The whole crowd was whooping, singing, and yelling as only Indians can. Looking toward the opposite side of the river, I saw the people of a big village moving along the bank, and made up my mind that the redmen had left the Post, and were on the warpath in dead earnest.

My captors crossed the stream with me, and as we waded through the shallow water they lashed both the mule and me. Soon they brought me before an important-looking body of Indians, who proved to be the chiefs and principal warriors. Among them I recognized, old Satanta and others whom I knew. I supposed that all was over with me.

All at once Satanta asked me where I had been, and I suddenly had an inspiration.

I said I had been after a herd of cattle or "Whoa-haws" as they called them. The Indians had been out of meat for several weeks, and a large herd of cattle which had been promised them had not arrived.

As soon as I said I had been after "Whoa-haws" old Satanta began questioning me closely. When he asked where the cattle were I replied that they were only a few miles distant and that I had been sent by General Hazen to inform him that the herd was coming, and that they were intended for his people. This seemed to please the old rascal. He asked if there were any soldiers with the herd. I said there were. Thereupon the chiefs held a consultation. Presently Satanta asked me if the general had really said they were to have the cattle. I assured him that he had. I followed this by a dignified inquiry as to why his young men had treated me so roughly.

He intimated that this was only a boyish freak, for which he was very sorry. The young men had merely wanted to test my courage. The whole thing, he said, was a joke. The old liar was now beating me at the lying game, but I did not care, since I was getting the best of it.

I did not let him suspect that I doubted his word. He ordered the young men to restore my arms and reprimanded them for their conduct. He was playing a crafty game, for he preferred to get the meat without fighting if possible, and my story that soldiers were coming had given him food for reflection. After another council the old man asked me if I would go and bring the cattle down. "Of course," I told him. "Such are my instructions from General Hazen."

In response to an inquiry if I wanted any of his young men to accompany me I said that it would be best to go alone. Wheeling my mule around, I was soon across the river, leaving the chief firmly believing that I was really going for the cattle, which existed only in my imagination.

I knew if I could get the river between me and the Indians I would have a good three-quarters of a mile start of them and could make a run for Fort Larned. But as I reached the river bank I looked about and saw ten or fifteen Indians who had begun to suspect that all was not as it should be.

The moment my mule secured a good foothold on the bank I urged him into a gentle lope toward the place where, according to my story, the cattle were to be brought.

Upon reaching the top of the ridge and riding down the other side out of view, I turned my mount and headed westward for Fort Larned. I let him out for all he was worth, and when I reached a little rise and looked back the Indian village lay in plain sight.

My pursuers were by this time on the ridge I had passed over, and were looking for me in every direction. Soon they discovered me, and discovered also that I was running away. They struck out in swift pursuit. In a few minutes it became painfully evident that they were gaining.

When I crossed Pawnee Fork, two miles from the Post, two or three of them were but a quarter of a mile behind. As I gained the opposite side of the creek I was overjoyed to see some soldiers in a Government wagon a short distance away. I yelled at the top of my lungs that the Indians were after me.

When Denver Jim, an old scout, who was with the party, was informed that there were ten or fifteen Indians in the pursuit he said:

"Let's lay for them."

The wagon was driven hurriedly in among the trees and low box-elder bushes, and secreted, while we waited. We did not wait long. Soon up came the Indians, lashing their horses, which were blowing and panting. We let two of them pass, then opened a lively fire on the next three or four, killing two at the first volley. The others discovering that they had run into an ambush, whirled around and ran back in the direction from which they had come. The two who had passed heard the firing and made their escape.

The Indians that were killed were scalped, and we appropriated their arms and equipment. Then, after catching the horses, we made our way into the Post. The soldiers had heard us firing, and as we entered the fort drums were beating and the buglers were sounding the call to fall in. The officers had thought Satanta and his warriors were coming in to capture the fort.

That very morning, two hours after General Hazen had left, the old chief drove into the Post in an ambulance which he had received some months before from the Government. He seemed angry and bent on mischief. In an interview with Captain Parker, the ranking officer, he asked why General Hazen had left the fort without supplying him with beef cattle. The captain said the cattle were then on the road, but could not explain why they were delayed.

The chief made numerous threats. He said that if he wanted to he could capture the whole Post. Captain Parker, who was a brave man, gave him to understand that he was reckoning beyond his powers. Satanta finally left in anger. Going to the sutler's store, he sold his ambulance to the post-trader, and a part of the proceeds he secretly invested in whisky, which could always be secured by the Indians from rascally men about a Post, notwithstanding the military and civil laws.

He then mounted his horse and rode rapidly to his village. He returned in an hour with seven or eight hundred of his warriors, and it looked as if he intended to carry out his threat of capturing the fort. The garrison at once turned out. The redskins, when within a half mile, began circling around the fort, firing several shots into it.

While this circling movement was taking place, the soldiers observed that the whole village had packed up and was on the move. The mounted warriors remained behind some little time, to give their families an opportunity to get away. At last they circled the Post several times more, fired a few parting shots, and then galloped over the prairie to overtake the fast-departing village. On their way they surprised and killed a party of woodchoppers on Pawnee Fork, as well as a party of herders guarding beef cattle.

The soldiers with the wagon I had opportunely met at the crossing had been out looking for the bodies of these victims, seven or eight in all. Under the circumstances it was not surprising that the report of our guns should have persuaded the garrison that Satanta's men were coming back to make their threatened assault.

There was much excitement at the Post. The guards had been doubled. Captain Parker had all the scouts at his headquarters. He was seeking to get one of them to take dispatches to General Sheridan at Fort Hays. I reported to him at once, telling him of my encounter and my escape.

"You were lucky to think of that cattle story, Cody," he said. "But for that little game your scalp would now be ornamenting a Kiowa lodge."

"Cody," put in Dick Curtis, "the captain is trying to get somebody to take dispatches to General Sheridan. None of the scouts here seem willing to undertake the trip. They say they are not well enough acquainted with the country to find the way at night."

A storm was coming up, and it was sure to be a dark night. Not only did the scouts fear they would lose the way, but, with hostile Indians all about, the undertaking was exceedingly dangerous. A large party of redskins was known to be encamped at Walnut Creek, on the direct road to Fort Hays.

Observing that Curtis was obviously trying to induce me to volunteer, I made an evasive answer. I was wearied from my long day's ride, and the beating I received from the Indians had not rested me any. But Curtis was persistent. He said:

"I wish you were not so tired, Bill. You know the country better than the rest of us. I'm certain you could go through."

"As far as the ride is concerned," I said, "that would not matter. But this is risky business just now, with the country full of hostile Indians. Still, if no other man will volunteer I will chance it, provided I am supplied with a good horse. I am tired of dodging Indians on a Government mule."

At this, Captain Nolan, who had been listening, said:

"Bill, you can have the best horse in my company."

I picked the horse ridden by Captain Nolan's first sergeant. To the captain's inquiry as to whether I was sure I could find my way, I replied:

"I have hunted on every acre of ground between here and Fort Hays. I can almost keep my route by the bones of the dead buffaloes."

"Never fear about Cody, captain," Curtis added; "he is as good in the dark as he is in the daylight."

By ten o'clock that night I was on my way to Fort Hays, sixty-five miles distant across the country.

It was pitch-dark, but this I liked, as it lessened the probability of the Indians' seeing me unless I stumbled on them by accident. My greatest danger was that my horse might run into a hole and fall, and in this way get away from me. To avoid any such accident I tied one end of my rawhide lariat to my belt and the other to the bridle. I did not propose to be left alone, on foot, on that prairie.

Before I had traveled three miles the horse, sure enough, stepped into a prairie dog's hole. Down he went, throwing me over his head. He sprang to his feet before I could catch the bridle, and galloped away into the darkness. But when he reached the end of his lariat he discovered that he was picketed to Bison William. I brought him up standing, recovered my gun, which had fallen to the ground, and was soon in the saddle again.

Twenty-five miles from Fort Larned the country became rougher, and I had to travel more carefully. Also I proceeded as quietly as possible, for I knew I was in the vicinity of the Indians who had been lately encamped on Walnut Creek. But when I came up near the creek I unexpectedly rode in among a herd of horses. The animals became frightened, and ran off in all directions. Without pausing to make any apology, I backed out as quickly as possible. But just at that minute a dog, not fifty yards away, set up a howl. Soon I heard Indians talking. They had been guarding the horses, and had heard the hoofbeats of my horse. In an instant they were on their ponies and after me.

I urged my mount to full speed up the creek bottom, taking chances of his falling into a hole. The Indians followed me as fast as they could, but I soon outdistanced them.

