BUFFALO BILL’S EQUINE HEROES.
Mr. Cody is a great lover of man’s best friend among the animal kingdom—the horse. The peculiar career he has followed has made his equine friend such a sterling necessity as a companion, an assistant, a confidant, that he admits, as every frontiersman and scout does, a great deal depends, even life itself in innumerable emergencies, on the general sagacity of this noble brute. For the purposes of the trail, the hunt, the battle, the pursuit, or the stampede it was essentially necessary to select, for chargers with which to gain success, animals excelling in the qualities of strength, speed, docility, courage, stamina, keen scent, delicacy of ear, quick of sight, sure-footed, shrewd in perception, nobleness of character, and general intelligence. History records, and a grateful memory still holds dear, numberless famous quadruped allies that Buffalo Bill has during his long career possessed, and many are the stories told on the frontier and in the army of Old Buckskin Joe, Brigham, Tall Bull, Powder-Face, Stranger, and Old Charlie.
COMRADES.
Old Buckskin Joe was one of his early favorites, who by long service in army-scouting became quite an adept, and seemed to have a perfect knowledge of the duties required of him. For this reason, when ordered to find and report the location of the savages in their strongholds, at times hundreds of miles away over a lonely country, infested by scouting parties of hostiles liable at any instant to pounce upon one, Old Buckskin was always selected by Cody to accompany him on the trail when the work was dangerous. Mounted on another horse, he would let Buckskin follow untrammeled, even by a halter, so as to reserve him fresh in case of discovery and the terrible necessity of “a ride for life.” Quick to scent danger, he instinctively gave evidence of his fears, and would almost assist his saddling or quickly insert his head in the bridle, and once on his back Joe was always able to bid defiance to the swiftest horses the Indians possessed, and the longer the chase the farther they were left in his rear. On one occasion his master descried a band of 100 warriors, who gave them chase from the headwaters of the Republican River to Fort McPherson, a distance of 195 miles. It was at a season when the ponies were in good condition, and the savage band, though thirsting for the scalp of their well-known foe, Pa-he-has-ka (the long-haired scout), dropped behind until on the last fifty miles but fifteen of the fleetest were in pursuit, Buckskin leaving them out of sight twenty miles from the fort.
This ride, famed in army annals, caused Old Buckskin to go blind, but the gratitude of his master was such that Joe was kept and carefully attended to until his death, which occurred a few years ago at Cody’s home, North Platte. Buckskin was accorded a decent funeral, and a tombstone erected over his remains inscribed “Old Buckskin Joe, the horse that on several occasions saved the life of Buffalo Bill by carrying him safely out of the range of Indian bullets. Died of old age, 1882.”
Brigham was another celebrity of his race, and it was on his back Mr. Cody clinched his undisputed title of “King Buffalo-killer,” and added permanency to the name of Buffalo Bill by killing sixty-nine buffalo in one run; and such was this steed’s knowledge of hunting that game that he discarded saddle and bridle while following the herd, killing the last half while riding this renowned pet of the chase bareback.
Many other tried and true ones have enhanced his love for their race, the last of the famous old-timers being owned and ridden by him in his daily exhibitions with the Wild West, traversing the continent five times, traveling thousands of miles, and never missing a performance. Old Charlie possessed all the virtues that go to form a “noble horse.” Charlie was broken in by Mr. Cody, and has never been ridden by any one else (except Miss Arta Cody, an accomplished horse-woman), and for many years has been the participant of all his master’s skirmishes, expeditions, long rides, and hunts; has been ridden over all kinds of rough country, prairie-dog towns, mountain and plain; has never stumbled or fallen, being beyond a doubt one of the surest-footed animals man ever rode; and for endurance is a second Buckskin Joe, if not better, on one occasion, in an emergency, having carried his master over a prairie road one hundred miles in nine hours and forty-five minutes, rider and trappings weighing 243 pounds. Old Charlie’s great point was his wonderful intelligence, which caused him to act in a manner as to almost lay claim in his conduct to judiciousness. In the most lonely or unattractive place, or in one of the most seductive to equine rambles, when his master removed saddle and bridle, he could trust Charlie to stay where he was left, wrap himself in a blanket, take the saddle for a pillow, go to sleep contented, knowing his faithful steed would be close at hand, or, after browsing fully, would come and lie close beside him, sink into slumber, with ear at tension, one eye open, and at the slightest disturbance arouse him to meet the threatened danger. All the Indians in the country, keen as he was to scent them, intuitively as he dreaded them, could not make him leave, or stampede him, until his owner was mounted, challenging in this respect the instincts of the highest class of watch-dog.
He cared not how much load you put on his back, having carried 500 pounds of buffalo-meat; would pull as much by tying a lariat to the pommel as an ordinary horse with a collar; would hold the strongest buffalo or steer, but when a harness was placed on his back and a collar round his neck he would not pull an ounce, and if not soon relieved would viciously resent the (to him) seeming degradation.
Alas! poor Charlie died while crossing the ocean on the homeward-bound voyage, and was buried at sea with all the honors that would have been shown to a human being.
