions to the very letter. He could not have done it any better had he rehearsed the act a dozen times. The party outside heard him, as it was intended they should, and they supposed that my mother really had quite a force at her command. While this little by play was being enacted, she | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052536 | stepped to the open window again and said: "John Green, you and your friends had better go away or the men will surely fire on you." At this, point the herder, myself and my sisters commenced stamping on the floor in imitation of a squad of soldiers, and the herder issued his orders in a loud voice to his imaginary | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052537 | troops, who were apparently approaching the window preparatory to firing a volley at the enemy. This little stratagem proved eminently successful. The cowardly villains began retreating, and then my mother fired an old gun into the air which greatly accelerated their speed, causing them to break and run. They soon disappeared from view in the darkness. The next morning we | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052538 | accidentally discovered that they had intended to blow up the house. Upon going into the cellar which had been left open on one side, we found two kegs of powder together with a fuse secreted there. It only required a lighted match to have sent us into eternity. My mother's presence of mind, which had never yet deserted her in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052539 | any trying situation, had saved our lives. Shortly after this affair, I came home again on a visit and found father there sick with fever, and confined to his bed. One day my old enemy rode up to the house on my pony Prince, which he had stolen from me. "What is your business here to-day?" asked mother. "I am | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052540 | looking for the old man," he replied. "I am going to search the house, and if I find him I am going to kill him. Here, you girls," said he, addressing my sisters, "get me some dinner, and get it quick, too, for I am as hungry as a wolf." "Very well; pray be seated, and we'll get you something | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052541 | to eat," said one of my sisters, without exhibiting the least sign of fear. He sat down, and while they were preparing a dinner for him, he took out a big knife and sharpened it on a whetstone, repeating his threat of searching the house and killing my father. I had witnessed the whole proceeding, and heard the threats, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052542 | I determined that the man should never go up stairs where father was lying in bed, unable to rise. Taking a double-barreled pistol which I had recently bought, I went to the head of the stairs, cocked the weapon, and waited for the ruffian to come up, determined, that the moment he set foot on the steps I would kill | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052543 | him. I was relieved, however, from the stern necessity, as he did not make his appearance. The brute was considerably intoxicated when he came to the house, and the longer he sat still the more his brain became muddled with liquor, and he actually forgot what he had come there for. After he had eaten his dinner, he mounted his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052544 | horse and rode off, and it was a fortunate thing for him that he did. Father soon recovered and returned to Grasshopper Falls, while I resumed my cattle herding. . YOUTHFUL EXPERIENCES. In July, , the people living in the vicinity of our home--feeling the necessity of more extensive educational facilities for their children than they had yet had--started a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052545 | subscription school in a little log cabin on the bank of the creek, which for a while proved quite a success. My mother being very anxious to have me attend this school, I acceded to her oft-repeated wishes, and returning home, I became a pupil of the institution. I made considerable progress in my studies--such as they were--and was getting | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052546 | along very well in every other respect, until I became involved in my first love affair. Like all school-boys, I had a sweetheart with whom I was "dead in love"--in a juvenile way. Her name was Mary Hyatt. Of course I had a rival, Stephen Gobel, a boy about three years my senior--the "bully" of the school. He was terribly | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052547 | jealous, and sought in every way to revenge himself upon me for having won the childish affections of sweet little Mary. The boys of the school used to build play-houses or arbors among the trees and bushes for their sweethearts. I had built a play-house for Mary, when Steve, as we called him, leveled it to the ground. We immediately | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052548 | had a very lively fight, in which I got badly beaten. The teacher heard of our quarrel and whipped us both. This made matters worse than ever, as I had received two thrashings to Steve's one; I smothered my angry feelings as much as possible under the humiliating circumstances, and during the afternoon recess built another play-house, thinking that Gobel | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052549 | would not dare to destroy a second one; but I was mistaken, for he pushed the whole structure over at the first opportunity. I came up to him just as he finished the job, and said: "Steve Gobel, the next time you do that, I'll hurt you." And I meant it, too; but he laughed and called me names. [Illustration: | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052550 | TWO TO ONE.] At recess, next morning, I began the construction of still another playhouse, and when I had it about two-thirds finished, Steve slyly sneaked up to the spot and tipped the whole thing over. I jumped for him with the quickness of a cat, and clutching him by the throat for a moment I had the advantage of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052551 | him. But he was too strong for me, and soon had me on the ground and was beating