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twg_000000052700 | animals and hurriedly pushed forward through the darkness, traveling several miles before we again went into camp. Next morning it was snowing fiercely, but we proceeded as best we could, and that night we succeeded in reaching Oak Grove ranch, which had been built during the summer. We here obtained comfortable accommodations and plenty to eat and drink--especially the latter. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052701 | Scott and Charley were great lovers and consumers of "tanglefoot," and they soon got gloriously drunk, keeping it up for three days, during which time they gambled with the ranchmen, who got away with all their money; but little they cared for that, as they had their spree. They finally sobered up, and we resumed our journey, urging our jaded | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052702 | animals as much as they could stand, until we struck Marysville, on the Big Blue. From this place to Leavenworth we secured first-rate accommodations along the road, as the country had become pretty well settled. It was in February, , that I got home. As there was now a good school in the neighborhood, taught by Mr. Divinny, my mother | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052703 | wished me to attend it, and I did so for two months and a half--the longest period of schooling that I ever received at any one time in my life. As soon as the spring came and the grass began growing, I became uneasy and discontented, and again longed for the free and open life of the plains. The Pike's | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052704 | Peak gold excitement was then at its height, and everybody was rushing to the new gold diggings. I caught the gold-fever myself, and joined a party bound for the new town of Auraria, on Cherry Creek, afterwards called Denver, in honor of the then governor of Kansas. On arriving at Auraria we pushed on to the gold streams in the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052705 | mountains, passing up through Golden Gate, and over Guy Hill, and thence on to Black Hawk. We prospected for two months, but as none of us knew anything about mining we met with very poor success, and we finally concluded that prospecting for gold was not our forte. We accordingly abandoned the enterprise and turned our faces eastward once more. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052706 | [Illustration: RAFTING ON THE PLATTE.] When we struck the Platte River, the happy thought of constructing a small raft--which would float us clear to the Missouri and thence down to Leavenworth--entered our heads, and we accordingly carried out the plan. Upon the completion of the raft we stocked it with provisions, and "set sail" down the stream. It was a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052707 | light craft and a jolly crew, and all was smooth sailing for four or five days. When we got near old Julesburg, we met with a serious mishap. Our raft ran into an eddy, and quick as lightning went to pieces, throwing us all into the stream, which was so deep that we had to swim ashore. We lost everything | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052708 | we had, which greatly discouraged us, and we thereupon abandoned the idea of rafting it any farther. We then walked over to Julesburg, which was only a few miles distant. This ranch, which became a somewhat famous spot, had been established by "Old Jules," a Frenchman, who was afterwards killed by the notorious Alf. Slade. The great pony express, about | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052709 | which so much has been said and written, was at that time just being started. The line was being stocked with horses and put into good running condition. At Julesburg I met Mr. George Chrisman, the leading wagon-master of Russell, Majors & Waddell, who had always been a good friend to me. He had bought out "Old Jules," and was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052710 | then the owner of Julesburg ranch, and the agent of the pony express line. He hired me at once as a pony express rider, but as I was so young he thought I would not be able to stand the fierce riding which was required of the messengers. He knew, however, that I had been raised in the saddle--that I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052711 | felt more at home there than in any other place--and as he saw that I was confident that I could stand the racket, and could ride as far and endure it as well as some of the older riders, he gave me a short route of forty-five miles, with the stations fifteen miles apart, and three changes of horses. I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052712 | was required to make fifteen miles an hour, including the changes of horses. I was fortunate in getting well-broken animals, and being so light, I easily made my forty-five miles on time on my first trip out, and ever afterwards. I wrote to mother and told her how well I liked the exciting life of a pony express rider. She | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052713 | replied, and begged of me to give it up, as it would surely kill me. She was right about this, as fifteen miles an hour on horseback would, in a short time, shake any man "all to pieces"; and there were but very few, if any, riders who could stand it for any great length of time. Nevertheless, I stuck | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052714 | to it for two months, and then, upon receiving a letter informing me that my mother was very sick, I gave it up and went back to the old home in Salt Creek Valley. . ACCIDENTS AND ESCAPES. My restless, roaming spirit would not allow me to remain at home very long, and in November, after the recovery of my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052715 | mother, I went up the Republican River and its tributaries on a trapping expedition in company with Dave Harrington. Our outfit consisted of one wagon and a yoke of oxen for the transportation of provisions, traps, and other necessaries. We began trapping near Junction City, Kansas, and then proceeded up the Republican River to the mouth of Prairie Dog Creek, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052716 | where we found plenty of beavers. Having seen no signs of Indians thus far, we felt comparatively safe. We were catching a large number of beavers and were prospering finely, when one of our oxen, having become rather poor, slipped and fell upon the ice, dislocating his hip, so that we had to shoot him to end his misery. This | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052717 | left us without a team; but we cared little for that, however, as we had made up our minds to remain there till spring, when, and it was decided, that one of us should go to the nearest settlement and get a yoke of oxen with which to haul our wagon into some place of safety where we could leave | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052718 | it. We would probably have pulled through the winter all right had it not been for a very serious accident which befell me just at that time. Spying a herd of elk, we started in pursuit of them, and creeping up towards them as slyly as possible, while going around the bend of a sharp bluff or bank of the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052719 | creek I slipped and broke my leg just above the ankle. Notwithstanding the great pain I was suffering, Harrington could not help laughing when I urged him to shoot me, as he had the ox, and thus end my misery. He told me to "brace up," and that he would bring me out "all right." "I am not much of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052720 | a surgeon," said he, "but I can fix that leg of yours, even if I haven't got a diploma." He succeeded in getting me back to camp, which was only a few yards from the creek, and then he set the fracture as well as he knew how, and made me as comfortable as was possible under the circumstances. We | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052721 | then discussed the situation, which to say the least, looked pretty blue. Knowing that, owing to our mishaps, we could not do anything more that winter, and as I dreaded the idea of lying there on my back with a broken leg for weeks, and perhaps months, I prevailed upon Harrington to go the nearest settlement--about miles distant--to obtain a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052722 | yoke of cattle, and then come back for me. This he consented to do; but before leaving he gathered plenty of wood, and as the ground was covered with snow, I would have no difficulty in getting water if I had a fire. There was plenty of fresh meat and other provisions in the "dug-out," so that I had no | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052723 | fears of starvation. The "dugout," which we had built immediately after we had determined to remain there all winter, was a very cosy hole in the ground, covered with poles, grass and sod, with a fireplace in one end. Harrington thought it would take him twenty days or more to make the round trip; but being well provided for--for this | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052724 | length of time--I urged him to go at once. Bidding me good-bye he started on foot. After his departure, each day, as it came and went, seemed to grow longer to me as I lay there helpless and alone. I made a note of each day, so as to know the time when I might expect him back. [Illustration: SAVED | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052725 | BY CHIEF RAIN-IN-THE-FACE.] On the twelfth day after Harrington left me, I was awakened from a sound sleep by some one touching me upon the shoulder. I looked up and was astonished to see an Indian warrior standing at my side. His face was hideously daubed with paint, which told me more forcibly than words could have done that he | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052726 | was on the war-path. He spoke to me in broken English and Sioux mixed, and I understood him to ask what I was doing there, and how many there were with me. By this time the little dug-out was nearly filled with other Indians, who had been peeping in at the door, and I could hear voices of still more | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052727 | outside as well as the stamping of horses. I began to think that my time had come, as the saying is, when into the cabin stepped an elderly Indian, whom I readily recognized as old Rain-in-the-Face, a Sioux chief from the vicinity of Fort Laramie. I rose up as well as I could and showed him my broken leg. I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052728 | told him where I had seen him, and asked him if he remembered me. He replied that he knew me well, and that I used to come to his lodge at Fort Laramie to