In his death Buffalo Bill lost a friend he will never forget.
KICKING BEAR, OGALALLA SIOUX WAR CHIEF.
CHAPTER V.
INDIAN HOME LIFE.
To Indians at peace, and with food in plenty, the winter camp is their home. After the varying excitements, the successes and vicissitudes, the constant labors of many months, the prospect of the winter’s peace and rest, with its home life and home pleasures, comes like a soothing balm to all.
To those of the warriors who have passed the age of passionate excitements, this season brings the full enjoyment of those pleasures and excitements yet left to them in life. Their days are spent in gambling, their long winter evenings in endless repetitions of stories of their wonderful performances in days gone by, and their nights in the sound, sweet sleep vouchsafed only to easy consciences.
A REDSKIN SCOUT.
The women also have a good time. No more taking down and putting up the tepee; no more packing and unpacking the ponies. To bring the wood and water, do the little cooking, to attend to the ponies, and possibly to dress a few skins is all the labor devolved upon them.
To the young of both sexes, whether married or single, this season brings unending excitement and pleasure. Now is the time for dances and feasts, for visits and frolics and merry-making of all kinds, and for this time the “story-teller” has prepared and rehearsed his most marvelous recitals. Above all, it is the season for love-making; “love rules the camp,” and now is woman’s opportunity.
Without literature, without music or painting as arts, without further study of nature than is necessary for the safety of the needs of their daily life, with no knowledge or care for politics or finance or the thousand questions of social or other science that disturb and perplex the minds of civilized people, and with reasoning faculties little superior to instinct, there is among Indians no such thing as conversation as we understand it. There is plenty of talk, but no interchange of ideas; no expression and comparison of views and beliefs, except on the most commonplace topics. Half a dozen old sages will be sitting around, quietly and gravely passing the pipe, and apparently engaged in important discussion. Nine times out of ten their talk is the merest camp tattle, or about a stray horse or sick colt, or where one killed a deer or another saw a buffalo-track. All serious questions of war and chase are reserved for discussion in the council lodge.
During the pleasant months he has constantly the healthy stimulus of active life; during the winter he is either in a state of lethargy or of undue excitement. During the day, in the winter season, the men gamble or sleep, the women work or idle, as suits each; but the moment it gets dark everybody is on the qui vive, ready for any fun that presents itself. A few beats on a tom-tom bring all the inmates of the neighboring lodges; a dance or gambling bout is soon inaugurated, and oftentimes kept up until nearly morning.
The insufficiency and uncertainty of human happiness has been the theme of eloquent writers of all ages. Every man’s happiness is lodged in his own nature, and is, to a certain extent at least, independent of his external circumstances and surroundings. These primitive people demonstrate the general correctness of this theory, for they are habitually and universally happy people. They thoroughly enjoy the present, make no worry over the possibilities of the future, and “never cry over spilled milk.” It may be argued that their apparent happiness is only insensibility, the happiness of the mere animal, whose animal desires are satisfied. It may be so. I simply state facts, others may draw conclusions. The Indian is proud, sensitive, quick-tempered, easily wounded, easily excited; but though utterly unforgiving, he never broods. This is the whole secret of his happiness.
In spite of the fact that the wives are mere property, the domestic life of the Indian will bear comparison with that of average civilized communities. The husband, as a rule, is kind; ruling, but with no harshness. The wives are generally faithful, obedient, and industrious. The children are spoiled, and a nuisance to all red visitors. Fortunately the white man, the “bugaboo” of their baby days, is yet such an object of terror as to keep them at a respectful distance. Among themselves the members of the family are perfectly easy and unrestrained. It is extremely rare that there is any quarreling among the women.
There is no such thing as nervousness in either sex. Living in but the one room, they are from babyhood accustomed to what would be unbearable annoyance to whites. The head of the lodge comes back tired from a hunt, throws himself down on a bed, and goes fast to sleep, though his two or three wives chatter around and his children tumble all over him. Everybody seems to do just as he or she pleases, and this seems no annoyance to anybody else.
Unlike her civilized sister, the Indian woman, “in her hour of greatest need,” does not need any one. She would be shocked at the idea of having a man doctor. In pleasant weather the expectant mother betakes herself to the seclusion of some thicket; in winter she goes to a tepee provided in each band for the women. In a few hours she returns with a baby in its cradle on her back, and goes about her usual duties as if nothing had happened.
Preparations for war or the chase occupy such hours of the winter encampment as the noble red man can spare from gambling, love-making, and personal adornment.
Each Indian must make for himself everything which he can not procure by barter, and the opportunities for barter of the more common necessities are very few, the Indians not having even yet conceived the idea of making any articles for sale among themselves.
The saddle requires much time and care in its construction; some Indians can never learn to make one; consequently this is more an article of barter than anything commonly made by Indians.
No single article varies so much in make and value as the bridle. The bit is always purchased, and is of every pattern, from the plain snaffle to the complicated contrivance of the Mexicans. The bridle of one Indian may be a mere head-stall of rawhide attached to the bit, but without frontlet or throat-latch, and with reins of the same material, the whole not worth a dollar; that of another may be so elaborated by patient labor, and so garnished with silver, as to be worth a hundred dollars.