I struck the old Santa Fe trail ten miles from Fort Hays just at daybreak. Shortly after reveille I rode into the post, where Colonel Moore, to whom I reported, asked for the dispatches from Captain Parker for General Sheridan. He asked me to give them into his hands, but I said I preferred to hand them to the general in person. Sheridan, who was sleeping in the same building, heard our voices and bade me come into his room.

"Hello, Cody!" he said. "Is that you?"

"Yes, sir," I said. "I have dispatches for you."

He read them hurriedly, told me they were very important, and asked all about the outbreak of the Kiowas and Comanches. I gave him all the information I possessed.

"Bill," said General Sheridan, "you've had a pretty lively ride. I suppose you're tired after your long journey."

"Not very," I said.

"Come in and have breakfast with me."

"No, thank you. Hays City is only a mile from here. I know every one there and want to go over and have a time."

"Very well, do as you please, but come back this afternoon, for I want to see you."

I got little rest at Hays City, and yet I was soon to set out on another hard ninety-five-mile journey.



CHAPTER V

When I rode back to General Sheridan's headquarters, after a visit with old friends at Hays City, I noticed several scouts in a little group engaged in conversation on some important topic. Upon inquiry I learned that General Sheridan wanted a dispatch sent to Fort Dodge, a distance of ninety-five miles.

The Indians had recently killed two or three men engaged in carrying dispatches over this route. On this account none of the scouts were at all anxious to volunteer. A reward of several hundred dollars had failed to secure any takers.

The scouts had heard of what I had done the day before. They asked me if I did not think the journey to Fort Dodge dangerous. I gave as my opinion that a man might possibly go through without seeing an Indian, but that the chances were ten to one that he would have an exceedingly lively run before he reached his destination, provided he got there at all.

Leaving the scouts arguing as to whether any of them would undertake the venture, I reported to General Sheridan. He informed me that he was looking for a man to carry dispatches to Fort Dodge, and, while we were talking, Dick Parr, his chief of scouts, came in to inform him that none of his scouts would volunteer. Upon hearing this, I said:

"General, if no one is ready to volunteer, I'll carry your dispatches myself."

"I had not thought of asking you to do this, Cody," said the general. "You are already pretty hard-worked. But it is really important that these dispatches should go through."

"If you don't get a courier before four this afternoon, I'll be ready for business," I told him. "All I want is a fresh horse. Meanwhile I'll get a little more rest."

It was not much of a rest, however, that I got. I went over to Hays City and had a "time" with the boys. Coming back to the Post at the appointed hour, I found that no scout had volunteered. I reported to the general, who had secured an excellent horse for me. Handing me the dispatches, he said:

"You can start as soon as you wish. The sooner the better. And good luck to you, my boy!"

An hour later I was on my way. At dusk I crossed the Smoky Hill River. I did not urge my horse much, as I was saving him for the latter end of the journey, or for any run I might have to make should the "wild boys" jump me.

Though I kept a sharp watch through the night I saw no Indians, and had no adventures worth relating. Just at daylight I found myself approaching Saw Log River, having ridden about seventy-five miles.

A company of colored cavalry, under command of Major Cox, was stationed at this point. I approached the camp cautiously. The darky soldiers had a habit of shooting first and crying "Halt!" afterward. When I got within hearing distance I called out, and was answered by one of the pickets. I shouted to him not to shoot, informing him that I carried dispatches from Fort Hays. Then, calling the sergeant of the guard, I went up to the vidette, who at once recognized me, and took me to the tent of Major Cox.

This officer supplied me with a fresh horse, as requested by General Sheridan in a letter I brought to him. After an hour's sleep and a meal, I jumped into the saddle, and before sunrise was on my way. I reached Fort Dodge, twenty-five miles further on, between nine and ten o'clock without having seen a single Indian.

When I had delivered my dispatches, Johnny Austin, an old friend, who was chief of scouts at the Post, invited me to come to his house for a nap. When I awoke Austin told me there had been Indians all around the Post. He was very much surprised that I had seen none of them. They had run off cattle and horses, and occasionally killed a man. Indians, he said, were also very thick on the Arkansas River between Fort Dodge and Fort Larned, and had made considerable trouble. The commanding officer of Fort Dodge was very anxious to send dispatches to Fort Larned, but the scouts, like those at Fort Hays, were backward about volunteering. Fort Larned was my Post, and I wanted to go there anyhow. So I told Austin I would carry the dispatches, and if any of the boys wanted to go along I would be glad of their company. This offer was reported to the commanding officer. He sent for me, and said he would be glad to have me take the dispatches, if I could stand the trip after what I had already done.

"All I want is a fresh horse, sir," said I.

"I am sorry we haven't a decent horse," he replied, "but we have a reliable and honest Government mule, if that will do you."

"Trot out the mule," I told him. "It is good enough for me. I am ready at any time."

The mule was forthcoming. At dark I pulled out for Fort Larned, and proceeded without interruption to Coon Creek, thirty miles from Fort Dodge. I had left the wagon road some distance to the south, and traveled parallel to it. This I decided would be the safer course, as the Indians might be lying in watch for dispatch-bearers and scouts along the main road.

At Coon Creek I dismounted and led the mule down to the river to get a drink of water. While I was drinking the brute jerked loose and struck out down the creek. I followed him, trusting that he would catch his foot in the bridle rein and stop, but he made straight for the wagon road, where I feared Indians would be lurking, without a pause. At last he struck the road, but instead of turning back toward Fort Dodge he headed for Fort Larned, keeping up a jogtrot that was just too fast to permit me to overtake him.

I had my gun in hand, and was sorely tempted to shoot him more than once, and probably would have done so but for the fear of bringing the Indians down on me. But he was going my way, so I trudged along after him mile after mile, indulging from time to time in strong language regarding the entire mule fraternity. The mule stuck to the road and kept on for Fort Larned, and I did the same thing. The distance was thirty-five miles. As day was beginning to break, we—the mule and myself—found ourselves on a hill looking down on the Pawnee Fork, on which Fort Larned was located, only four miles away. When the sunrise gun sounded we were within half a mile of the Post.

I was thoroughly out of patience by this time.

"Now, Mr. Mule," I said, "it is my turn," and threw my gun to my shoulder. Like the majority of Government mules, he was not easy to kill. He died hard, but he died.

Hearing the report of the gun, the troops came rushing out to see what was the matter. When they heard my story they agreed that the mule had got no more than his deserts. I took the saddle and bridle and proceeded to the Post, where I delivered my dispatches to Captain Parker. I then went to Dick Curtis's house at the scouts' headquarters and put in several hours of solid sleep.

During the day General Hazen returned from Fort Harker. He had important dispatches to send to General Sheridan. I was feeling highly elated over my ride, and as I was breaking the scout records I volunteered for this mission.

The general accepted my offer, though he said there was no necessity of my killing myself. I said I had business which called me to Fort Hays, anyway, and that it would make no difference to the other scouts if he gave me the job, as none of them were particularly eager for the journey.

Accordingly, that night, I mounted an excellent horse, and next morning at daylight reached General Sheridan's headquarters at Fort Hays.

The general was surprised to see me, and still more so when I told him of the time I had made on the rides I had successfully undertaken. I believe this record of mine has never been beaten in a country infested with Indians and subject to blizzards and other violent weather conditions.

To sum up, I had ridden from Fort Larned to Fort Zarrah, a distance of sixty-five miles and back in twelve hours. Ten miles must be added to this for the distance the Indians took me across the Arkansas River. In the succeeding twenty-four hours I had gone from Fort Larned to Fort Hays, sixty-five miles, in eight hours. During the next twenty-four hours I rode from Fort Hays to Fort Dodge, ninety-five miles. The following night I traveled from Fort Dodge to Fort Larned, thirty miles on mule back and thirty-five miles on foot, in twelve hours, and the next night sixty-five miles more from Fort Larned to Fort Hays.

Altogether I had ridden and walked three hundred and sixty-five miles in fifty-eight hours, an average of over six miles an hour.

Taking into consideration the fact that most of this riding was done in the night over wild country, with no roads to follow, and that I had continually to look out for Indians, it was regarded at the time as a big ride as well as a dangerous one.

What I have set down here concerning it can be verified by referring to the autobiography of General Sheridan.

General Sheridan complimented me highly on this achievement. He told me I need not report back to General Hazen, as he had more important work for me to do. The Fifth Cavalry, one of the finest regiments of the army, was on its way to the Department of the Missouri, and he was going to send an expedition against the Dog Soldier Indians who were infesting the Republican River region.

"Cody," he said, "I am going to appoint you guide and chief of scouts of the command. How does that suit you?"

I told him it suited me first rate and thanked him for the honor.

