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twg_000000052800 | to a "genuine square meal," which I greatly relished. After resting for a couple of hours, I remounted and resumed my upward trip to the mountains, having made up my mind to camp out that night rather than go back without a bear, which my friends knew I had gone out for. As the days were growing short, night soon | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052801 | came on, and I looked around for a suitable camping place. While thus engaged, I scared up a flock of sage-hens, two of which I shot, intending to have one for supper and the other for breakfast. By this time it was becoming quite dark, and I rode down to one of the little mountain streams, where I found an | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052802 | open place in the timber suitable for a camp. I dismounted, and after unsaddling my horse and hitching him to a tree, I prepared to start a fire. Just then I was startled by hearing a horse whinnying further up the stream. It was quite a surprise to me, and I immediately ran to my animal to keep him from | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052803 | answering, as horses usually do in such cases. I thought that the strange horse might belong to some roaming band of Indians, as I knew of no white men being in that portion of the country at that time. I was certain that the owner of the strange horse could not be far distant, and I was very anxious to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052804 | find out who my neighbor was, before letting him know that I was in his vicinity. I therefore re-saddled my horse, and leaving him tied so that I could easily reach him I took my gun and started out on a scouting expedition up the stream. I had gone about four hundred yards when, in a bend of the stream, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052805 | I discovered ten or fifteen horses grazing. On the opposite side of the creek a light was shining high up the mountain bank. Approaching the mysterious spot as cautiously as possible, and when within a few yards of the light--which I discovered came from a dug-out in the mountain side--I heard voices, and soon I was able distinguish the words, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052806 | as they proved to be in my own language. Then I knew that the occupants of the dug-out, whence the voices proceeded, were white men. Thinking that they might be a party of trappers, I boldly walked up to the door and knocked for admission. The voices instantly ceased, and for a moment a deathlike silence reigned inside. Then there | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052807 | seemed to follow a kind of hurried whispering--a sort of consultation--and then some one called out: "Who's there?" "A friend and a white man," I replied. The door opened, and a big, ugly-looking fellow stepped, forth and said: "Come in." I accepted the invitation with some degree of fear and hesitation, which I endeavored to conceal, as I saw that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052808 | it was too late to back out, and that it would never do to weaken at that point, whether they were friends or foes. Upon entering the dug-out my eyes fell upon eight as rough and villainous looking men as I ever saw in my life. Two of them I instantly recognized as teamsters who had been driving in Lew | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052809 | Simpson's train, a few months before, and had been discharged. They were charged with the murdering and robbing of a ranchman; and having stolen his horses it was supposed that they had left the country. I gave them no signs of recognition however, deeming it advisable to let them remain in ignorance as to who I was. It was a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052810 | hard crowd, and I concluded that the sooner I could get away from them the better it would be for me. I felt confident that they were a band of horse-thieves. "Where are you going, young man; and who's with you?" asked one of the men who appeared to be the leader of the gang. "I am entirely alone. I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052811 | left Horseshoe station this morning for a bear hunt, and not finding any bears, I had determined to camp out for the night and wait till morning," said I; "and just as I was going into camp, a few hundred yards down the creek, I heard one of your horses whinnying, and then I came up to your camp." [Illustration: | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052812 | THE HORSE THIEVES' DEN.] I was thus explicit in my statement in order, if possible to satisfy the cut-throats that I was not spying upon them, but that my intrusion was entirely accidental. "Where's your horse?" demanded the boss thief. "I left him down the creek," I answered. They proposed going after the horse, but I thought that that would | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052813 | never do, as it would leave me without any means of escape, and I accordingly said, in hopes to throw them off the track, "Captain, I'll leave my gun here and go down and get my horse, and come back and stay all night." I said this in as cheerful and as careless a manner as possible, so as not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052814 | to arouse their suspicions in any way, or lead them to think that I was aware of their true character. I hated to part with my gun, but my suggestion of leaving it was a