The Southern Indians have learned from the Mexicans the art of plaiting horse-hair, and much of their work is very artistic and beautiful, besides being wonderfully serviceable. A small smooth stick, one-fourth of an inch in diameter, is the mold over which the hair is plaited. When finished, the stick is withdrawn. The hair used is previously dyed of different colors, and it is so woven as to present pretty patterns. The hair, not being very strong, is used for the head-stall; the reins, which require strength, are plaited solid, but in the same pattern, showing skill, taste, and fitness.
The name “lariat” (Spanish, riata) is applied by all frontiersmen and Indians to the rope or cord used for picketing or fastening their horses while grazing, and also to the thong used for catching wild animals—the lasso. They are the same, with a very great difference. The lasso may be used for picketing a horse, but the rope with which a horse is ordinarily picketed would never be of use as a lasso.
A good riata (lasso) requires a great deal of labor and patient care. It is sometimes made of plaited hair from the manes and tails of horses, but these are not common except where wild horses are plentiful, one such riata requiring the hair of not less than twenty animals. It is generally made of rawhide of buffalo or domestic cattle, freed from hair, cut into narrow strips, and plaited with infinite patience and care, so as to be perfectly round and smooth. Such a riata, though costing less money than that of hair, is infinitely superior. It is smooth, round, heavy, runs easily and quickly to noose, and is as strong as a cable. Those tribes, as the Ute, who are unable to procure beef or buffalo skins, make beautiful lariats of thin strips of buckskin plaited together; but as these are used only for securing their horses they are usually plaited flat.
To make these articles is all that the male Indian finds to do in his ordinary winter life. Without occupation, without literature, without thought, how man can persuade himself to continue to exist can be explained only on the hypothesis that he is a natural “club man,” or a mere animal.
“From rosy morn to dewy eve” there is always work for the Indian woman. Fortunately for her the aboriginal inhabitants have as yet discovered no means of making a light sufficient to work by at night. It is true they beg or buy a few candles from military posts or traders, but these are sacredly preserved for dances and grand occasions.
But, slave as she is, I doubt if she could be forced to work after dark even if she had light. Custom, which holds her in so many inexorable bonds, comes to her aid in this case. In every tribe night is the woman’s right, and no matter how urgent the work which occupies her during the daylight, the moment the dark comes she bedecks herself in her best finery and stands at the door of the lodge, her ear strained for the first beat of the tom-tom which summons her to where she is then, for once, queen and ruler.
There was formerly one exception to this immunity from night work, but it has gone with the buffalo. At the time of the “great fall hunt” there was no rest nor excuse for her. She must work at any and all hours. If the herds were moving, the success of the hunt might depend on the rapidity with which the women performed their work on a batch of dead buffalo. These animals spoil very quickly if not disemboweled, and though the hunters tried to regulate the daily kill by the ability of the squaws to “clean up” after them, they could, not in the nature of things, always do so.
When the buffalo was dead the man’s work was done; it was woman’s work to skin and cut up the dead animal; and oftentimes, when the men were exceptionally fortunate, the women were obliged to work hard and fast all night long before the task was finished.
The meat, cut as closely as possible from the bones, is tied up in the skin, and packed to camp on the ponies.
The skin is spread, flesh side upward, on a level piece of ground, small slits are cut in the edges, and it is tightly stretched and fastened down by wooden pegs driven through the slits into the ground. The meat is cut into thin flakes and placed upon poles or scaffolds to dry in the sun.
All this work must be done, as it were, instantly, for if the skin is allowed to dry unstretched it can never be made use of as a robe, and the meat spoils if not “jerked” within a few hours.
This lively work lasts but a few weeks, and is looked upon by the workers themselves pretty much in the same way as notable housewives look upon the early house-cleaning—very disagreeable, but very enjoyable. The real work begins when, the hunt being over, the band has gone into winter quarters, for then must the women begin to utilize “the crop.”
Some of the thickest bulls’ hides are placed to soak in water in which is mixed wood ashes, or some natural alkali. This takes the hair off. The skin is then cut into the required shape and stretched on a form, on which it is allowed to dry, when it not only retains its shape but becomes almost as hard as iron. These boxes are of various shapes and sizes—some made like huge pocket-books, others like trunks. All are called “parfleche.”
As soon as these parfleches, or trunks, are ready for use, the now thoroughly dried meat is pounded to powder between two stones. About two inches of this powdered meat is placed in the bottom of a parfleche and melted fat is lightly poured over it. Then another layer of meat is served in the same way, and so on until the trunk is full. It is kept hot until the entire mass is thoroughly saturated. When cold, the parfleches are closed and tightly tied up. The contents so prepared will keep in good condition for several years. Probably the best feature of the process is that nothing is lost, the flesh of old and tough animals being, after this treatment, so nearly as good as that of the young that few persons can tell the difference. This is the true Indian bread, and is used as bread when they have fresh meat. Boiled, it makes a soup very nutritious. So long as the Indian has this dried meat and pemmican he is entirely independent of all other food. Of late years all the beef issued to the Indians on the reservations, and not needed for immediate consumption, is treated in this way.