The Dog Soldier Indians were a band of Cheyennes and of unruly, turbulent members of other tribes who would not enter into any treaty, and would have kept no treaty if they had made one. They had always refused to go on a reservation. They got their name from the word "Cheyenne," which is derived from chien, the French word for "dog."

On the third of October the Fifth Cavalry arrived at Fort Hays, and I at once began making the acquaintance of the members of the regiment. General Sheridan introduced me to Colonel Royal, the commander, whom I found a gallant officer and an agreeable gentleman. I also became acquainted with Major W.H. Brown, Major Walker, Captain Sweetman, Quartermaster E.M. Hays, and many others of the men with whom I was soon to be associated.

General Sheridan, being anxious to punish the Indians who had lately fought General Forsythe, did not give the regiment much of a rest. On October 5th it began the march to Beaver Creek country.

The first night we camped on the south fork of Big Creek, four miles west of Hays City. By this time I had become well acquainted with Major Brown and Captain Sweetman. They invited me to mess with them, and a jolly mess we had. There were other scouts with the command besides myself. I particularly remember Tom Kenahan, Hank Fields, and a character called "Nosey."

The morning of the 6th we pulled out to the north. During the day I was particularly struck with the appearance of the regiment. It was a beautiful command, and when strung out on the prairies with, a train of seventy-five six-mule wagons, ambulances, and pack-mules, I felt very proud of my position as guide and chief of scouts with such a warlike expedition.

Just as we were going into camp on the Saline River that night we ran into a band of some fifteen Indians. They saw us, and dashed across the creek, followed by some bullets which we sent after them.

This little band proved to be only a scouting party, so we followed it only a mile or two. Our attention was directed shortly to a herd of buffaloes, and we killed ten or fifteen for the command.

Next day we marched thirty miles. When we went into camp Colonel Royal asked me to go out and kill some buffaloes for the boys.

"All right, colonel," I said; "send along a wagon to bring in the meat."

"I am not in the habit of sending out my wagons till I know there is something to be hauled in," he said. "Kill your buffaloes first, and I'll send the wagons."

Without further words I went out on my hunt. After a short absence I returned and asked the colonel to send his wagons for the half-dozen buffaloes I had killed.

The following afternoon he again requested me to go out after buffaloes. I didn't ask for any wagons this time, but rode out some distance, and, coming upon a small herd, headed seven or eight of them directly for the camp. Instead of shooting them I ran them at full speed right into the place and then killed them one after another in rapid succession.

Colonel Royal, who witnessed the whole proceeding, was annoyed and puzzled, as he could see no good reason why I had not killed the buffaloes on the prairie.

Coming up angry, he demanded an explanation.

"I can't allow any such business as this, Cody," he exclaimed. "What do you mean by it!"

"I didn't care about asking for wagons this time, Colonel," I replied. "I thought I would make the buffaloes furnish their own transportation."

The colonel saw the force of my defense, and had no more to say on the subject.

No Indians had been seen in the vicinity during the day. Colonel Royal, having posted his pickets, supposed that everything was serene for the night. But before morning we were aroused by shots, and immediately afterward one of the mounted pickets came galloping into camp with the announcement that there were Indians close at hand. All the companies fell into line, prepared and eager for action. The men were still new to Indian fighting. Many of them were excited.

But, despite the alarm, no Indians made their appearance. Upon going to the post where the picket said he had seen them, none were to be found, nor could the faintest trace be discovered.

The sentinel, an Irishman, insisted that there certainly had been redskins there.

"But you must be mistaken," said the colonel.

"Upon me sowl, I'm not. As sure as me name's Pat Maloney, wan iv them red devils hit me on th' head with a club, so he did," persisted the picket.

When morning came we made a successful effort to clear up the mystery. Elk tracks were found in the vicinity, and it was undoubtedly a herd of elk that had frightened the picket. When he turned to flee he must have hit his head on an overhanging limb, which he supposed was the club of a redskin, bent on his murder. It was hard, however, to convince him that he could have been mistaken.

Three days' march brought us to Beaver Creek, where we encamped and where scouts were sent out in different directions. None of these parties discovered Indians, and they all returned to camp at about the same time. They found it in a state of excitement. A few hours before the return of the scouts the camp had been attacked by a party of redskins, who had killed two men and made off with sixty horses belonging to Company H.

That evening the command started on the trail of the horse thieves. Major Brown with two companies and three days' rations pushed ahead in advance of the main command. On the eighteenth day out, being unsuccessful in the chase, and nearly out of rations, the entire command marched toward the nearest railroad station and camped on the Saline river, three miles distant from Buffalo Tank.

While waiting for supplies we were joined by a new commanding officer, Brevet-Major-Greneral E.A. Carr, who was the senior major of the regiment and ranked Colonel Royal. He brought with him the celebrated Forsythe Scouts, who were commanded by Lieutenant Pepoon, a regular-army officer.

While in this camp, Major Brown welcomed a new lieutenant, who had come to fill a vacancy in the command. This was A.B. Bache, and on the day he was to arrive Major Brown had his private ambulance brought out and invited me to ride with him to the railroad station to meet the lieutenant. On the way to the depot he said:

"Now, Cody, we'll give Bache a lively little ride, and shake him up a little."

The new arrival was given a back seat in the ambulance when he got off the train, and we headed for the camp.

Presently Major Brown took the reins from his driver and at once began whipping the mules. When he had got them into a lively gallop he pulled out his revolver and fired several shots. The road was terribly rough and the night was intensely dark. We could not see where we were going, and it was a wonderful piece of luck that the wagon did not tip over and break our necks.

Finally Bache asked, good-humoredly:

"Is this the way you break in all your new lieutenants, Major?"

"Oh, no," returned the major. "But this is the way we often ride in this country. Keep your seat, Mr. Bache, and we'll take you through on time," he quoted, from Hank Monk's famous admonition to Horace Greeley.

We were now rattling down a steep hill at full speed. Just as we reached the bottom, the front wheels struck a deep ditch over which the mules had jumped. We were all brought up standing, and Bache plunged forward headlong to the front of the vehicle.

"Take the back seat, lieutenant," said Major Brown sternly.

Bache replied that he had been trying to do so, keeping his nerve and his temper. We soon got the wagon out of the ditch and resumed our drive. We swung into camp under full headway, and created considerable amusement. Everyone recognized the ambulance, and knew that Major Brown and I were out for a lark, so little was said about the exploit.

Next morning at an early hour the command started out on another Indian hunt. General Carr, who had a pretty good idea where he would be likely to find them, directed me to guide him by the nearest route to Elephant Fork, on Beaver Creek.

When we arrived at the South Fork of the Beaver, after two days' march, we discovered a fresh Indian trail. We had followed it hurriedly for eight miles when we discovered, on a bluff ahead, a large number of Indians.

General Carr ordered Lieutenant Pepoon's scouts and Company M to the front. Company M was commanded by Lieutenant Schinosky, a reckless dare-devil born in France, who was eager for a brush with the Indians.

In his anxiety to get into the fight he pushed his company nearly a mile in advance of the main command, when he was jumped by some four hundred Indians. Until our main force could come to his support he had as lively a little fight as any one could have asked for.

As the battle proceeded, the Indians continued to increase in numbers. At last it became apparent that we were fighting eight hundred or a thousand of them. The engagement was general. There were killed and wounded on both sides. The Indians were obviously fighting to give their families and village a chance to get away. We had surprised them with a larger force than they knew was in that part of the country. The battle continued steadily until dark. We drove them before us, but they fought stubbornly. At night they annoyed us by firing down into our camp from the encircling hills. Several times it was necessary to order out the command to dislodge them and to drive them back where they could do no damage.

After one of these sallies, Captain Sweetman, Lieutenant Bache, and myself were taking supper together when "Whang!" came a bullet into Mr. Bache's plate. We finished our supper without having any more such close calls.

At daylight next morning we took the trail again, soon reaching the spot where the Indians had camped the night before. Here there had been a large village, consisting of five hundred lodges. Continuing our pursuit, we came in sight of the retreating village at two in the afternoon. At once the warriors turned back and gave us battle.

To delay us as much as possible they set fire to the prairie grass in front and on all sides of us. For the remainder of the afternoon we kept up a running fight. Repeatedly the Indians attempted to lead us away from the trail of their fleeing village. But their trail was easily followed by the tepee poles, camp-kettles, robes, and all the paraphernalia which proved too heavy to carry for long, and which were dropped in the flight. It was useless to try to follow them after nightfall, and at dark we went into camp.

Next morning we were again on the trail, which led north and back toward Beaver Creek. The trail crossed this stream a few miles from where we had first discovered the Indians. They had made almost a complete circle in the hope of misleading us.