part of the plan of escape which I had arranged. If they have the gun, thought I, they would surely believe that I intended to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052815 | come back. But this little game did not work at all, as one of the desperadoes spoke up and said: "Jim and I will go down with you after your horse, and you can leave your gun here all the same, as you'll not need it." "All right," I replied, for I could certainly have said nothing else. It became | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052816 | evident to me that it would be better to trust myself with two men than with the whole party. It was apparent that from this time on, I would have to be on the alert for some good opportunity to give them the slip. "Come along," said one of them, and together we went down the creek, and soon came | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052817 | to the spot where my horse was tied. One of the men unhitched the animal and said: "I'll lead the horse." "Very well," said I, "I've got a couple of sage-hens here. Lead on." I picked up the sage-hens, which I had killed a few hours before, and followed the man who was leading the horse, while his companion brought | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052818 | up the rear. The nearer we approached the dug-out the more I dreaded the idea of going back among the villainous cut-throats. My first plan of escape having failed, I now determined upon another. [Illustration: MY ESCAPE FROM THE HORSE THIEVES.] I had both of my revolvers with me, the thieves not having thought it necessary to search me. It | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052819 | was now quite dark, and I purposely dropped one of the sage-hens, and asked the man behind me to pick it up. While he was hunting for it on the ground, I quickly pulled out one of my Colt's revolvers and struck him a tremendous blow on the back of the head, knocking him senseless to the ground. I then | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052820 | instantly wheeled around, and saw that the man ahead who was only a few feet distant, had heard the blow and had turned to see what was the matter, his hand upon his revolver. We faced each other at about the same instant, but before he could fire, as he tried to do, I shot him dead in his tracks. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052821 | Then jumping on my horse, I rode down the creek as fast as possible, through the darkness and over the rough ground and rocks. The other outlaws in the dug-out, having heard the shot which I had fired, knew there was trouble, and they all came rushing down the creek. I suppose, by the time they reached the man whom | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052822 | I had knocked down, that he had recovered and hurriedly told them of what had happened. They did not stay with the man whom I had shot, but came on in hot pursuit of me. They were not mounted, and were making better time down the rough cann than I was on horseback. From time to time I heard them | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052823 | gradually gaining on me. At last they had come so near that I saw that I must abandon my horse. So I jumped to the ground, and gave him a hard slap with the butt of one of my revolvers, which started him on down the valley, while I scrambled up the mountain side. I had not ascended more than | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052824 | forty feet when I heard my pursuers coming closer and closer; I quickly hid behind a large pine tree, and in a few moments they all rushed by me, being led on by the rattling footsteps of my horse, which they heard ahead of them. Soon I heard them firing at random at the horse, as they no doubt supposed | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052825 | I was still seated on his back. As soon as they had passed me I climbed further up the steep mountain, and knowing that I had given them the slip, and feeling certain that I could keep out of their way, I at once struck out for Horseshoe station, which was twenty-five miles distant. I had hard traveling at first, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052826 | but upon reaching lower and better ground, I made good headway, walking all night and getting into the station just before daylight,--foot-sore, weary, and generally played out. I immediately waked up the men of the station and told them of my adventure. Slade himself happened to be there, and he at once organized a party to go out and hunt | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052827 | up the horse-thieves. Shortly after daylight twenty well-armed stage-drivers, stock-tenders and ranchmen were galloping in the direction of the dug-out. Of course I went along with the party, notwithstanding I was very tired and had had hardly any rest at all. We had a brisk ride, and arrived in the immediate vicinity of the thieves' rendezvous at about ten o'clock | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052828 | in the morning. We approached the dug-out cautiously, but upon getting in close proximity to it we could discover no horses in sight. We could see the door of the dug-out standing wide open, and we then marched up to the place. No one was inside, and the general appearance of everything indicated that the place had been deserted--that the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052829 | birds had flown. Such, indeed, proved to be the case. We found a