The dressing of skins is the next work. The thickest hides are put in soak of alkali for materials for making shields, saddles, riatas, etc. Hides for making or repairing lodges are treated in the same way, but after the hair has been removed they are reduced in thickness, made pliable, and most frequently soaked.
Deer, antelope, and other skins are beautifully prepared for clothing, the hair being always removed. Some of these skins are so worked down that they are almost as thin and white as cotton cloth.
But all this is the mere commencement of the long and patient labor which the loving wife bestows on the robe which the husband is to use on dress occasions. The whole inner surface is frequently covered with designs beautifully worked with porcupine-quills, or grasses dyed in various colors. Sometimes the embellishments are paintings. Many elegant robes have taken a year to finish.
Every animal brought into the camp brings work for the squaw. The buck comes in with a deer and drops it at the door. The squaw skins it, cuts up and preserves the meat, dresses the skin and fashions it into garments for some member of the family. Until within a very few years the needle was a piece of sharpened bone; the thread a fiber of sinew. These are yet used in the ornamentation of robes, but almost all the ordinary sewing is done with civilized appliances.
All Indians are excessively fond of bead-work, and not only the clothing, moccasins, gun-covers, quivers, knife-sheaths, and tobacco-pouches, but every little bag or ornament, is covered with this work. Many of the designs are pretty and artistic. In stringing the beads for this work an ordinary needle is used; but in every case, except for articles made for sale, the thread is sinew.
The life in the winter encampment has scarcely been changed in any particular, but with the earliest spring come evidences of activity, a desire to get away; not attributable, as in the “good old time,” to plans of forays for scalps and plunder, but to the desire of each head of a lodge or band to reach, before any one else does, the particular spot on which he has fixed for his location for the summer. No sooner has he reached it than all hands, men, women, and children, fall to work as if the whole thing were a delightful frolic.
The last five years, more than any twenty preceding them, have convinced the wild Indians of the utter futility of their warfare against the United States Government. One and all, they are thoroughly whipped; and their contests, in the future, will be the acts of predatory parties (for which the Indians at large are no more responsible than is the Government of the United States for the acts of highwaymen in the Black Hills, or train-robbers in Missouri), or a deliberate determination of the bands and tribes to die fighting rather than by the slow torture of starvation to which the Government condemns them.
But the buffalo is gone; so also nearly all the other large game on which the Indians depended for food. They are confined to comparatively restricted reservations, and completely surrounded by whites. They are more perfectly aware of the stringency of their situation than any white man can possibly be, for they daily feel its pressure.
With no chance of success in war, with no possibility of providing food for themselves, they thoroughly comprehend that their only hope for the future is in Government aid, grazing cattle, and tilling the soil.
They do not like it, of course; it would be unnatural if they did. They accept it as the dire alternative against starvation.
Basing arguments on the Indian contempt for work, many men in and out of Congress talk eloquent nonsense of the impossibility of ever bringing them to agricultural pursuits. The average Indian has no more hatred of labor, as such, than the average white man. Neither will labor unless an object is to be attained. Both will labor rather than starve. Heretofore the Indian could comfortably support himself in his usual and preferred life without labor; and there being no other incentive he would have only proved himself an idiot had he worked without an object.
But now, with the abundant acres of land that his white conquerors, with simple justice, have allotted to him in the shape of reservations, with no opportunity to think of the excitement, honor, and glory of battle, his life is changed. He now finds that fences are to be made, ground broken up, seed planted; and the peerless warrior, with “an eye like an eagle,” whose name a few short years ago was a terror and whose swoop was destruction, must learn to handle the plow, and follow, in fact, what he has often claimed in desire and spirit to follow, “the white man’s road.”
OGALALLA CHIEFS.
CHAPTER VI.
EXPERT SHOOTING.
Every custom, vocation, or study that has for its object the protection of home, self, or one’s just rights, the defense of the weak or the protection of the innocent, is justly denominated “manly,” and commands universal respect and admiration. If such attributes or qualifications as a steady nerve, a clear, penetrating gaze, and intensity and earnestness of purpose, are combined with quickness of action and courageous bearing, the admiration grows stronger and the respect deeper.
BREAKING GLASS BALLS AT FULL SPEED.
Years ago scarcely anybody save the professional duelist would ever have thought of making an accomplishment of rifle or pistol shooting, unless, like the enlisted soldier or the dweller on the prairies, a practical knowledge of fire-arms and their uses became an absolute necessity for self-protection or the performance of duty. Yet now so-called “fancy shooting” is considered rather a “fad,” and its aptest exponents are objects of laudation and applause. The huntsman is no longer a slayer of game and wild beasts as a means of subsistence for himself and family, or for sale to neighbors or in the public market. The elephant is now rarely killed for his tusks, the tiger for his skin, or the buffalo (what few there are left of this species) for his flesh. Now the “chase” is a mere sport, like “hunting the covers” in Merrie England, and men boast of their prowess as hunters much as they do of their skill at billiards. Yet an expert with the rifle or the pistol is an object of applause and admiration, and even the more courageous of the fair sex love to try their skill at a target. For a time the old pastime of archery was revived, but, whether its difficulties or its present-day impracticability was the cause, it has been abandoned by the fashionable world, and shooting-galleries are now the “thing” rather than archery clubs.