Late in the afternoon we again saw them going over a hill far ahead. Toward evening the main body of warriors once more came back and fought us, but we continued to drive them till dusk, when we encamped for the night.

Soon the Indians, finding they could not hold out against us, scattered in every direction. We followed the main trail to the Republican River, where we made a cut-off and proceeded north toward the Platte.

Here we found that the Indians, traveling day and night, had got a long start. General Carr decided we had pushed them so hard and given them such a thorough scaring that they would leave the Republican country and go north across the railroad. It seemed, therefore, unnecessary to pursue them any further. Most of the Indians did cross the river near Ogallah as he predicted, and thence continued northward.

That night we returned to the Republican River and camped in a grove of cottonwoods, which I named Carr's Grove in honor of our commander.

General Carr informed me that the next day's march would be toward the headwaters of the Beaver. I said that the distance was about twenty-five miles, and he said we would make it the next day. Getting an early start in the morning, we struck out across the prairie. My position, as guide, was the advance guard. About two o'clock General Carr overtook me and asked me how far I supposed it was to water. I replied that I thought it was about eight miles, although we could see no sign of a stream ahead.

"Pepoon's scouts say you are traveling in the wrong direction," said the general. "They say, the way you are bearing, it will be fifteen miles before we strike any branches of the Beaver, and that when you do you will find no water, for they are dry at this season of the year in this locality."

"I think the scouts are mistaken, General," I said. "The Beaver has more water near its head than it has below. At the place where we will strike the stream we will find immense beaver dams, big and strong enough to cross your whole command if you wish."

"Well, go ahead," he said. "I leave it to you. But, remember, I don't want a dry camp."

"No danger of that," I returned and rode on. As I predicted, we found water seven or eight miles further on. Hidden in the hills was a beautiful little tributary of the Beaver. We had no trouble in selecting a fine camp with good spring water and excellent grass. Learning that the stream, which was but eight miles long, was without a name, the general took out his map, and, locating it, christened it Cody's Creek, which name it still bears.

Early the next morning we pulled out for the Beaver. As we were approaching the stream I rode on ahead of the advance guard in order to find a crossing. Just as I turned a bend of the creek "Bang!" went a shot, and down went my horse, accompanied by myself.

I disentangled myself and jumped clear of the carcass, turning my guns loose at two Indians whom I discovered in the direction from which the shot had come. In the suddenness of it all I missed my aim. The Indians fired two or three more shots, and I returned the compliment by wounding one of their horses.

On the other side of the creek I saw a few lodges moving rapidly away, and also mounted warriors. They also saw me and began blazing away with their guns. The Indians who had killed my horse were retreating across the creek, using a beaver dam for a bridge. I accelerated their pace by sending a few shots after them and also fired at the warriors across the stream. I was undecided as to whether it would be best to run back to the command on foot or to retain my position. The troops, I knew, would come up in a few minutes. The sound of the firing would hasten their arrival.

The Indians soon saw that I was alone. They turned and charged down the hill, and were about to cross the creek and corral me when the advance guard of the command appeared over the ridge and dashed forward to my rescue. Then the redskins whirled and made off.

When General Carr arrived he ordered Company I to pursue the band. I accompanied Lieutenant Brady, who commanded the company. For several hours we had a running fight with the Indians, capturing several of their horses and most of their lodges. At night we returned to the command, which by this time had crossed the dam.

For several days we scouted along the river. We had two or three lively skirmishes, but at last our supplies began to run low, and the general ordered us to return to Fort Wallace, which we reached three days afterward.

While the regiment remained here, waiting for orders, I spent most of my time hunting buffaloes. One day while I was out with a small party, fifty Indians jumped us, and we had a terrific battle for an hour. We finally managed to drive them off, with four of their warriors killed. With me were a number of excellent marksmen, and they did fine work, sending bullets thick and fast where they would do the most execution.

Two or three of our horses were hit. One man was wounded. We were ready and willing to stay with the Indians as long as they would stay with us. But they gave it up at last. We finished our hunt and returned to the Post with plenty of buffalo meat. Here we received the compliments of General Carr on our little fight.

In a few days orders came from General Sheridan to make a winter campaign in the Canadian River country. We were to proceed to Fort Lyon on the Arkansas River and fit out for the expedition. Leaving Fort Wallace in November, 1868, we arrived at Fort Lyon in the latter part of the month, and began the work of outfitting.

Three weeks before this, General Penrose had left the Post with a command of three hundred men. He had taken no wagons with him. His supply train was composed of pack mules. General Carr was ordered to follow with supplies on Penrose's trail and to overtake him as soon as possible. I was particularly anxious to catch up with Penrose's command, as my old friend, "Wild Bill," was among his scouts.

For the first three days we followed the trail easily. Then we were caught in Freeze-Out Canon by a fearful snowstorm. This compelled us to go into camp for a day.

It now became impossible longer to follow Penrose's trail. The ground was covered with snow, and he had left no sign to show in which direction he was going.

General Carr sent for me, and told me it was highly important that we should not lose the trail. He instructed me to take some scouts, and, while the command remained in camp, to push on as far as possible to seek for some sign that would indicate the direction Penrose had taken.

Accompanied by four men, I started out in a blinding snowstorm. We rode twenty-four miles in a southerly direction till we reached a tributary of the Cimarron. From here we scouted up and down the stream for a few miles, and at last turned up one of Penrose's old camps.

It was now late in the afternoon. If the camp was to come up the next day it was necessary for us to return immediately with our information.

We built a fire in a sheltered spot, broiled some venison we had shot during the day, and after a substantial meal I started back alone, leaving the others behind.

It was eleven o'clock when I got back into camp. A light was still burning in General Carr's tent. He was sitting up to await my return. He was overjoyed at the news I brought him. He had been extremely anxious concerning the safety of Penrose. Rousing up his cook, he ordered a hot supper for me, which, after my long, cold ride, I greatly appreciated. I passed the night in the general's tent, and woke the next morning fully refreshed and ready for a big day's work.

The snow had drifted deeply overnight, and the command had a hard tramp through it when it set out next morning for the Cimarron. In many ravines the drifts had filled in to a great depth. Often the teamsters had to shovel their way through.

At sundown we reached the Cimarron, and went into a nice warm camp. The next morning, on looking around, we found that Penrose, who was not encumbered with wagons, had kept on the west side of the Cimarron. Here the country was so rough that we could not stay on the trail with wagons. But we knew that he would continue down the river, and the general gave orders to take the best route down-stream, which I found to be on the east side. Before we could make any headway with our wagon trains we had to leave the river and get out on the divide.

For some distance we found a good road, but suddenly we were brought up standing on a high table-land overlooking the beautiful winding creek that lay far below us. How to get the wagons down became a serious problem for the officers.

We were in the foothills of the rough Raton Mountains. The bluff we were on was steep and rugged.

"Cody," said General Carr, "we're in a nice fix now."

"That's nothing," I replied.

"But you never can take the train down."

"Never mind the train, General. You are looking for a good camp. How does that valley suit you?"

"That will do," he said. "I can easily descend with the cavalry, but how to get the wagons down is a puzzler."

"By the time your camp is located the wagons will be there," I said.

"All right," he returned. "I'll leave it to you, inasmuch as you seem to want to be the boss." He ordered the command to dismount and lead the horses down the mountain. When the wagon-train, which was a mile in the rear, came up, one of the drivers asked:

"How are we going to get down there?"

"Run down, slide down, fall down—any way to get down," I told him.

"We never can do it," said another wagon-master. "It's too steep. The wagons will run over the mules."

"Oh, no," I said. "The mules will have to keep out of the way."

I instructed Wilson, the chief wagon-master, to bring up his mess-wagon. He drove the wagon to the brink of the bluff. Following my directions, he brought out extra chains with which we locked both wheels on each side, and then rough-locked them.

This done, we started the wagons down the hill. The wheel-horses, or rather the wheel-mules, were good on the hold back, and we got along beautifully till the wagon had nearly reached the bottom of the declivity. Then the wagon crowded the mules so hard that they started on the run and came galloping down into the valley to the spot General Carr had selected for his camp. There was not the slightest accident.

Three other wagons followed in the same way. In half an hour every wagon was in the camp. It was an exciting sight to see the six-mule teams come almost straight down the mountainside and finally break into a run. At times it seemed certain that the wagon must turn a somersault and land on the mules, but nothing of the kind happened.

Our march proved be a lucky one so far as gaining on Penrose was concerned. The route he had taken on the west side of the stream was rough and bad, and with our great wagon-train we made as many miles in one day as he had in seven.

His command had taken a high table-land whose sides were so steep that not even a pack mule could make the descent, and he had been obliged to retrace the trail for a great distance, losing three days while doing so.