new-made grave, where they had evidently buried the man whom I had shot. We made a thorough search of the whole vicinity, and finally found their trail going southeast in the direction of Denver. As it would have been useless to follow them, we rode back to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052830 | the station; and thus ended my eventful bear-hunt. We had no more trouble for some time from horse-thieves after that. During the winter of and the spring of I remained at Horseshoe, occasionally riding pony express and taking care of stock. . FAST DRIVING. It was in the spring of , while I was at Horseshoe, that the eastern-bound coach | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052831 | came in one day loaded down with passengers and baggage, and stopped for dinner; Horseshoe being a regular dinner station as well as a home station. The passengers consisted of six Englishmen, and they had been continually grumbling about the slow time that was being made by the stages, saying that the farther they got East the slower they went. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052832 | "These blarsted 'eathens don't know hanything habout staging, hany-'ow," remarked one of them. "Blarst me bloody heyes! they cawn't stage in this country as we do in Hingland, you know," said another. Their remarks were overheard by Bob Scott, who was to drive the coach from Horseshoe to Fort Laramie, and he determined to give them satisfaction before they got | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052833 | over his route. Scott was known to be the best reinsman and the most expert driver on the whole line of the road. He was a very gentlemanly fellow in his general appearance and conduct, but at times he would become a reckless dare-devil, and would take more desperate chances than any other driver. He delighted in driving wild teams | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052834 | on the darkest nights, over a mountain road, and had thus become the hero of many a thrilling adventure. It happened on this day he was to drive a team of six pony express horses, which had been only partially broken in as a stage team. As the stock-tenders were hitching them up, Bob, who was standing by, said, "I'll | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052835 | show them Englishmen that we 'blarsted heathens' do know something about staging in this country." We all knew from Bob's looks that something was up. It required several men to hitch up this frisky team, as a man had to hold on to each one of the horses by the bits, while they were stringing them out. The Englishmen came | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052836 | out from dinner, and were delighted to see the horses prancing and pawing as if anxious to start. "Ha! my deah fellah, now we will 'ave a fine ride this hafternoon," said one of them. "By Jove! those are the kind of 'orses they hought to 'ave on hall the teams," remarked another. "Are you the lad who is going | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052837 | to drive to-day?" asked another of Bob. "Yes, gentlemen," answered Bob, "I'll show you how we stage it in this country." Bob mounted the box, gathered the lines, and pulling the horses strongly by the bits, he sang out to the Englishmen, "All aboard!" Bob's companion on the box was Capt. Cricket; a little fellow who was the messenger of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052838 | the coach. After everybody was seated, Bob told the stock-tenders to "turn 'em loose." We, who were standing around to see the stage start out, expected it would go off at a lively rate. We were considerably surprised, therefore, when, after the horses had made a few lively jumps, Bob put on the big California brakes and brought them down | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052839 | to a walk. The road, for a distance of four miles, gradually rose to the top of a hill, and all the way up this ascent, Bob held the impatient team in check. "Blarst your heyes, driver, why don't you let them go?" exclaimed one of the passengers, who had all along been expecting a very brisk ride. Every once | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052840 | in a while they would ask him some such question, but he paid no attention to them. At last he reached the top of the hill, and then he suddenly flung three of the lines on the left side of the team, and the other three on the right side. He then began "playing the silk to them,"--that is to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052841 | say, he began to lash them unmercifully. The team started off like a streak of lightning, so to speak, without a single rein being held by the driver. Bob cried out to the Englishmen, saying, "Hold on, gentlemen, and I'll give you a lively ride, and show you how to stage it in the Rocky Mountains." [Illustration: BOB SCOTT'S FAMOUS | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052842 | COACH RIDE.] His next movement was to pull the lamps out of the sockets and throw them at the leaders. The glass broke upon their backs and nearly set them wild, but being so accustomed to running the road, they never once left the track, and went flying on down the grade towards the next station, eight miles distant, the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052843 | coach bouncing over the loose stones and small obstacles, and surging from side to side, as an eggshell would in the rapids of Niagara. Not satisfied with the