In the march of progress the club, the lance, the javelin, and the long-bow have been thrown aside, and modern invention has given us the cannon, the shotgun, the musket, the rifle, and the pistol. Some writers have even argued, and ably too, that the invention of gunpowder had a most powerful and active effect upon the civilization of the world.
However, the acts of aiming and discharging the projectile, and successfully striking the target, be it animate or inanimate, possess a rare fascination for the world at large. What boy has not enjoyed raptures of delight at the story of William Tell, and the fact of his having shot the apple from his son’s head has made a more lingering and lasting impression upon the readers of the story than his struggle to liberate his countrymen from the tyranny personified in Gessler; and you iconoclasts give mortal offense to the youth of the world when you dare assert that their hero of Switzerland is a myth. There is no story more interesting, told to the good little boy who regularly attends his Sunday-school, than that of David’s wonderful marksmanship when, by throwing a pebble from a sling, he struck the mighty Goliath and slew him. David’s after-history, his glories and his sacerdotal power, though ofttimes told the youthful Biblical scholar and repeated to him in sermons when he grows older, may have an effect, but still it is the incident of David’s meeting with the giant and his victory over him that most surely impresses him.
To learn the science of accurate shooting by constant practice in a gallery especially prepared for that purpose, the target being inanimate and incapable of retaliation, may, and often does, result in aptitude with the revolver and the rifle. To preserve this cleverness, however, the conditions must always be the same. The proper light must fall correctly upon the target; nothing to disturb the serenity of the surroundings or to distract the attention of the shooter must be permitted.
A grade higher comes the hunter. His targets are living, breathing objects. Sometimes he may stealthily approach, unobserved, and secure an aim while the object is at rest; again, the bird flies, the beast runs, and then his scientific calculation must be quick and accurate. But in both of these the disturbing element of probable, almost certain, retaliation is lacking. The excitement of rivalry or the enthusiasm, added to the uncertainty, of the chase may somewhat agitate the nerves of the shooter. His own safety is assured, however. How often do we read of a meeting on the miscalled “field of honor” of two men, both famous as pistol-gallery shots; men with whom to hit the “bull’s-eye” nine times out of ten shots is a common occurrence, yet who exchange leaden compliments that are as barren of results as would be the feeding of a hungry man on “angel food.” What is the cause of this? It is the actual, assured knowledge that in this instance the targets are equally animate, equally prepared thoroughly for retaliatory action, both equally anxious, and as capable of hitting the target the one as the other, and a sure consequence is that the nerves of both shooters are “like sweet bells, jangled, out of tune.”
The soldier whose lessons in the handling of fire-arms have been learned on many a hard-fought field has acquired a steadiness of nerve, a sort of reckless fearlessness, and, at times, even a contempt for danger which its constant presence has taught him. All honor to the soldiers who in steady column, shoulder to shoulder, or in dashing charge to the shrill cry of the bugle, have fearlessly breasted the scathing fire of the enemy’s guns. But in this case the inspiriting association of comrades, the encouraging sense of companionship, cheers them on, and they at least momentarily fail to really appreciate the thorough seriousness of their situation.
How different from all these pictures is that of the daring scout, the intrepid cowboy, the faithful guide, of the unsettled West. To either of these danger is so constant, so frequent in its visitations, that it has become an expected presence. An ear quick to detect a rustle of the leaves, a footfall on the turf, the click of the hammer of a rifle; an eye to instantaneously penetrate into the thickness of the brush; to detect, locate, and photograph a shifting speck on the horizon; to measure distance at a glance, and to fix the threatening target’s vulnerable point in an instant are absolute necessities. Added to these, as an absolute essential, must be nerves as tense as steel. A tremor of the arm, nay, the slightest quiver of a muscle, that sends the bullet a hair’s-breadth from the point aimed at, may cost not only the death of the shooter, but the lives of those depending on him for safety. No fancy shooting this; for more than life—honor and reputation, the preservation of sacred trusts and cherished lives committed to his care, depend upon his coolness, his courage, and his accuracy. In a moment all will be over for good or ill, and upon his single personality all depends. The stake is fearful.
These indubitable facts considered, is it surprising that these danger-baptized heroes of the West stand to-day as the most marvelous marksmen of the world?
The amateur sportsman, the society expert rifle-shot, the ambitious youth, and even woman, to whom all real manly exploits and true heroism are admirable, all take sincere pleasure in witnessing the feats of marksmanship of the cowboy, scout, or guide expert, and wonder at his marvelous accuracy. It is because actual necessity was the foundation upon which their expertness was built that these surpass all others in the science. What appears wonderful to others is in them but the perfection of art.