The incident of this particular camp we had selected was an exciting turkey hunt. We found the trees along the river bank literally alive with turkeys. After unsaddling the horses, two or three hundred soldiers surrounded a grove of timber, and there was a grand turkey round-up. Guns, clubs, and even stones were used as weapons. Of course, after the hunt we had roast turkey, boiled turkey, fried turkey, and turkey on toast for our fare, and in honor of the birds which had provided this treat we named the place Camp Turkey.

When we left camp we had an easy trail for several days. Penrose had taken a southerly direction toward the Canadian River. No Indians were to be seen, nor did we find any signs of them.

One day, while riding in advance of the command down San Francisco Creek, I heard some one calling my name from a little bunch of willow brush on the opposite bank of the stream. Looking closely at the spot, I saw a colored soldier.

"Sakes alive, Massa Bill, am dat you?" shouted the man, whom I recognized as a member of the Tenth Cavalry.

"Come out o' heah," I heard him call to someone behind him. "Heah's Massa Buffalo Bill." Then he sang out to me: "Massa Bill, is you got any hahdtack?"

"Nary a bit of hardtack, but the wagons will be along presently, and you can get all you want."

"Dat's de best news Ah's heahd fo' sixteen long days, Massa Bill."

"Where's your command? Where's General Penrose?" I demanded.

"Dunno," said the darky. "We got lost, an' we's been starvin' ever since."

By this time two other negroes had emerged from their hiding-place. They had deserted Penrose's command, which was out of rations and in a starving condition. They were trying to make their way back to old Fort Lyon. General Carr concluded, from what they could tell him, that Penrose was somewhere on Polladora Creek. But nothing definite was to be gleaned from the starving darkies, for they knew very little themselves.

General Carr was deeply distressed to learn that Penrose and his men were in such bad shape. He ordered Major Brown to start out the next morning with two companies of cavalry and fifty pack mules, loaded with provisions, and to make all possible speed to reach and relieve the suffering soldiers. I went with this detachment. On the third day out we found the half-famished soldiers encamped on the Polladora. The camp presented a pitiful sight. For over two weeks the men had only quarter rations and were now nearly starved to death. Over two hundred mules were lying dead, having succumbed to fatigue and starvation.

Penrose, having no hope that he would be found, had sent back a company of the Seventh Cavalry to Fort Lyon for supplies. As yet no word had been heard from them. The rations brought by Major Brown arrived none too soon. They were the means of saving many lives.

Almost the first man I saw after reaching the camp was my true and tried friend, "Wild Bill." That night we had a jolly reunion around the campfires.

When General Carr came up with his force, he took command of all the troops, as he was the senior officer. When a good camp had been selected he unloaded his wagons and sent them back to Fort Lyon for supplies. He then picked out five hundred of the best men and horses, and, taking his pack-train with him, started south for the Canadian River. The remainder of the troops were left at the supply camp.

I was ordered to accompany the expedition bound for the Canadian River. We struck the south fork of this stream at a point a few miles above the old adobe walls that were once a fort. Here Kit Carson had had a big Indian fight.

We were now within twelve miles of a new supply depot called Fort Evans, established for the Third Cavalry and Evans's expedition from New Mexico.

The scouts who brought this information reported also that they expected the arrival of a bull-train from New Mexico with a large quantity of beer for the soldiers.

"Wild Bill" and I determined to "lay" for this beer. That very evening it came along, and the beer destined for the soldiers at Fort Evans never reached them. It went straight down the thirsty throats of General Carr's command.

The Mexicans living near Fort Evans had brewed the beer. They were taking it to Fort Evans to sell to the troops. But it found a better market without going so far. It was sold to our boys in pint cups, and, as the weather was very cold, we warmed it by putting the ends of our picket pins, heated red-hot, into the brew before we partook of it. The result was one of the biggest beer jollifications it has ever been my misfortune to attend.

One evening General Carr summoned me to his tent. He said he wanted to send some scouts with dispatches to Fort Supply, to be forwarded from there to General Sheridan. He ordered me to call the scouts together and to select the men who were to go.

I asked if I were to go, but he replied that he could not spare me. The distance to Camp Supply was about two hundred miles. Because of the very cold weather it was sure to be a hard trip. None of the scouts were at all keen about undertaking it, but it was finally settled that "Wild Bill," "Little Geary," a half-breed, and three other scouts should carry the dispatches. They took their departure the next day with orders to return as soon, as possible.

We scouted for several days along the Canadian River, finding no sign of Indians. The general then returned to camp, and soon our wagon-train returned with provisions from Fort Lyon. Our animals were in poor condition, so we remained in different camps along San Francisco Creek and on the North Fork of the Canadian till "Wild Bill" and his scouts returned from Fort Supply.

Among the scouts in Penrose's command were fifteen Mexicans. Among them and the Americans a bitter feud existed. When Carr united Penrose's command with his own, and I was made chief of scouts, this feud grew more intense than ever. The Mexicans often threatened to "clean us out," but they postponed the execution of the threat from time to time. At last, however, when we were all in the sutler's store, the long-expected fight took place, with the result that the Mexicans were severely beaten.

On hearing of the row, General Carr sent for "Wild Bill" and me. From various reports he had made up his mind that we were the instigators of the affair. After listening to what we had to say, however, he decided that the Mexicans were as much to blame as we were. It is possible that both "Wild Bill" and I had imbibed a few more drinks than we needed that evening. General Carr said to me:

"Cody, there are plenty of antelopes in the country. You can do some hunting while we stay here." After that my time was spent in the chase, and I had fine success. I killed from twenty to twenty-five antelopes every day, and the camp was supplied with fresh meat.

When the horses and mules belonging to the outfit had been sufficiently recruited to travel, we returned to Fort Lyon, reaching there in March, 1869. The command recruited and rested for thirty days before proceeding to the Department of the Platte, whither it had been ordered.

At my request, General Carr kindly granted me a month's leave of absence to visit my family in St. Louis. He instructed Captain Hays, our quartermaster, to let me ride my mule and horse to Sheridan, 140 miles distant. At Sheridan I was to take the train for St. Louis.

I was instructed to leave the animals in the quartermaster's corral at Fort Wallace until I should come back. Instead of doing this, I put them both in charge of my old friend Perry, the hotel-keeper at Sheridan.

After twenty days, pleasantly spent with my family at St. Louis, I returned to Sheridan. There I learned that my horse and mule had been seized by the Government.

The quartermaster's agent at Sheridan had reported to General Bankhead, commanding at Fort Wallace, and to Captain Laufer, the quartermaster, that I had left the country and had sold the animals to Perry. Laufer took possession of the animals, and threatened to have Perry arrested for buying Government property. He refused to pay any attention to Perry's statement that I would return in a few days, and that the animals had merely been left in his care.

As soon as I found this out I proceeded to the office of the quartermaster's agent who had told this lie, and gave him the thrashing he richly deserved. When I had finished with him he hastened to the fort, reported what had happened, and returned with a guard to protect him.

Next morning, securing a horse from Perry, I rode to Fort Wallace and demanded my horse and mule from General Bankhead. I told him they were Quartermaster Hays's property and belonged to General Carr's command, and explained that I had obtained permission to ride them to Sheridan and return.

General Bankhead gruffly ordered me out of his office and off the reservation, declaring that if I didn't leave in a hurry he would have me removed by force.

I told him he might do this and be hanged, using, very possibly, a stronger expression. That night, while sleeping at the Perry House, I was awakened by a tap on my shoulder and was astonished to see the room filled with armed negro soldiers with their guns all pointed at me. The first word came from the sergeant.

"Now looka heah, Massa Bill; if you move we'll blow you off de fahm, suah!" Just then Captain Ezekial entered, and ordered the soldiers to stand back.

"I'm sorry, Bill," he said, when I demanded to know what this meant. "But I've been ordered by General Bankhead to arrest you and bring you to Fort Wallace."

"All right," said I. "But you could have made the arrest without bringing the whole Thirty-eighth Infantry with you."

"I know that, Bill, but you've not been in a very good humor the last day or two, and we didn't know how you'd act."

I dressed hurriedly and accompanied the captain to Fort Wallace. When we reached there at two o'clock in the morning the captain said:

"Bill, I'm sorry, but my orders are to put you in the guardhouse."

I told him I did not blame him for carrying out orders, and was made a guardhouse prisoner for the first and only time in my life. The sergeant of the guard, who was an old friend from Captain Graham's company, refused to put me in a cell, kindly allowing me to sleep in his own bed, and in a few minutes I was sound asleep.

Captain Graham called to see me in the morning. He said it was a shame to lock me up, and promised to speak to the general about it. At guard-mount, when I was not summoned, I sent word to Captain Graham that I wanted to see General Bankhead. He sent back word that the general refused to have anything to do with me.