break-neck rate at which they were traveling, Bob pulled out his revolver and fired in rapid succession, at the same time yelling in a demoniacal manner. By this time the Englishmen had | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052844 | become thoroughly frightened, as they saw the lines flying wildly in every direction and the team running away. They did not know whether to jump out or remain in the coach. Bob would occasionally look down from his seat, and, seeing their frightened faces, would ask, "Well, how do you like staging in this country now?" The Englishmen stuck to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052845 | the coach, probably thinking it would be better to do so than to take the chances of breaking their necks by jumping. As the flying team was nearing the station, the stock tender saw that they were running away and that the driver had no control over them whatever. Being aware that the pony express horses were accustomed to running | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052846 | right into the stable on arriving at the station, he threw open the large folding doors, which would just allow the passage of the team and coach into the stable. The horses, sure enough, made for the open doorway. Capt. Cricket, the messenger, and Scott got down in the boot of the coach to save themselves from colliding with the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052847 | top of the stable door. The coach would probably have passed through into the stable without any serious damage had it not been for the bar or threshold that was stretched across the ground to fasten the doors to. This bar was a small log, and the front wheels struck it with such force that the coach was thrown up | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052848 | high enough to strike the upper portion of the door frame. The top of the coach was completely torn off, and one of the passenger's arms was broken. This was the only serious injury that was done; though it was a matter of surprise to all, that any of the travelers escaped. The coach was backed out, when the running | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052849 | gear was found to be as good as ever. The top was soon patched up, a change of team was made, and Bob Scott, mounting the box as if nothing had happened, took the reins in hand, and shouted, "All aboard!" The Englishmen, however, had had enough of Bob Scott, and not one of the party was willing to risk | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052850 | his life with him again. They said that he was drunk, or crazy or both, and that they would report him and have him discharged for what he had already done. Bob waited a few minutes to give them an opportunity to take their seats in the coach, but they told him most emphatically that he could drive on without | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052851 | them, as they intended to wait there for the next stage. Their traps were taken off, and Bob drove away without a single passenger. He made his usual time into Fort Laramie, which was the end of his run. The Englishmen came through on the next day's coach, and proceeded on to Atchison, where they reported Bob to the superintendent | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052852 | of the line, who, however, paid little or no attention to the matter, as Bob remained on the road. Such is the story of the liveliest and most reckless piece of stage-driving that ever occurred on the Overland stage road. . QUESTIONABLE PROCEEDINGS. Having been away from home nearly a year, and having occasionally heard of my mother's poor health, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052853 | I determined to make her a visit; so procuring a pass over the road, I went to Leavenworth, arriving there about June 1st, , going from there home. The civil war had broken out, and excitement ran high in that part of the country. My mother, of course, was a strong Union woman, and had such great confidence in the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052854 | government that she believed the war would not last over six months. Leavenworth at that time was quite an important outfitting post for the West and Southwest, and the fort there was garrisoned by a large number of troops. While in the city one day I met several of the old, as well as the young men, who had been | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052855 | members of the Free State party all through the Kansas troubles, and who had, like our family, lost everything at the hands of the Missourians. They now thought a good opportunity offered to retaliate and get even with their persecutors, as they were all considered to be secessionists. That they were all secessionists, however, was not true, as all of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052856 | them did not sympathize with the South. But the Free State men, myself among them, took it for granted that as Missouri was a slave state the inhabitants must all be secessionists, and therefore our enemies. A man by the name of Chandler proposed that we organize an independent company for the purpose of invading Missouri and making war on | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052857 | its people on our own responsibility. He at once went about it in a very quiet way, and succeeded in inducing twenty-five men to join him in the hazardous enterprise. Having a longing and revengeful desire to retaliate upon the Missourians for