Looking at expert shooting as a pastime, a science, or a means of protection or self-preservation, the awakening of the manhood of the country and the up-growing youth to its possibilities is surely to be commended and encouraged. No man is more to be credited with the accomplishment of this than Gen. W. F. Cody. His romantic and picturesque history and his wonderful accomplishments have attracted to him the attention of America and Europe, and no one man is more capable of exemplifying the science of shooting than he. A graduate, with high honors, of the school where expert shooting is taught by the best practice and actual experience, he is master of his art. The object-lessons he gives are of incalculable benefit to the ambitious student of marksmanship, and sources of delight to all. His trusty rifle is now a social friend, whose intimacy is founded on dangers averted, heroic deeds accomplished, and honors nobly won.
A NOONDAY HALT ON THE PRAIRIE.
CHAPTER VII.
A MOST FAMOUS RIDE.
In the spring of 1868, at the outbreak of the violent Indian war, General Sheridan, from his headquarters at Hays City, dispatched Cody as guide and scout to Captain Parker at Fort Larned. Several bands of Comanches and Kiowas were in the vicinity, and Buffalo Bill, after guiding General Hazen and an escort of twenty men to Fort Sarah, thirty miles distant, started to return to Larned alone. At Pawnee Rock, about half-way, he found himself suddenly surrounded by about forty warriors. By professions of friendship and warm greeting of “How, how!” Bill saw he could alone depend on cunning and strategy to escape. Being taken before Santanta, who Bill knew was expecting, a short time before, a large herd of cattle which had been promised by General Hazen, he boldly complained to the wily chief of his treatment, and informed him that he had been ordered to find him and deliver “a big heap lot who-haws.” The cupidity of old Santanta enabled Bill to regain his arms. Although declining an escort, he was followed, much to his alarm, by a dozen well-mounted redskins. Keeping up “a heap of thinking,” Cody at last reached a depression that hid him from view, and succeeded, by putting the mule at his highest speed, in getting fully a mile in advance before the trailers discovered his object.
Upon seeing the fleeing scout, there were no further grounds for suspecting his motives; so the Indians, who were mounted on excellent ponies, dashed after him as though they were impelled by a promise of all the whisky and bacon in the big father’s commissary for his scalp. Bill was trying to save his hair, and the Indians were equally anxious to save it, so that the ride, prompted by these diametrically opposed motives, was as furious as Tam O’Shanter’s. After running over about three miles of ground, Bill turned his head, only to be horrified by the sight of his pursuers gaining rapidly on him. He now sank the spurs a little deeper into his mule, let out another inch of the reins, and succeeded in increasing the speed of his animal, which appeared to be sailing under a second wind.
It was thus the chase continued to Ash Grove, four miles from Fort Larned, at which point Bill was less than half a mile ahead of the Indians, who were trying to make line shots with him and his mule as a target. Reaching Pawnee Fork, he dashed into that stream, and as he gained the opposite shore, and was rounding a thick clump of trees, he was rejoiced to meet Denver Jim, a prominent scout, in company with a private soldier, driving a wagon toward the post.
A moment spent in explanation determined the three men upon an ambush. Accordingly the wagon was hastily driven into the woods, and posting themselves at an advantageous point they awaited the appearance of the red-skinned pursuers. “Look out!” said Bill; “here they come, right over my trail.” True enough, the twelve painted warriors rode swiftly around the clump of brush, and the next instant there was a discharge of shots from the ambush which sent two Indians sprawling on the ground, where they kicked out their miserable existence. The others saw the danger of their position, and making a big circle rode rapidly back toward their war-party.
When the three men reached Larned, Buffalo Bill and Denver Jim each displayed an Indian scalp as trophies of a successful ambush, and at the same time apprised Captain Parker of the hostile character of Santanta and his tribe.
On the following day about eight hundred warriors appeared before the fort, and threatened to storm it; but being met with a determined front they circled around the post several times, keeping the soldiers inside until their village could move off. Considerable fear was entertained at the fort, owing to the great number of hostile Indians who practically invested it, and it was determined by Captain Parker as of the utmost importance to send dispatches to General Sheridan, informing him of the situation. Fort Hays was sixty-five miles distant from Fort Larned, and, as the country was fairly swarming with the worst kind of “bad” Indians, Captain Parker tried in vain to find some one who would carry the dispatches, until the request was made to Buffalo Bill. This expedition was not within Bill’s line of duty, and presented dangers that would have caused the boldest man to hesitate; but finding all the couriers absolutely refusing to perform the necessary service, he agreed to deliver the message, provided that he could select the horse that he wanted to ride. Of course this requirement was readily assented to, and at 10 o’clock at night, during a terrible storm, the brave scout set out, knowing that he had to run a very gauntlet of hostiles, who would make many sacrifices if by so doing they could lift his coveted scalp.
The profound darkness of the night afforded him some security from surprise, but his fears of riding into an Indian camp were realized when he reached Walnut Creek. A barking dog was the first intimation of his position, but this was speedily followed by several Indians pursuing him, being directed by the sounds of his horse’s feet. By hard riding and good dodging, however, he eluded these, and meeting with no further mishap than being thrown over his horse’s head by reason of the animal suddenly stepping into a gopher-hole, he reached Fort Hays shortly after daylight, and delivered the dispatches he carried before General Sheridan had arisen from bed.