me severely. While away from home I had someway come into possession of a very small pocket dagger, which I had carried about with me in its sheath, using it in place of a knife. During the struggle this fell from my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052552 | pocket, and my hand by accident rested upon it as it lay upon the ground. Exasperated beyond measure at Steve's persistence in destroying my play-houses, and smarting under his blows, I forgot myself for the moment, grasped the dagger and unthinkingly thrust it into Steve's thigh. Had it been larger it would probably have injured him severely; as it was, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052553 | it made a small wound, sufficient to cause the blood to flow freely and Steve to cry out in affright: "I am killed! O, I am killed!" The school children all rushed to the spot and were terrified at the scene. "What's the matter?" asked one. "Bill Cody has killed Steve Gobel," replied another. The uproar reached the teacher's ear, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052554 | and I now saw him approaching, with vengeance in his eye and a big club in his hand. I knew that he was coming to interview _me_. I was dreadfully frightened at what I had done, and undecided whether to run away or to remain and take the consequences; but the sight of that flag-staff in the school teacher's hand | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052555 | was too much for me. I no longer hesitated, but started off like a deer. The teacher followed in hot pursuit, but soon became convinced that he could not catch me, and gave up the chase. I kept on running, until I reached one of Russell, Major & Waddell's freight trains which I had noticed going over the hill for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052556 | the west. Fortunately for me I knew the wagon-master, John Willis, and as soon as I recovered my breath I told him what had happened. "Served him right, Billy," said he, "and what's more, we'll go over and clean out the teacher." "Oh, no; don't do that," said I, for I was afraid that I might fall into the hands | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052557 | of the wounded boy's friends, who I knew would soon be looking for me. "Well, Billy, come along with me; I am bound for Fort Kearney; the trip will take me forty days. I want you for a cavallard driver." "All right," I replied, "but I must go home and tell mother about it, and get some clothes." "Well then, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052558 | to-night after we make our camp, I'll go back with you." The affray broke up the school for the rest of the day as the excitement was too much for the children. Late in the afternoon, after the train had moved on some considerable distance, I saw Steve's father, his brother Frank, and one of the neighbors rapidly approaching. "Mr. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052559 | Willis, there comes old Gobel, with Frank and somebody else, and they are after me--what am I going to do?" I asked. "Let 'em come," said he, "they can't take you if I've got anything to say about it, and I rather think I have. Get into one of the wagons--keep quiet and lay low. I'll manage this little job. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052560 | Don't you fret a bit about it." I obeyed his orders and felt much easier. Old Gobel, Frank and the neighbor soon came up and inquired for me. "He's around here somewhere," said Mr. Willis. "We want him," said Gobel; "he stabbed my son a little while ago, and I want to arrest him." "Well, you can't get him; that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052561 | settles it; so you needn't waste any of your time around here," said Willis. Gobel continued to talk for a few minutes, but getting no greater satisfaction, the trio returned home. When night came, Willis accompanied me on horseback to my home. Mother, who had anxiously searched for me everywhere--being afraid that something had befallen me at the hands of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052562 | the Gobels--was delighted to see me, notwithstanding the difficulty in which I had become involved. I at once told her that at present I was afraid to remain at home, and had accordingly made up my mind to absent myself for a few weeks or months--at least until the excitement should die out. Mr. Willis said to her that he | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052563 | would take me to Fort Kearney with him, and see that I was properly cared for, and would bring me back safely in forty days. Mother at first seriously objected to my going on this trip fearing I would fall into the hands of Indians. Her fears, however, were soon overcome, and she concluded to let me go. She fixed | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052564 | me up a big bundle of clothing and gave me a quilt. Kissing her and my sisters a fond farewell, I started off on my first trip across the plains, and with a light heart too, notwithstanding my trouble of a few hours before. The trip proved a most enjoyable one to me, although no incidents worthy of note occurred | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052565 | on the way. On my return from Fort Kearney I was paid off the same as the rest of the employees. The remainder of the summer and fall I spent in herding cattle and working for Russell, Majors & Waddell. I finally ventured home--not without some fear, however, of the Gobel family--and was delighted to learn that during my absence | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052566 | mother had had an interview with Mr. Gobel, and having settled the difficulty with him, the two families had become friends again, and I may state, incidentally, that they ever after remained so. I have since often met Stephen Gobel, and we have had many a laugh together over our love affair and the affray at the school-house. Mary Hyatt, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052567 | the innocent cause of the whole difficulty, is now married and living in Chicago. Thus ended my first love scrape. In the winter of - my father, in company with a man named J.C. Boles, went to Cleveland, Ohio, and