As it was impossible to send word to General Carr, I determined to send a dispatch direct to General Sheridan. I wrote out a long telegram, informing him of my difficulty. But when it was taken to the telegraph office for transmission the operator refused to send it at once. Instead he showed it to General Bankhead, who tore it up. When no reply came I went to the office, accompanied by a guard, and learned from the operator what he had done.

"See here, my young friend," said I, "this is a public telegraph line. I want my telegram sent, or there'll be trouble."

He knew very well it was his duty to send the dispatch. I rewrote it and gave it to him, with the money to pay for it. But before he made any effort to transmit it he called on General Bankhead and informed him of what I had said. Seeing that the dispatch would have to go through, the general sent for me.

"If I let you go, sir, will you leave the Post at once and not bother anyone at Sheridan?" he demanded.

"No, sir," I replied, "I'll do nothing of the kind. I'll remain in the guardhouse till I get an answer from General Sheridan."

"If I give you your horse and mule will you proceed at once to Fort Lyon?"

"No, sir; I have some bills to settle at Sheridan and some other business to transact."

"Well, sir, will you at least promise not to interfere any further with the quartermaster's agent at Sheridan?"

"I shall not trouble him any more, sir. I have had all I want from him."

General Bankhead thereupon sent for Captain Laufer and ordered him to turn the horse and mule over to me. In a few minutes I was on my way to Sheridan, and, having settled my business there, I proceeded to Fort Lyon, arriving there two days afterward. I related my adventures to General Carr, Major Brown, and the other officers, who were highly amused thereby.



CHAPTER VI

When I returned to General Carr's command after my experience as a prisoner I was informed that the general had been waiting for me for two weeks.

"I'm glad you've come, Bill," said the general. "While we've been at this Post a number of valuable animals have been stolen, as well as many Government horses and mules. We think the thieves are still near the fort. Fresh tracks have been found near Fort Lyon. Perhaps Bill Green, the scout who has been up there, can tell you something about them."

Sending for Green, I found that he had marked the place where he had lost the trail of the marauders.

Next morning, accompanied by Green, Jack Farley, and another scout, I set out after the horse-thieves.

While making a circuit about the tracks we had found leading away from the spot where Green discovered them, we found the trail of twelve animals—four mules and eight horses—in the edge of the sandhills.

From this point we had no trouble in trailing them down to the Arkansas River. This stream they had followed toward Denver, whither they were undoubtedly bound.

When we got within four miles of Denver we found that the thieves had passed four days before. I concluded that they had decided to dispose of the animals in Denver. I was aware that Saturday was the big auction day there, so we went to a hotel outside the town to await that day. I was too well known in the city to show myself there, for the thieves would have taken alarm had they learned of my presence.

Early Saturday morning we rode into the city and stabled our animals at the Elephant Corral. I secured a room in a hotel overlooking the corral, and took up a post of observation. I did not have to wait long.

A man, whom I recognized at once as Williams, one of our old packers, rode into the ring, mounted on Lieutenant Forbush's mule, and leading another Government mule. This mule had been recently branded, and over the "U.S." a plain "D B" had been stamped.

As the man's confederate did not appear I decided he was outside with the rest of the stolen animals.

When Mr. Forbush's mule was put up at auction I came down to the corral and walked through the crowd of bidders.

The packer saw me, and tried to get away, but I seized him firmly by the shoulder.

"I guess, my friend," said I, "that you'll have to go with me. Make any resistance and I'll shoot you on the spot!"

To the auctioneer and an inquisitive officer I showed my commission as a United States detective. With Farley and Green, who were close at hand, I took my prisoner three miles down the Platte. There we dismounted, and began preparations to hang our prisoner to a limb. We informed him that he could escape this fate only by telling us where his partner was hidden.

He at first denied having any partner, but when we gave him five minutes to live unless he told the truth, he said his pal was in an unoccupied house three miles farther down the river.

We took up our journey, and, coming in sight of the house, saw a number of animals grazing near it. As we rode to the door, another of our old packers, whom I recognized as Bill Bevins, stepped to the front door. I instantly covered him with my rifle and ordered him to throw up his hands before he could draw his revolver.

Looking through the house, we found saddles, pack-saddles, lariats, blankets, overcoats, and two Henry rifles. We returned with the whole outfit to Denver, where we lodged Williams and Bevins in jail. The next day we tied each man to a mule and started on the return journey.

At the hotel where we had stopped before making the arrests, we were joined by our man with the pack mule. That night we camped on Cherry Creek, seventeen miles from Denver.

It was April, and the weather was cold and stormy. We found a warm and cozy camping-place in the bend of the creek. We made our beds in a row—feet to the fire. The prisoners had thus far been docile and I did not think it necessary to hobble them. They slept inside, and it was arranged that some one was to be constantly on guard. About one o'clock in the morning it began snowing. Shortly before three, Jack Farley, who was on guard, and sitting at the foot of the bed with his back to the prisoners, was kicked into the fire by Williams. The next instant Bevins, who had got hold of his shoes, sprang up, jumped over the fire, and started away on the run.

As soon as I was enough awake to comprehend what was going on I sent a shot after him. Williams attempted to follow Bevins, but as he did so I knocked him down with the butt of my revolver. Farley had by this time got out of the fire. Green had started after Bevins, firing at him as he ran, but the thief made his escape into the brush.

In his flight, unfortunately for him, he dropped one of his shoes.

Leaving Williams in charge of Farley and "Long Doc," the man with the pack mule, Green and I struck out for Bevins. We heard him breaking through the brush, but, knowing it would be useless to try to follow him on foot, we went back and saddled two of the fastest horses. At daylight we struck out on his trail, which was plainly visible in the snow.

Though he had an hour and a half's start his track lay through a country covered with prickly pear. We knew that with a bare foot he could make little progress. We could see, however by the long jumps he was taking, that he was making excellent time. Soon the trail became spotted with blood, where the thorns of the prickly pear had pierced his shoeless foot.

After a run of twelve miles we saw Bevins crossing a ridge two miles ahead. We reached the ridge just as he was descending the divide toward the South Platte, which at this point was very deep and swift.

If he got across the stream he stood a good chance of escape. We pushed our horses as fast as possible, and when we got within range I told him to halt or I would shoot. He knew I was a good shot, and coolly sat down to wait for us.

"Bevins, you gave us a good chase," I said, as we rode up.

"Yes," he returned calmly, "and if I'd had fifteen minutes' more start and got across the Platte you'd never have caught me."

Bevins's flight was the most remarkable feat of its kind I have ever heard of. A man who could run barefooted in the snow through a prickly-pear patch was surely a "tough one." When I looked at the man's bleeding foot I really felt sorry for him. He asked me for my knife, and when I gave it to him he dug the thorns out of his foot with its sharp point. I consider him the gamest man I ever met.

I could not suffer a man with such a foot to walk, so I dismounted, and he rode my horse back to camp, while Green and I rode the other horse by turns. We kept a close watch on our prisoner. We had had plenty of proof that he needed it. His injured foot must have pained him fearfully, but never a word of complaint escaped him.

After breakfasting we resumed our journey. We had no further trouble till we reached the Arkansas River, where we found a vacant cabin and took possession of it for the night.

There was no fear that Bevins would try to escape. His foot was swollen to a great size, and was useless. Believing that Williams could not get away from the cabin, we unbound him.

The cabin was comfortably warmed and well-lighted by the fire. We left "Long Doc" on guard and went to sleep.

At one o'clock Williams asked "Doc" to allow him to step to the door for a minute. "Doc" had his revolver in hand, and did not think it necessary to waken us. He granted the request. With "Doc," revolver in hand, watching him, Williams walked to the outer edge of the floor. Suddenly he made a spring to the right and was out of sight in the black darkness before his guard could even raise his revolver.

"Doc" leaped after him, firing just as he rounded the corner of the cabin. The report brought us all to our feet. I at once covered Bevins with my revolver, but, seeing that he could barely stir, I lowered it.

Then in came "Doc," swearing a blue streak and announcing that Williams had escaped. Nothing was left us but to gather our horses close to the cabin and stand guard the rest of the night to prevent the possibility of our late prisoner sneaking in and getting away with one of them. This was the last I ever saw or heard of Williams, but we got back to Fort Lyon with Bevins.

Though we had lost one of our prisoners, General Carr complimented us on the success of our trip. The next day we took Bevins to Bogg's Ranch, on Picket Wire Creek, where he was to await trial. But he never was tried. He made his escape, as I had expected he would do.