the brutal manner in which they had treated and robbed my family, I became a member of Chandler's | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052858 | company. His plan was that we should leave our homes in parties of not more than two or three together, and meet at a certain point near Westport, Missouri, on a fixed day. His instructions were carried out to the letter, and we met at the rendezvous at the appointed time. Chandler had been there some days before us, and, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052859 | thoroughly disguised, had been looking around the country for the whereabouts of all the best horses. He directed us to secretly visit certain farms and collect all the horses possible, and bring them together the next night. This we did, and upon reassembling it was found that nearly every man had two horses. We immediately struck out for the Kansas | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052860 | line, which we crossed at an Indian ferry on the Kansas river, above Wyandotte, and as soon as we had set foot upon Kansas soil we separated with the understanding; that we were to meet one week from that day at Leavenworth. [Illustration: NEARLY EVERY MAN HAD TWO HORSES.] Some of the parties boldly took their confiscated horses into Leavenworth, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052861 | while others rode them to their homes. This action may look to the reader like horse-stealing, and some people might not hesitate to call it by that name; but Chandler plausibly maintained that we were only getting back our own, or the equivalent, from the Missourians, and as the government was waging war against the South, it was perfectly square | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052862 | and honest, and we had a good right to do it. So we didn't let our consciences trouble us very much. We continued to make similar raids upon the Missourians off and on during the summer, and occasionally we had running fights with them; none of the skirmishes, however, amounting to much. The government officials hearing of our operations, put | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052863 | detectives upon our track, and several of the party were arrested. My mother, upon learning that I was engaged in this business, told me it was neither honorable nor right, and she would not for a moment countenance any such proceedings. Consequently I abandoned the jay-hawking enterprise, for such it really was. About this time the government bought from Jones | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052864 | and Cartwright several ox-trains, which were sent to Rolla, Missouri, all being put in charge of my old and gallant friend, Wild Bill, who had just become the hero of the day, on account of a terrible fight which he had had with a gang of desperadoes and outlaws, who infested the border under the leadership of the then notorious | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052865 | Jake McCandless. In this fight he had killed McCandless and three of his men. The affair occurred while Wild Bill was riding the pony express in western Kansas. The custom with the express riders, when within half a mile of a station, was either to begin shouting or blowing a horn in order to notify the stock tender of his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052866 | approach, and to have a fresh horse already saddled for him on his arrival, so that he could go right on without a moment's delay. One day, as Wild Bill neared Rock Creek station, where he was to change horses, he began shouting as usual at the proper distance; but the stock-tender, who had been married only a short time | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052867 | and had his wife living with him at the station, did not make his accustomed appearance. Wild Bill galloped up and instead of finding the stock-tender ready for him with a fresh horse, he discovered him lying across the stable door with the blood oozing from a bullet-hole in his head. The man was dead, and it was evident that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052868 | he had been killed only a few moments before. In a second Wild Bill jumped from his horse, and looking in the direction of the house he saw a man coming towards him. The approaching man fired on him at once, but missed his aim. Quick as lightning Wild Bill pulled his revolver and returned the fire. The stranger fell | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052869 | dead, shot through the brain. "Bill, Bill! Help! Help! save me!" Such was the cry that Bill now heard. It was the shrill and pitiful voice of the dead stock-tender's wife, and it came from a window of the house. She had heard the exchange of shots, and knew that Wild Bill had arrived. He dashed over the dead body | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052870 | of the villain whom he had killed, and just as he sprang into the door of the house, he saw two powerful men assaulting the woman. One of the desperadoes was in the act of striking her with the butt end of a revolver, and while his arm was still raised, Bill sent a ball crashing through his skull, killing | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052871 | him instantly. Two other men now came rushing from an adjoining room, and Bill, seeing that the odds were three to one against him, jumped into a corner, and then firing, he killed another of the villains. Before he could shoot again the remaining two men closed