organized a colony of about thirty families, whom they brought to Kansas and located on the Grasshopper. Several of these | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052568 | families still reside there. It was during this winter that father, after his return from Cleveland, caught a severe cold. This, in connection with the wound he had received at Rively's--from which he had never entirely recovered--affected him seriously, and in April, , he died at home from kidney disease. This sad event left my mother and the family in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052569 | poor circumstances, and I determined to follow the plains for a livelihood for them and myself. I had no difficulty in obtaining work under my old employers, and in May, , I started for Salt Lake City with a herd of beef cattle, in charge of Frank and Bill McCarthy, for General Albert Sidney Johnson's army, which was then being | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052570 | sent across the plains to fight the Mormons. Nothing occurred to interrupt our journey until we reached Plum Creek, on the South Platte river, thirty-five miles west of Old Fort Kearney. We had made a morning drive and had camped for dinner. The wagon-masters and a majority of the men had gone to sleep under the mess wagons; the cattle | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052571 | were being guarded by three men, and the cook was preparing dinner. No one had any idea that Indians were anywhere near us. The first warning we had that they were infesting that part of the country was the firing of shots and the whoops and yells from a party of them, who, catching us napping, gave us a most | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052572 | unwelcome surprise. All the men jumped to their feet and seized their guns. They saw with astonishment the cattle running in every direction, they having been stampeded by the Indians, who had shot and killed the three men who were on day-herd duty, and the red devils were now charging down upon the rest of us. I then thought of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052573 | mother's fears of my falling into the hands of the Indians, and I had about made up my mind that such was to be my fate; but when I saw how coolly and determinedly the McCarthy brothers were conducting themselves and giving orders to the little band, I became convinced that we would "stand the Indians off," as the saying | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052574 | is. Our men were all well armed with Colt's revolvers and Mississippi yagers, which last, carried a bullet, and two buckshots. The McCarthy boys, at the proper moment, gave orders to fire upon the advancing enemy. The volley checked them, although they returned the compliment, and shot one of our party through the leg. Frank McCarthy then sang out, "Boys, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052575 | make a break for the slough yonder, and we can then have the bank for a breast-work." [Illustration: KILLING MY FIRST INDIAN.] We made a run for the slough which was only a short distance off, and succeeded in safely reaching it, bringing with us the wounded man. The bank proved to be a very effective breast-work, affording us good | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052576 | protection. We had been there but a short time when Frank McCarthy, seeing that the longer we were corraled the worse it would be for us, said: "Well, boys, we'll try to make our way back to Fort Kearney by wading in the river and keeping the bank for a breast-work." We all agreed that this was the best plan, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052577 | and we accordingly proceeded down the river several miles in this way, managing to keep the Indians at a safe distance with our guns, until the slough made a junction with the main Platte river. From there down we found the river at times quite deep, and in order to carry the wounded man along with us we constructed a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052578 | raft of poles for his accommodation, and in this way he was transported. Occasionally the water would be too deep for us to wade, and we were obliged to put our weapons on the raft and swim. The Indians followed us pretty close, and were continually watching for an opportunity to get a good range and give us a raking | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052579 | fire. Covering ourselves by keeping well under the bank, we pushed ahead as rapidly as possible, and made pretty good progress, the night finding us still on the way and our enemies still on our track. I being the youngest and smallest of the party, became somewhat tired, and without noticing it I had fallen behind the others for some | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052580 | little distance. It was about ten o'clock and we were keeping very quiet and hugging close to the bank, when I happened to look up to the moon-lit sky and saw the plumed head of an Indian peeping over the bank. Instead of hurrying ahead and alarming the men in a quiet way, I instantly aimed my gun at the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052581 | head and fired. The report rang out sharp and loud on the night air, and was immediately followed by an Indian whoop, and the next moment about six feet of dead Indian came tumbling into the river. I was not only overcome with astonishment, but was badly scared, as I could hardly realize what I had done. I expected to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052582 | see the whole force of Indians come down upon us. While I was standing thus bewildered, the men, who had heard the shot and the war-whoop and had seen the Indian take a tumble, came rushing back. "Who fired that shot?" cried Frank McCarthy. "I did," replied I, rather proudly, as my confidence returned and I saw the men coming | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052583 | up. "Yes, and little Billy has killed an Indian stone-dead--too dead to skin," said one of the men, who had approached nearer than the rest, and had almost stumbled upon the corpse. From that time forward I became a hero and an Indian killer. This was, of course, the