After delivering the message Bill went over to Hays City, where he was well acquainted, and after taking some refreshments lay down and slept for two hours. Thinking then that General Sheridan might want to ask him some questions regarding the condition of affairs at Larned, he returned to the fort and reported to him. He was somewhat astonished to find that General Sheridan was as anxious to send a messenger to Fort Dodge, ninety-five miles distant, as Captain Parker had been to communicate with his superior officer at Fort Hays; and more surprised was he to find that of the numerous couriers and scouts at the fort not one could be induced to carry the general’s dispatch, though the sum of $500 was offered for the service. Seeing the quandary in which General Sheridan was placed, Bill addressed that official, and said:
“Well, General, I’ll go over to the hotel and take a little more rest, and if by 4 o’clock you have not secured some one to carry your dispatches, I will undertake to do it.”
The general replied: “I don’t like to ask so much of you, for I know you are tired; but the matter is of great importance and some one must perform the trip. I’ll give you a fresh horse, and the best at the fort, if you’ll undertake it.”
“All right, General; I’ll be ready at 4 o’clock,” replied Bill, and then he went over to the hotel; but meeting with many friends, and the “irrigating” being good, he obtained only the rest that gay companionship affords. At the appointed time Bill was ready, and receiving the dispatches at the hands of General Sheridan he mounted his horse and rode away to Fort Dodge. After his departure there was much debate among the scouts who bade him good-by respecting the probability of his getting through, for the Indians were thick along the whole route, and only a few days before had killed three couriers and several settlers. Bill continued his ride all night, meeting with no interruption, and by daylight next morning he had reached Saw-Log Crossing, on Pawnee Fork, which was seventy-five miles from Fort Hays. A company of colored cavalry, under Major Cox, was stationed here, and it being on the direct route to Fort Dodge, Bill carried a letter with him from General Sheridan requesting Major Cox to furnish him with a fresh horse upon his arrival there; this the major did; so after partaking of a good breakfast Bill took his remount and continued on to Dodge, which point he gained at 10 o’clock in the morning, making the ninety-five miles in just eighteen hours from the time of starting.
The commanding officer at Fort Dodge after receiving the dispatches remarked:
“I am very glad to see you, Cody, and I’ll tell you that the trip just made is one of the most fortunate I know of. It is almost a miracle how you got through without having your body filled as full of holes as a pepper-box. The Indians are swarming all around within fifty miles of here, and to leave camp voluntarily is almost equal to committing suicide. I have been wanting to send a message to Fort Larned for several days, but the trip is so dangerous that I can’t find any one who will risk it, and I wouldn’t blame the bravest man for refusing.”
“Well, Major, I think I might get through to Larned; in fact I want to go back there, and if you will furnish me with a good horse I’ll try to carry your message.”
“I don’t think it would be policy for you to make the trip now, especially since you have done so much hard riding already. Besides, the best mount I could give you would be a government mule.”
“All right, Major, I don’t want the best; second-best is good enough for me; so trot out your mule. I’ll take a little nap, and in the meantime have your hostler slick up the mule so that he can slide through with me like a greased thunderbolt should the reds jump on us.”
Bill then went off, and, after “liquidating” in true Western style, lay down in the major’s quarters, where he slept soundly until nearly 5 o’clock in the evening, when, having replenished his canteen, he mounted the patient mule and set out for Fort Larned, which was sixty-five miles east of Fort Dodge.
After proceeding as far as Coon Creek, which was nearly half-way, Bill dismounted for the purpose of getting a drink of water. While stooping down the mule got frightened at something and jerked loose; nor did the stupid animal stop, but followed the trail, keeping ahead of the weary and chagrined scout for thirty-five miles. Half a mile from the fort Bill got within rifle range of his exasperating steed and gave him a furlough to the eternal grazing-grounds.
After reaching Larned—carrying the bridle and saddle himself—Buffalo Bill spent several hours in refreshing sleep, and when he awakened he found General Hazen trying to induce some of the couriers to take his dispatches to General Sheridan at Fort Hays. Having been warmly and very justly praised for the long and perilous rides he had just completed, Bill again proffered his service to perform the trip. At first General Hazen refused to dispatch him on the mission, saying, “This is like riding a free horse to death; you have already ridden enough to kill an ordinary man, and I don’t think it would be treating you properly to permit you to make this additional journey.”
But when evening came and no other volunteer could be engaged, as a matter of last resort Bill was given a good horse and the dispatches intrusted to him for transmission. It was after nightfall when he started on this last trip, and by daylight the next morning he was in Fort Hays, where he delivered the dispatches. General Sheridan was profoundly astonished to see Bill before him again in so short a time, and after being informed of his wonderful riding during the three days the general pronounced it a feat that was never equaled; and even now General Sheridan maintains that no other man could accomplish the same distance under similar circumstances. To this day the rides here described stand on record as the most remarkable ever made. They aggregated three hundred and fifty-five miles in fifty-eight riding hours, or an average of more than six miles an hour, including an enforced walk of thirty-five miles. When it is considered that all this distance was made in the night-time, and through a country of hostile Indians, without a road to follow or a bridge to cross the streams, the feat appears too incredible for belief were it not for the most indisputable evidence, easily attainable, which makes disbelief impossible.