In 1872 I heard that he was at his old tricks on Laramie Plains. A little later he sent word to me that if he ever met me he would kill me on sight. Shortly thereafter he was arrested and convicted for robbery, but made his escape from Laramie City prison. Later he organized a desperate gang of outlaws which infested the country north of the Union Pacific. When, the stage began running between Cheyenne and Deadwood, these outlaws robbed coaches and passengers, often making big hauls of plunder. Finally most of the gang were caught, tried, and convicted, and sent to the penitentiary for a number of years. Bevins was among the number.

Soon after my return to Fort Lyon, the Fifth Cavalry was ordered to the Department of the Platte. While we were at Fort Wallace, getting supplies en route I passed the quarters of General Bankhead, who had ordered my arrest on the occasion of my last visit to that Post. The general sent out for me, and as I entered his office he extended his hand.

"I hope you have no hard feelings for me, Cody," he said. "I have just had a talk with General Carr and Quartermaster Hays. If you had told me you had permission to ride that horse and mule, there would have been no trouble."

"That's all right, General," I said. "I don't believe your quartermaster's agent will ever circulate any more false stories about me."

"No," said the general; "he hasn't recovered yet from the beating you gave him."

When the command reached the north fork of the Beaver, I rode down the valley toward the stream, and discovered a large fresh Indian trail. I found tracks scattered all over the valley and on both sides of the creek, as if a large village had recently passed that way. I estimated there could not be less than four hundred lodges, or between twenty-five hundred and three thousand warriors, women, and children in the band.

When I reported my discovery to General Carr, he halted his regiment, and, after consulting a few minutes, ordered me to select a ravine, or as low ground as possible, so that the troops might be kept out of sight of the Indians until we could strike the creek.

We went into camp on the Beaver. The general ordered Lieutenant Ward to take twelve men and myself and follow up the trail for several miles. Our orders were to find out how fast the Indians were traveling. I soon made up my mind by the frequency of their camps that they were moving slowly, hunting as they journeyed.

After we had scouted about twelve miles, keeping our horses well concealed under the bank of the creek, Ward and I left our horses and crept to a high knoll where there was a good view for some distance down-stream. As we looked over the summit of the hill we saw a whole Indian village, not three miles away. Thousands of ponies were grazing on the prairie. To our left, on the opposite side of the creek, two or three parties of Indians were coming in, laden with buffalo meat.

"This is no place for us, Lieutenant," said I. "I think we have business at the camp which must be attended to as soon as possible."

"I agree with you," he returned. "The quicker we get there the better."

We came down the hill as fast as we could and joined our men. Lieutenant Ward hurriedly wrote a note and sent it to General Carr by a corporal. As the man started away on a gallop Ward said: "We will march, slowly back until we meet the troops. I think General Carr will soon be here."

A minute or two later we heard shots in the direction taken by our courier. Presently he came flying back around the bend of the creek, with three or four Indians in hot pursuit. The lieutenant, with his squad of soldiers, charged upon them. They turned and ran across the stream.

"This will not do," said Ward, when the last redskin had disappeared. "The whole village will know the soldiers are near by."

"Lieutenant," said I, "give me that note. I'll take it to the general."

He gladly handed me the dispatch. Spurring my horse, I dashed up the creek. Soon I observed another party of Indians returning to the village with meat. I did not wait for them to attack me, but sent a shot after them at long range.

In less than an hour I reached the camp and delivered the dispatch to General Carr. "Boots and Saddles" was sounded, and all the troops save two companies, which were left to guard the supply train, were soon galloping toward the Indian camp.

When we had ridden three miles we met Lieutenant Ward. He had run into a party of Indian hunters. One of their number had been killed in the encounter, and one of Ward's horses had been wounded.

At the end of five miles we came in sight of hundreds of Indians, advancing up the creek to meet us.

They formed a complete line on our front. General Carr, who wanted to strike their village, ordered the troops to charge, break through the line, and keep straight on.

No doubt this movement would have been successfully executed had it not been for the daredevil, rattle-brained Lieutenant Schinosky, commanding Company B. Misunderstanding the orders, he charged on the Indians on the left, while the rest of the command swept through the line. The main body was keeping straight on toward the village when it was discovered that Schinosky and his company were surrounded by five hundred Indians.

To save the company, General Carr was forced to order a halt and hurry back to the rescue. During the short fight Schinosky had several men and a number of horses killed.

Valuable time had been consumed by the rescue. Night was coming on. The Indians were fighting desperately to keep us from reaching their village, whose population, having been informed by courier of what was going on, was packing up and getting away.

During the afternoon we had all we could do to hold our own with the mounted warriors. They stayed stubbornly in our front, contesting every inch of ground.

The wagon-train, which had been ordered to come up, had not arrived. Fearful that it had been surrounded, General Carr ordered the command to return and look for it. We found it at nine o'clock that night, and went into camp.

Next morning, when we moved down the creek, not an Indian was to be seen. Village and all, they had disappeared. Two miles down the stream we came to a spot where the village had been located. Here we found many articles which had been left in the hurry of flight. These we gathered up and burned.

The trail, which we followed as rapidly as possible, led northeast toward the Republican River. On reaching that stream a halt was ordered. Next morning at daylight we again pulled out. We gained rapidly on the Indians, and could occasionally see them from a distance.

About eleven o 'clock that morning, while Major Babcock was ahead with his company, and as we were crossing a deep ravine, we were surprised by perhaps three hundred warriors. They at once began a lively fire. Our men galloped out of the ravine to the rough prairie and returned it. We soon succeeded in driving the enemy before us. At one time we were so close upon them that they threw away most of their lodges and camp equipment, and left their played-out horses behind them. For miles we could see Indian furniture strewn in all directions.

Soon they scattered into small bodies, dividing the trail. At night our horses began to give out, and a halt was called. A company was detailed to collect all the loose Indian ponies, and to burn the abandoned camp equipment.

We were now nearly out of rations. I was sent for supplies to the nearest supply point, old Fort Kearney, sixty miles distant.

Shortly after this the command reached Fort McPherson, which for some time thereafter continued to be the headquarters of the Fifth Cavalry. We remained there for ten days, fitting out for a new expedition. We were reenforced by three companies of the celebrated Pawnee Indian Scouts, commanded by Major Frank North. At General Carr's recommendation I was now made chief of scouts in the Department of the Platte, with better pay. I had not sought this position.

I became a firm friend of Major North and his officers from the start. The scouts had made a good reputation for themselves. They had performed brave and valuable services in fighting against the Sioux, whose bitter enemies they were. During our stay at Fort McPherson I made the acquaintance of Lieutenant George P. Belden, known as "The White Chief." His life has been written by Colonel Brisbin, of the army. Belden was a dashing rider and an excellent shot. An hour after our introduction he challenged me to a rifle match, which was at once arranged.

We were to shoot ten shots each at two hundred yards for fifty dollars a side. Belden was to use a Henry rifle. I was to shoot my old "Lucretia." This match I won. Belden at once proposed another, a hundred-yard match, as I was shooting over his distance. This he won. We were now even, and we stopped right there.

While we were at Fort McPherson, General Augur and Brevet-Brigadier-General Thomas Duncan, colonel of the Fifth Cavalry, paid us a visit for the purpose of reviewing our command. The men turned out in fine style, and showed themselves to be well-drilled soldiers. Next the Pawnee scouts were reviewed. It was amusing to see them in their full uniform. They had been supplied with the regular cavalry uniform, but on this occasion some of them had heavy overcoats, others large black hats with all the brass accoutrements attached; some were minus trousers and wore only breech-clouts. Some had regulation pantaloons, but only shirts. Part of them had cut the breech of their pantaloons away, leaving only the leggings. Still others had big brass spurs, but wore no boots nor moccasins.

But they understood the drill remarkably well for Indians. The commands were given them by Major North, who spoke their tongue as readily as any full-blooded Pawnee. They were well mounted, and felt proud of the fact that they were regular United States soldiers. That evening after the drill many ladies attended the dance of the Indians. Of all savages I have ever seen, the Pawnees are the most accomplished dancers.

Our command set out on the trail the next day. Shortly afterward, when we were encamped on the Republican River near the mouth of the Beaver, we heard the yells of Indians, followed by shots, in the vicinity of our mule herd, which had been driven down to water.

Presently one of the herders, with an arrow still quivering in his flesh, came dashing into the camp.

My horse was close at hand. Mounting him bareback, I galloped after the mule herd, which had been stampeded. I supposed that I would be the first man on the scene. But I found I was mistaken. The Pawnee scouts, unlike regular soldiers, had not waited for the formality of orders from their officers. Jumping their ponies bareback and putting ropes in the animals' mouths, they had hurried to the place from which the shots came and got there before I did.