first Indian I had ever shot, and as I was not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052584 | then more than eleven years of age, my exploit created quite a sensation. The other Indians, upon learning what had happened to their "advance guard," set up a terrible howling, and fired several volleys at us, but without doing any injury, as we were so well protected by the bank. We resumed our journey down the river, and traveled all | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052585 | night long. Just before daylight, Frank McCarthy crawled out over the bank and discovered that we were only five miles from Fort Kearney, which post we reached in safety in about two hours,--shortly after _reveille_--bringing the wounded man with us. It was indeed a relief to us all to feel that once more we were safe. Frank McCarthy immediately reported | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052586 | to the commanding officer and informed him of all that had happened. The commandant at once ordered a company of cavalry and one of infantry to proceed to Plum Creek on a forced march--taking a howitzer with them--to endeavor to recapture the cattle from the Indians. The firm of Russell, Majors & Waddell had a division agent at Kearney, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052587 | this agent mounted us on mules so that we could accompany the troops. On reaching the place where the Indians had surprised us, we found the bodies of the three men whom they had killed and scalped, and literally cut into pieces. We of course buried the remains. We caught but few of the cattle; the most of them having | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052588 | been driven off and stampeded with the buffaloes, there being numerous immense herds of the latter in that section of the country at that time. The Indian's trail was discovered running south towards the Republican river, and the troops followed it to the head of Plum Creek, and there abandoned it, returning to Fort Kearney without having seen a single | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052589 | red-skin. The company's agent, seeing that there was no further use for us in that vicinity--as we had lost our cattle and mules--sent us back to Fort Leavenworth. The company, it is proper to state, did not have to stand the loss of the expedition, as the government held itself responsible for such depredations by the Indians. On the day | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052590 | that I got into Leavenworth, sometime in July, I was interviewed for the first time in my life by a newspaper reporter, and the next morning I found my name in print as "the youngest Indian slayer on the plains." I am candid enough to admit that I felt very much elated over this notoriety. Again and again I read | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052591 | with eager interest the long and sensational account of our adventure. My exploit was related in a very graphic manner, and for a long time afterwards I was considerable of a hero. The reporter who had thus set me up, as I then thought, on the highest pinnacle of fame, was John Hutchinson, and I felt very grateful to him. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052592 | He now lives in Wichita, Kansas. . IN BUSINESS. In the summer of , Russell, Majors & Waddell were sending a great many trains across the plains to Salt Lake with supplies for General Johnston's army. Men were in great demand, and the company was paying teamsters forty dollars per month in gold. An old and reliable wagon-master, named Lewis | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052593 | Simpson--who had taken a great fancy to me, and who, by the way, was one of the best wagon-masters that ever ran a bull train--was loading a train for the company, and was about to start out with it for Salt Lake. He asked me to go along as an "extra hand." The high wages that were being paid were | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052594 | a great inducement to me, and the position of an "extra hand" was a pleasant one. All that I would have to do would be to take the place of any man who became sick, and drive his wagon until he recovered. I would have my own mule to ride, and to a certain extent I would be a minor | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052595 | boss. My mother was very much opposed to my taking this long trip, as I would be absent nearly a year, and there was a possibility that something might arise to prevent me from ever coming back, as we could not often tell how the Mormon difficulty would terminate. Then again, owing to the Indians, a journey over the plains | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052596 | in those days was a perilous undertaking. She said that as I had recently returned from the plains, and had had a narrow escape from death at the hands of the Indians, she did not want me to risk my life a second time. I told her that inasmuch as I had determined to follow the plains for an occupation, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052597 | nothing could now stop me from going on this trip, and if it became necessary I would run away. Seeing that it was impossible to keep me at home, she reluctantly gave her consent, but not until she had called upon Mr. Russell and Mr. Simpson in regard to the matter, and had obtained from the latter gentleman his promise | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052598 | that I should be well taken care of, if we had to winter in the mountains. She did not like the appearance of Simpson, and upon inquiry she learned, to her dismay, that he was a desperate character, and that on nearly every trip he had made across the plains he had killed some one. Such a man, she thought, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052599 | was not a fit master or companion for her son, and she was very anxious to have me go with some other wagon-master; but I still insisted upon remaining with Simpson. "Madam, I can assure you that Lew. Simpson is one of the most reliable wagon-masters on the plains," said Mr. Russell, "and he has taken a great fancy to | 60 | gutenberg |
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