in upon him, one of whom had drawn a large bowie knife. Bill | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052872 | wrenched the knife from his grasp and drove it through the heart of the outlaw. [Illustration: WILD BILL AND THE OUTLAWS.] The fifth and last man now grabbed Bill by the throat, and held him at arm's length, but it was only for a moment, as Bill raised his own powerful right arm and struck his antagonist's left arm such | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052873 | a terrible blow that he broke it. The disabled desperado, seeing that he was no longer a match for Bill, jumped through the door, and mounting a horse he succeeded in making his escape--being the sole survivor of the Jake McCandless gang. Wild Bill remained at the station with the terrified woman until the stage came along, and he then | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052874 | consigned her to the care of the driver. Mounting his horse he at once galloped off, and soon disappeared in the distance, making up for lost time. This was the exploit that was on everybody's tongue and in every newspaper. It was one of the most remarkable and desperate hand to hand encounters that has ever taken place on the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052875 | border. I happened to meet Wild Bill at Leavenworth as he was about to depart for Rolla; he wished me to take charge of the government trains as a sort of assistant under him, and I gladly accepted the offer. Arriving at Rolla, we loaded the trains with freight and took them to Springfield, Missouri. On our return to Rolla | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052876 | we heard a great deal of talk about the approaching fall races at St. Louis, and Wild Bill having brought a fast running horse from the mountains, determined to take him to that city and match him against some of the high-flyers there; and down to St. Louis we went with this running horse, placing our hopes very high on | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052877 | him. Wild Bill had no difficulty in making up a race for him. All the money that he and I had we put up on the mountain runner, and as we thought we had a sure thing, we also bet the horse against $. I rode the horse myself, but nevertheless, our sure thing, like many another sure thing, proved | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052878 | a total failure, and we came out of that race minus the horse and every dollar we had in the world. Before the race it had been "make or break" with us, and we got "broke." We were "busted" in the largest city we had ever been in, and it is no exaggeration to say that we felt mighty blue. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052879 | On the morning after the race we went to the military headquarters, where Bill succeeded in securing an engagement for himself as a government scout, but I being so young failed in obtaining similar employment. Wild Bill, however, raised some money, by borrowing it from a friend, and then buying me a steamboat ticket he sent me back to Leavenworth, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052880 | while he went to Springfield, which place he made his headquarters while scouting in southeastern Missouri. One night, after he had returned from a scouting expedition, he took a hand in a game of poker, and in the course of the game he became involved in a quarrel with Dave Tutt, a professional gambler, about a watch which he had | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052881 | won from Tutt, who would not give it up. Bill told him he had won it fairly, and that he proposed to have it; furthermore, he declared his intention of carrying the watch across the street next morning to military headquarters, at which place he had to report at nine o'clock. Tutt replied that he would himself carry the watch | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052882 | across the street at nine o'clock, and no other man would do it. Bill then said to Tutt that if he attempted anything of the kind, he would kill him. A challenge to a duel had virtually been given and accepted, and everybody knew that the two men meant business. At nine o'clock the next morning, Tutt started to cross | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052883 | the street. Wild Bill, who was standing on the opposite side, told him to stop. At that moment Tutt, who was carrying his revolver in his hand, fired at Bill but missed him. Bill quickly pulled out his revolver and returned the fire, hitting Tutt squarely in the forehead and killing him instantly. Quite a number of Tutt's friends were | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052884 | standing in the vicinity, having assembled to witness the duel, and Bill, as soon as Tutt fell to the ground, turned to them and asked if any one of them wanted to take it up for Tutt; if so, he would accommodate any of them then and there. But none of them cared to stand in front of Wild Bill | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052885 | to be shot at by him. Nothing of course was ever done to Bill for the killing of Tutt. . A SOLDIER. In the fall of I made a trip to Fort Larned, Kansas, carrying military dispatches, and in the winter I accompanied George Long through the country, and assisted him in buying horses for the government. The next spring, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052886 | , an expedition against the Indians was organized, consisting of a