The marauders proved to be a party of fifty or more Sioux, who had endeavored to stampede our animals. They were painfully surprised to find their inveterate enemies, the Pawnees, coming toward them at full gallop. They had no idea the Pawnees were with the command. They knew that it would take regular soldiers a few minutes to turn out, and fancied they would have plenty of time to stampede the herd and get away.

In a running fight of fifteen or twenty miles several of the Sioux were killed. I was mounted on an excellent horse Colonel Royal had selected for me. For the first mile or two I was in advance of the Pawnees. Soon a Pawnee shot past me. I could not help admiring the horse he was riding. I determined that if possible that horse should be mine. He was a big buckskin, or yellow horse. I took a careful look at him, so as to recognize him when we got back to camp.

After the chase was over I rode over to Major North and asked him about the animal. I was told that he was one of the favorite steeds of the command.

"What chance is there to trade for him?" I asked.

"It is a Government horse," replied the Major. "The Indian who rides him is very much attached to him."

I told Major North I had fallen in love with the horse, and asked if he had any objections to my trying to secure him. He replied that he had not. A few days later, after making the Indian several presents, I persuaded him to trade horses with me. In this way I became possessed of the buckskin, although he still remained Government property. I named him Buckskin Joe, and he proved to be a second Brigham.

I rode him during the summers of '69, '70, '71, and '72. He was the horse ridden by the Grand Duke Alexis on his buffalo hunt. In the winter of '72, after I had left Fort McPherson, Buckskin Joe was condemned and sold at public sale to Dave Perry at North Platte. In 1877 he presented him to me. He remained on my ranch on the Dismal River for many years, stone blind, until he died.

At the end of twenty days, after a few unimportant running fights, we found ourselves back to the Republican River.

Hitherto the Pawnee scouts had not taken much interest in me. But while at the camp I gained their respect and admiration by showing them how to kill buffaloes. Though they were excellent buffalo killers, for Indians, I had never seen them kill more than four or five animals in one run. A number of them would surround a herd and dash in on it, each one killing from one to four buffaloes. I had gone out in company with Major North, and watched them make a "surround." Twenty Pawnees, circling a herd, killed thirty-two buffaloes.

As they were cutting up the animals, another herd appeared. The Pawnees were getting ready to surround it, when I asked Major North to keep them back to let me show them what I could do. He did as I requested. I knew Buckskin Joe was a good buffalo horse, and, feeling confident that I would astonish the Indians, I galloped in among the herd. I did astonish them. In less than a half-mile run I dropped thirty-six, killing a buffalo at nearly every shot. The dead animals were strung out over the prairie less than fifty feet apart. This manner of killing greatly pleased the Indians. They called me "Big Chief," and thereafter I had a high place in their esteem.

We soon left the camp and took a westward course up the Republican River. Major North, with two companies of his Pawnees, and Colonel Royal, with two or three companies of cavalry, made a scout north of the river.

After making camp on the Blacktail Deer Fork we observed a band of Indians coming over the prairie at full gallop, singing and yelling and waving their lances and long poles. We first supposed them to be the hostile Sioux, and for a few moments all was excitement. But the Pawnees, to our surprise, made no effort to go out to attack them. Presently they began singing themselves. Major North walked over to General Carr and said:

"General, those are our men. They had had a fight. That is the way they act when they come back from battle with captured scalps."

The Pawnees came into camp on the run. We soon learned that they had run across a party of Sioux who were following a big Indian trail. The Sioux had evidently been in a fight. Two or three had been wounded, and were being carried by the others. The Pawnees "jumped" them, and killed three or four of their number.

Next morning our command came up to the Indian trail where the Sioux had been found. We followed it for several days. From the number of campfires we passed we could see that we were gaining on the Sioux.

Wherever they had camped we found the print of a woman's shoe. This made us all the more eager to overtake them, for it was plain that they had a white woman as their captive.

All the best horses were selected by the general, and orders were given for a forced march. The wagon-train was to follow as rapidly as possible, while the command pushed on ahead.

I was ordered to pick out five or six of the best Pawnees and proceed in advance of the command, keeping ten or twelve miles ahead, so that when the Indians were overtaken we could learn the location of their camp, and give the troops the required information in time to plan an effective attack.

When we were ten miles in advance of the regiment we began to move cautiously. We looked carefully over the summits of the hills before exposing ourselves to observation from the front. At last we made out the village, encamped in the sandhills south of the South Platte River at Summit Springs.

Here I left the Pawnees to watch, while I rode back to the command and informed General Carr that the Indians were in sight.

The men were immediately ordered to tighten their saddles and otherwise to prepare for action. I changed my horse for old Buckskin Joe. He had been led for me up to this time, and was comparatively fresh. Acting on my suggestion, General Carr made a circuit to the north. I knew that if the Indians had scouts out they would naturally watch in the direction whence they had come. When we had passed the camp, and were between it and the river, we turned and started back.

By this maneuver we avoided detection by the Sioux scouts. The general kept the command wholly out of sight until within a mile of the village. Then the advance guard was halted till all the soldiers caught up. Orders were issued that at the sound of the charge the whole command was to rush into the village.

As we halted on the summit of the hill overlooking the still unsuspecting Sioux, General Carr called to his bugler:

"Sound the charge!"

The bugler, in his excitement, forgot the notes of the call. Again the general ordered "Sound the charge!" and again the musician was unable to obey the command.

Quartermaster Hays, who had obtained permission to join the command, comprehended the plight of the bugler. Rushing up to him, he seized the bugle, and sounded the call himself, in clear, distinct tones. As the troops rushed forward he threw the bugle away, and, drawing his pistol, was among the first to enter the village. The Indians had just driven up their horses and were preparing to move camp when they saw the soldiers.

Many of them jumped on their ponies, and, leaving everything behind them, advanced to meet the attack. On second thought, however, they decided it would be useless to resist. Those who were mounted rode away, while those on foot fled for the neighboring hills. We charged through their village, shooting right and left at everything we saw. Pawnees, officers, and regular soldiers were all mixed together, while the Sioux went flying away in every direction.

The general had instructed the soldiers to keep a sharp look-out for white women when they entered the village. Two were soon found. One of them was wounded, and the other had just been killed. Both were Swedes, and the survivor could not speak English.

A Swedish soldier was soon found to act as interpreter. The woman's name was Weichel. She said that as soon as the Indians saw the troops coming, a squaw, the wife of Tall Bull, had killed Mrs. Alerdice, her companion in captivity, with a hatchet. The infuriated squaw had attacked Mrs. Weichel, wounding her. The purpose of the squaw was apparently to prevent both women from telling the soldiers how cruelly they had been treated.

The attack lasted but a little while. The Indians were driven several miles away. The soldiers gathered in the herd of Indian horses, which was running wild over the prairie, and drove the animals back into camp. After a survey of our work we found we had killed about one hundred and forty Indians and captured one hundred and twenty squaws and papooses, two hundred lodges, and eight hundred horses and mules.

General Carr ordered that all the tepees, lodges, buffalo robes, camp equipage, and provisions, including a large quantity of buffalo meat, should be gathered and burned. Mrs. Alerdice, the murdered Swedish captive, was buried. Captain Kane read the burial service, as we had no chaplain with us. While this was going on, the Sioux warriors recovered from their panic and came back to give us battle. All around the attack a fight began. I was on the skirmish line, and noticed an Indian who was riding a large bay horse, and giving orders to his men in his own language.

I could understand part of what he said. He was telling them that they had lost everything and were ruined, and was entreating them to follow him until they died. The horse this chief was riding was extremely fleet. I determined to capture him if possible, but I was afraid to fire at the rider lest I kill the horse.

Often the Indian, as he rode around the skirmish line, passed the head of a ravine. It occurred to me that if I dismounted and crept up the ravine, I could, as he passed, easily drop him from the saddle with no fear of hitting the horse. Accordingly I crept into the ravine and secreted myself there to wait till Mr. Chief came riding by.

When he was not more than thirty yards away I fired. The next instant he tumbled from the saddle, and the horse kept on his way without a rider. Instead of running back to the Indians, he galloped toward the soldiers, by one of whom he was caught.

Lieutenant Mason, who had been very conspicuous in the fight and had killed two or three Indians himself, came galloping up the ravine, and, jumping from his horse, secured the elaborate war-bonnet from the head of the dead chief, together with all his other accoutrements.

We both rejoined the soldiers. I started in search of the horse, and found him in the possession of Sergeant McGrath, who had captured him. McGrath knew that I had been trying to get the horse, and he had seen me kill its rider. He handed the animal over to me at once. I little thought at the time that I had captured the fastest running horse west of the Missouri River, but this later proved to be the fact.