visit him. I then managed to make him understand that I was there alone and having broken my leg, I had sent my partner off for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052729 | a team to take me away. I asked him if his young men intended to kill me, and he answered, that was what they had proposed to do, but he would see what they had to say. The Indians then talked among themselves for a few minutes, and upon the conclusion of the consultation, old Rain-in-the-Face turned to me and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052730 | gave me to understand that as I was yet a "papoose," or a very young man, they would not take my life. But one of his men, who had no fire-arms, wanted my gun and pistol. I implored old Rain-in-the-Face to be allowed to keep the weapons, or at least one of them, as I needed something with which to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052731 | keep the wolves away. He replied that as his young men were out on the war path, he had induced them to spare my life; but he could not prevent them from taking what ever else they wanted. They unsaddled their horses as if to remain there for some time, and sure enough they stayed the remainder of the day | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052732 | and all night. They built a fire in the dug-out and cooked a lot of my provisions, helping themselves to everything as if they owned it. However, they were polite enough to give me some of the food after they had cooked it. It was a sumptuous feast that they had, and they seemed to relish it as if it | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052733 | was the best lay-out they had had for many a long day. They took all my sugar and coffee, and left me only some meat and a small quantity of flour, a little salt and some baking powder. They also robbed me of such cooking utensils as they wished; then bidding me good-bye, early in the morning, they mounted their | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052734 | ponies and rode off to the south, evidently bent on some murdering and thieving expedition. I was glad enough to see them leave, as my life had undoubtedly hung by a thread during their presence. I am confident that had it not been for my youth and the timely recognition and interference of old Rain-in-the-Face they would have killed me | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052735 | without any hesitation or ceremony. The second day after they had gone it began snowing, and for three long and weary days the snow continued to fall thick and fast. It blocked the door-way and covered the dug-out to the depth of several feet, so that I became a snowbound prisoner. My wood was mostly under the snow, and it | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052736 | was with great difficulty that I could get enough to start a fire with. My prospects were gloomy indeed. I had just faced death at the hands of the Indians, and now I was in danger of losing my life from starvation and cold. I knew that the heavy snow would surely delay Harrington on his return; and I feared | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052737 | that he might have perished in the storm, or that some other accident might have befallen him. Perhaps some wandering band of Indians had run across him and killed him. I was continually thinking of all these possibilities, and I must say that my outlook seemed desperate. At last the twentieth day arrived--the day on which Harrington was to return--and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052738 | I counted the hours from morning till night, but the day passed away with no signs of Harrington. The wolves made the night hideous with their howls; they gathered around the dug-out; ran over the roof; and pawed and scratched as if trying to get in. Several days and nights thus wore away, the monotony all the time becoming greater, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052739 | until at last it became almost unendurable. Some days I would go without any fire at all, and eat raw frozen meat and melt snow in my mouth for water. I became almost convinced that Harrington had been caught in the storm and had been buried under the snow, or was lost. Many a time during that dreary period of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052740 | uncertainty, I made up my mind that if I ever got out of that place alive, I would abandon the plains and the life of a trapper forever. I had nearly given up all hopes of leaving the dug-out alive. It was on the twenty-ninth day, while I was lying thus despondently thinking and wondering, that I heard the cheerful | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052741 | sound of Harrington's voice as he came slowly up the creek, yelling, "whoa! haw!" to his cattle. A criminal on the scaffold, with the noose around his neck, the trap about to be sprung, and receiving a pardon just at the last moment, thus giving him a new lease of life, could not have been more grateful than I was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052742 | at that time. It was useless for me to try to force the door open, as the snow had completely blockaded it, and I therefore anxiously awaited Harrington's arrival. "Hello! Billy!" he sang out in a loud voice as he came up, he evidently being uncertain as to my being alive. "All right, Dave," was my reply. "Well, old boy, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052743 | you're alive, are you?" said he. "Yes; and that's about all. I've had a tough siege of it since you've been away, and I came pretty nearly passing in my chips. I began to think you never would get here, as I was afraid you had been snowed under," said I. He soon cleared away the snow from the entrance, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052744 | and opening the door he came in. I don't think there ever was a more welcome visitor than he was. I remember that I was so glad to see him that I put my arms around his neck and hugged him for five minutes; never shall I forget faithful Dave Harrington. "Well, Billy, my boy, I hardly expected to see | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052745 | you alive again," said Harrington, as soon as I had given him an opportunity to draw his breath; "I had a terrible trip of it, and I didn't think I ever would get through. I was caught in the snow-storm, and was laid up for three days. The cattle wandered away, and I came within an ace of losing them | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052746 | altogether. When I got started again the snow was so deep that it prevented me from making much headway. But as I had left you here I was bound to come through, or die in the attempt." Again I flung my arms around Dave's neck and gave him a hug that would have done honor to a grizzly bear. My | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052747 | gratitude was thus much more forcibly expressed than it could have been by words. Harrington understood this, and seemed to appreciate it. The tears of joy rolled down my cheeks, and it was impossible for me to restrain them. When my life had been threatened by the Indians I had not felt half so miserable as when I lay in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052748 | the dug-out thinking I was destined to die a slow death by starvation and cold. The Indians would have made short work of it, and would have given me little or no time to think of my fate. I questioned Harrington as to his trip, and learned all the details. He had passed through hardships which but few men could | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052749 | have endured. Noble fellow, that he was. He had risked his own life to save mine. After he had finished his story, every word of which I had listened to with eager interest, I related to him my own experiences, in which he became no less interested. He expressed great astonishment that the Indians had not killed me, and he | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052750 | considered it one of the luckiest and most remarkable escapes he had ever heard of. It amused me, however, to see him get very angry when I told him that they had taken my gun and pistol and had used up our provisions. "But never mind, Billy," said he, "we can stand it till the snow goes off, which will | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052751 | not be long, and then we will pull our wagon back to the settlements." A few days afterwards Harrington gathered up our traps, and cleaned the snow out of the wagon. Covering it with the sheet which we had used in the dug-out, he made a comfortable bed inside, and helped me into it. We had been quite successful in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052752 | trapping, having caught three hundred beavers and one hundred otters, the skins of which Harrington loaded on the wagon. We then pulled out for the settlements, making good headway, as the snow had nearly disappeared, having been blown or melted away, so that we had no difficulty in finding a road. On the eighth day out we came to a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052753 | farmer's house, or ranch, on the Republican River, where we stopped and rested for two days, and then went on to the ranch where Harrington had obtained the yoke of cattle. We gave the owner of the team twenty-five beaver skins, equal to $, for the use of the cattle, and he let us have them until we reached Junction | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052754 | City, sending his boy with us to bring them back. At Junction City we sold our wagon and furs and went with a government mule train to Leavenworth--arriving there in March, . I was just able to get around on crutches when I got into Leavenworth, and it was several months after that before I entirely recovered the use of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052755 | my leg. During the winter I had often talked to Harrington about my mother and sisters, and had invited him to go home with me in the spring. I now renewed the invitation, which he accepted, and accompanied me home. When I related to mother my adventures and told her how Harrington had saved my life, she thanked him again | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052756 | and again. I never saw a more grateful woman than she was. She asked him to always make his home with us, as she never could reward him sufficiently for what he had done for her darling boy, as she called me. Harrington concluded to remain with us through the summer and farm mother's land. But alas! the uncertainty of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052757 | life. The coming of death when least expected was strikingly illustrated in his case. During the latter part of April he went to a nursery for some trees, and while coming home late at night he caught a severe cold and was