volunteer regiment, the Ninth Kansas, under Colonel Clark. This expedition, which I had joined in the capacity of guide and scout, proceeded to the Kiowa and Comanche country, on the Arkansas river, along which stream we scouted all summer between Fort Lyon and Fort Larned, on the old Santa | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052887 | Fe trail. We had several engagements with the Indians, but they were of no great importance. In the winter of , I became one of the "Red Legged Scouts,"--a company of scouts commanded by Captain Tuff. Among its members were some of the most noted Kansas Rangers, such as Red Clark, the St. Clair brothers, Jack Harvey, an old pony | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052888 | express-rider named Johnny Fry, and many other well known frontiersmen. Our field of operations was confined mostly to the Arkansas country and southwestern Missouri. We had many a lively skirmish with the bushwhackers and Younger brothers, and when we were not hunting them, we were generally employed in carrying dispatches between Forts Dodge, Gibson, Leavenworth, and other posts. Whenever we | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052889 | were in Leavenworth we had a very festive time. We usually attended all the balls in full force, and "ran things" to suit ourselves. Thus I passed the winter of and the spring of . Subsequently I engaged to conduct a small train to Denver for some merchants, and on reaching that place in September, I received a letter stating | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052890 | that my mother was not expected to live. I hastened home, and found her dangerously ill. She grew gradually worse, and at last, on the 22d of November, , she died. Thus passed away a loving and affectionate mother and a noble, brave, good and loyal woman. That I loved her above all other persons, no one who has read | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052891 | these reminiscences can for a moment doubt. Previous to this said event my sister Julia had been married to a gentleman named J.A. Goodman, and they now came to reside at our house and take charge of the children, as my mother had desired that they should not be separated. Mr. Goodman became the guardian of the minor children. I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052892 | soon left the home now rendered gloomy by the absence of her whom I had so tenderly loved, and going to Leavenworth I entered upon a dissolute and reckless life--to my shame be it said--and associated with gamblers, drunkards, and bad characters generally. I continued my dissipation about two months, and was becoming a very "hard case." About this time | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052893 | the Seventh Kansas regiment, known as "Jennison's Jay-hawkers," returned from the war, and re-enlisted and re-organized as veterans. Among them I met quite a number of my old comrades and neighbors, who tried to induce me to enlist and go south with them. I had no idea of doing anything of the kind; but one day, after having been under | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052894 | the influence of bad whisky, I awoke to find myself a soldier in the Seventh Kansas. I did not remember how or when I had enlisted, but I saw I was in for it, and that it would not do for me to endeavor to back out. In the spring of the regiment was ordered to Tennessee, and we got | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052895 | into Memphis just about the time that General Sturgis was so badly whipped by General Forrest. General A. J. Smith re-organized the army to operate against Forrest, and after marching to Tupalo, Mississippi, we had an engagement with him and defeated him. This kind of fighting was all new to me, being entirely different from any in which I had | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052896 | ever before engaged. I soon became a non-commissioned officer, and was put on detached service as a scout. After skirmishing around the country with the rest of the army for some little time, our regiment returned to Memphis, but was immediately ordered to Cape Girardeau, in Missouri, as a confederate force under General Price was then raiding that state. The | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052897 | command of which my regiment was a part hurried to the front to intercept Price, and our first fight with him occurred at Pilot Knob. From that time for nearly six weeks we fought or skirmished every day. I was still acting as a scout, when one day I rode ahead of the command, some considerable distance, to pick up | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052898 | all possible information concerning Price's movements. I was dressed in gray clothes, or Missouri jeans, and on riding up to a farm-house and entering, I saw a man, also dressed in gray costume, sitting at a table eating bread and milk. He looked up as I entered, and startled me by saying: "You little rascal, what are you doing in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000052899 | those 'secesh' clothes?" Judge of my surprise when I recognized in the stranger my old friend and partner, Wild Bill, disguised as a Confederate officer. "I ask you the same question, sir," said I without the least hesitation. "Hush! sit down and have some bread and milk, and we'll talk it all over afterwards," said he. I accepted the invitation | 60 | gutenberg |
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