taken seriously sick, with lung fever. Mother did everything in her power for him. She could not have | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052758 | done more had he been her own son, but notwithstanding her motherly care and attention, and the skill of a physician from Leavenworth, he rapidly grew worse. It seemed hard, indeed, to think that a great strong man like Harrington, who had braved the storms, and endured the other hardships of the plains all winter long, should, during the warm | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052759 | and beautiful days of spring, when surrounded by friends and the comforts of a good home, be fatally stricken down. But such was his fate. He died one week from the day on which he was taken sick. We all mourned his loss as we would that of a loved son or brother, as he was one of the truest, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052760 | bravest, and best of friends. Amid sorrow and tears we laid him away to rest in a picturesque spot on Pilot Knob. His death cast a gloom over our household, and it was a long time before it was entirely dispelled. I felt very lonely without Harrington, and I soon wished for a change of scene again. . ADVENTURES ON | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052761 | THE OVERLAND ROAD. As the warm days of summer approached I longed for the cool air of the mountains; and to the mountains I determined to go. After engaging a man to take care of the farm, I proceeded to Leavenworth and there met my old wagon-master and friend, Lewis Simpson, who was fitting out a train at Atchison and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052762 | loading it with supplies for the Overland Stage Company, of which Mr. Russell, my old employer, was one of the proprietors. Simpson was going with this train to Fort Laramie and points further west. "Come along with me, Billy," said he, "I'll give you a good lay-out. I want you with me." "I don't know that I would like to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052763 | go as far west as that again," replied I, "but I do want to ride the pony express once more; there's some life in that." "Yes, that's so; but it will soon shake the life out of you," said he. "However, if that's what you've got your mind set on, you had better come to Atchison with me and see | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052764 | Mr. Russell, who I'm pretty certain, will give you a situation." I replied that I would do that. I then went home and informed mother of my intention, and as her health was very poor I had great difficulty in obtaining her consent. I finally convinced her that as I was of no use on the farm, it would be | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052765 | better and more profitable for me to return to the plains. So after giving her all the money I had earned by trapping, I bade her good-bye and set out for Atchison. I met Mr. Russell there and asked him for employment as a pony express-rider; he gave me a letter to Mr. Slade, who was then the stage agent | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052766 | for the division extending from Julesburg to Rocky Ridge. Slade had his headquarters at Horseshoe Station, thirty-six miles west of Fort Laramie and I made the trip thither in company with Simpson and his train. Almost the very first person I saw after dismounting from my horse was Slade. I walked up to him and presented Mr. Russell's letter, which | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052767 | he hastily opened and read. With a sweeping glance of his eye he took my measure from head to foot, and then said: "My boy, you are too young for a pony express-rider. It takes men for that business." "I rode two months last year on Bill Trotter's division, sir, and filled the bill then; and I think I am | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052768 | better able to ride now," said I. "What! are you the boy that was riding there, and was called the youngest rider on the road?" "I am the same boy," I replied, confident that everything was now all right for me. "I have heard of you before. You are a year or so older now, and I think you can | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052769 | stand it. I'll give you a trial anyhow and if you weaken you can come back to Horseshoe Station and tend stock." That ended our first interview. The next day he assigned me to duty on the road from Red Buttes on the North Platte, to the Three Crossings of the Sweetwater--a distance of seventy-six miles--and I began riding at | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052770 | once. It was a long piece of road, but I was equal to the undertaking; and soon afterwards had an opportunity to exhibit my power of endurance as a pony express rider. One day when I galloped into Three Crossings, my home station, I found that the rider who was expected to take the trip out on my arrival, had | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052771 | got into a drunken row the night before and had been killed; and that there was no one to fill his place. I did not hesitate for a moment to undertake an extra ride of eighty-five miles to Rocky Ridge, and I arrived at the latter place on time. I then turned back and rode to Red Buttes, my starting | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052772 | place, accomplishing on the round trip a distance of miles. [Illustration: I IMMEDIATELY CHANGED HORSES] Slade heard of this feat of mine, and one day as he was passing on a coach he sang out to me, "My boy, you're a brick, and no mistake. That was a good run you made when you rode your own and Miller's routes, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052773 | and I'll see that you get extra pay for it." Slade, although rough at times and always a dangerous character--having killed many a man--was always kind to me. During the two years that I worked for him as pony express-rider and stage-driver, he never spoke an angry word to me. As I was leaving Horse Creek one day, a party | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052774 | of fifteen Indians "jumped me" in a sand ravine about a mile west of the station. They fired at me repeatedly, but missed their mark. I was mounted on a roan California horse--the fleetest steed I had. Putting spurs and whip to him, and lying flat on his back, I kept straight on for Sweetwater Bridge--eleven miles distant--instead of trying | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052775 | to turn back to Horse Creek. The Indians came on in hot pursuit, but my horse soon got away from them, and ran into the station two miles ahead of them. The stock-tender had been killed there that morning, and all the stock had been driven off by the Indians, and as I was therefore unable to change horses, I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052776 | continued on to Ploutz's Station--twelve miles further--thus making twenty-four miles straight run with one horse. I told the people at Ploutz's what had happened at Sweetwater Bridge, and with a fresh horse went on and finished the trip without any further adventure. [Illustration: ATTACK ON STAGE COACH.] About the middle of September the Indians became very troublesome on the line | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052777 | of the stage road along the Sweetwater. Between Split Rock and Three Crossings they robbed a stage, killed the driver and two passengers, and badly wounded Lieut. Flowers, the assistant division agent. The red-skinned thieves also drove off the stock from the different stations, and were continually lying in wait for the passing stages and pony express-riders, so that we | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052778 | had to take many desperate chances in running the gauntlet. The Indians had now become so bad and had stolen so much stock that it was decided to stop the pony express for at least six weeks, and to run the stages but occasionally during that period; in fact, it would have been almost impossible to have run the enterprise | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052779 | much longer without restocking the line. While we were thus nearly all lying idle, a party was organized to go out and search for stolen stock. This party was composed of stage-drivers, express-riders, stock-tenders, and ranchmen--forty of them altogether--and they were well-armed and well-mounted. They were mostly men who had undergone all kinds of hardships and braved every danger, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052780 | they were ready and anxious to "tackle" any number of Indians. Wild Bill (who had been driving stage on the road and had recently come down to our division) was elected captain of the company. It was supposed that the stolen stock had been taken to the head of Powder River and vicinity, and the party, of which I was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052781 | a member, started out for that section in high hopes of success. Twenty miles out from Sweetwater Bridge, at the head of Horse Creek, we found an Indian trail running north towards Powder River, and we could see by the tracks that most of the horses had been recently shod and were undoubtedly our stolen stage stock. Pushing rapidly forward, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052782 | we followed this trail to Powder River; thence down this stream to within about forty miles of the spot where old Fort Reno now stands. Here the trail took a more westerly course along the foot of the mountains, leading eventually to Crazy Woman's Fork--a tributary of Powder River. At this point we discovered that the party whom we were | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052783 | trailing had been joined by another band of Indians, and, judging from the fresh appearance of the trail, the united body could not have left this spot more than twenty-four hours before. Being aware that we were now in the heart of the hostile country and that we might at any moment find more Indians than we had "lost," we | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052784 | advanced with more caution than usual, and kept a sharp lookout. As we were approaching Clear Creek, another tributary of Powder river, we discovered Indians on the opposite side of the creek, some three miles distant; at least we saw horses grazing, which was a sure sign that there were Indians there. The Indians thinking themselves in comparative safety--never before | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052785 | having been followed so far into their own country by white men--had neglected to put out any scouts. They had no idea that there were any white men in that part of the country. We got the lay of their camp, and then held a council to consider and mature a plan for capturing it. We knew full well that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052786 | the Indians would outnumber us at least three to one, and perhaps more. Upon the advice and suggestion of Wild Bill, it was finally decided that we should wait until it was nearly dark, and then, after creeping as close to them as possible, make a dash through their camp, open a general fire on them, and stampede the horses. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052787 | This plan, at the proper time, was most successfully executed. The dash upon the enemy was a complete surprise to them. They were so overcome with astonishment that they did not know what to make of it. We could not have astonished them any more if we had dropped down into their camp from the clouds. They did not recover | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052788 | from the surprise of this sudden charge until after we had ridden pell-mell through their camp and got away with our own horses as well as theirs. We at once circled the horses around towards the south, and after getting them on the south side of Clear Creek, some twenty of our men--just as the darkness was coming on--rode back | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052789 | and gave the Indians a few parting shots. We then took up our line of march for Sweetwater Bridge, where we arrived four days afterwards with all of our own horses and about one hundred captured Indian ponies. The expedition had proved a grand success, and the event was celebrated in the usual manner--by a grand spree. The only store | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052790 | at Sweetwater Bridge did a rushing business for several days. The returned stock-hunters drank, and gambled and fought. The Indian ponies, which had been distributed among the captors, passed from hand to hand at almost every deal of the cards. There seemed to be no limit to the rioting, and carousing; revelry reigned supreme. On the third day of the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052791 | orgie, Slade, who had heard the news, came up to the bridge and took a hand in the "fun," as it was called. To add some variation and excitement to the occasion, Slade got in to a quarrel with a stage-driver and shot him, killing him almost instantly. [Illustration: ALF. SLADE KILLING THE DRIVER.] The "boys" became so elated as | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052792 | well as "elevated" over their success against the Indians, that most of them were in favor of going back and cleaning out the whole Indian race. One old driver especially, Dan Smith, was eager to open a war on all the hostile nations, and had the drinking been continued another week he certainly would have undertaken the job, single-handed and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052793 | alone. The spree finally came to an end; the men sobered down and abandoned the idea of again invading the hostile country. The recovered horses were replaced on the road, and the stages and pony express were again running on time. Slade, having taken a great fancy to me, said: "Billy, I want you to come down to my headquarters, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052794 | and I'll make you a sort of supernumerary rider, and send you out only when it is necessary." I accepted the offer, and went with him down to Horseshoe, where I had a comparatively easy time of it. I had always been fond of hunting, and I now had a good opportunity to gratify my ambition in that direction, as | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052795 | I had plenty of spare time on my hands. In this connection I will relate one of my bear-hunting adventures. One day, when I had nothing else to do, I saddled up an extra pony express horse, and arming myself with a good rifle and pair of revolvers, struck out for the foot hills of Laramie Peak for a bear-hunt. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052796 | Riding carelessly along, and breathing the cool and bracing autumn air which came down from the mountains, I felt as only a man can feel who is roaming over the prairies of the far West, well armed, and mounted on a fleet and gallant steed. The perfect freedom which he enjoys is in itself a refreshing stimulant to the mind | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052797 | as well as to the body. Such indeed were my feelings on this beautiful day, as I rode up the valley of the Horseshoe. Occasionally I scared up a flock of sage-hens or a jack-rabbit. Antelopes and deer were almost always in sight in any direction, but as they were not the kind of game I was after, on that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052798 | day, I passed them by, and kept on towards the higher mountains. The further I rode the rougher and wilder became the country, and I knew that I was approaching the haunts of the bear. I did not discover any, however, although I saw plenty of tracks in the snow. About two o'clock in the afternoon, my horse having become | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052799 | tired, and myself being rather weary, I shot a sage-hen, and dismounting, I unsaddled my horse and tied him to a small tree, where he could easily feed on the mountain grass. I then built a little fire, and broiling the chicken and seasoning it with salt and pepper, which I had obtained from my saddle-bags, I soon sat down | 60 | gutenberg |
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