General Sheridan was so favorably impressed with the self-sacrificing spirit and marvelous endurance of Buffalo Bill, and being already acquainted with his reputation as a brave man, that he called the scout to his headquarters directly after receiving Major Hazen’s dispatches, and said:
“Cody, I have ordered the Fifth Cavalry to proceed against the Dog Soldier Indians, who are now terrorizing the Republican River district; and as the campaign will be a very important one, I want a first-class man to guide the expedition. I have therefore decided to appoint you guide, and also chief of scouts of the command.”
PLENTY HORSES, OGALALLA SIOUX BRAVE.
CHAPTER VIII.
LETTERS OF COMMENDATION FROM PROMINENT MILITARY MEN.
GENERAL W. T. SHERMAN.
The following letter was received with a photograph of the hero of “The March to the Sea,” Gen. W. T. Sherman:
New York, December 25, 1886.
To Col. William Cody:
With the best compliments of one who in 1886 was guided by him up the Republican, then occupied by the Cheyennes and Arapahoes as their ancestral hunting-grounds; now transformed into farms and cattle ranches, in better harmony with civilization, and with his best wishes that he succeed in his honorable efforts to represent the scenes of that day to a generation then unborn.
W. T. Sherman, General.
LIEUTENANT-GENERAL P. H. SHERIDAN.
Headquarters Army of the United States,
Washington, D. C., January 7, 1887.
Col. William F. Cody was a scout and served in my command on the Western frontier for many years. He was always ready for duty, and was a cool, brave man, with unimpeachable character. I take pleasure in commending him for the many services he has rendered to the army, whose respect he enjoys for his manly qualities.
P. H. Sheridan, Lieutenant-General.
BREVET-MAJOR-GENERAL JAMES B. FRY.
New York, December 28, 1886.
Col. William F. Cody.
Dear Sir: Recalling the many facts that came to me while I was adjutant-general of the Division of the Missouri under General Sheridan, bearing upon your efficiency, fidelity, and daring as a guide and scout over the country west of the Missouri River and east of the Rocky Mountains, I take pleasure in observing your success in depicting in the East the early life of the West.
Very truly yours,
James B. Fry,
Assistant Adjutant-General, Brevet-Major-General U. S. A.
MAJOR-GENERAL NELSON A. MILES.
Los Angeles, Cal., January 7, 1878.
Col. William F. Cody.
Dear Sir: Having visited your great exhibition in St. Louis and in New York City, I desire to congratulate you on the success of your enterprise. I was much interested in the various lifelike representations of Western scenery, as well as the fine exhibition of skilled marksmanship and magnificent horsemanship. You not only represent the many interesting features of frontier life, but also the difficulties and dangers that have been encountered by the adventurous and fearless pioneers of civilization. The wild Indian life as it was a few years ago will soon be a thing of the past, but you appear to have selected a good class of Indians to represent that race of people. I regard your exhibition as not only very interesting, but practically instructive. Your services on the frontier were exceedingly valuable. With best wishes for your success, believe me,
Very truly yours,
Nelson A. Miles,
Brigadier-General U. S. A.
BRIGADIER-GENERAL GEORGE CROOK.
Omaha, Neb., January 7, 1887.
Hon. William F. Cody.
Dear Sir: I take great pleasure in testifying to the very efficient service rendered by you “as a scout” in the campaign against the Sioux Indians during the year 1876. Also that I have witnessed your Wild West exhibition. I consider it the most realistic performance of the kind I have ever seen.
Very sincerely, your obedient servant,
George Crook,
Brigadier-General U. S. A.
BREVET-MAJOR-GENERAL EUGENE A. CARR.
“HE IS KING OF THEM ALL.”
Headquarters Mounted Recruiting Service,
St. Louis, Mo., May 7, 1885.
Maj. John M. Burke.
Dear Sir: I take pleasure in saying that in an experience of about thirty years on the plains and in the mountains I have seen a great many guides, scouts, trailers, and hunters, and Buffalo Bill (W. F. Cody) is “king of them all.” He has been with me in seven Indian fights, and his services have been invaluable.
Very respectfully yours,
Eugene A. Carr,
Brevet-Major-General U. S. A.
MAJOR-GENERAL W. MERRITT.
United States Military Academy,
West Point, N. Y., January 11, 1887.
... I have known W. F. Cody (“Buffalo Bill”) for many years. He is a Western man of the best type, combining those qualities of enterprise, daring, good sense, and physical endurance which made him the superior of any scout I ever knew. He was cool and capable when surrounded by dangers, and his reports were always free from exaggeration. He is a gentleman in a better sense of the word which implies character, and he may be depended on under all circumstances. I wish him success.
W. Merritt,
Brevet-Major-General U. S. A.
Late Major-General Volunteers.
War Department, Adjutant-General’s Office,
Washington, August 10, 1886.
To whom it may concern:
Mr. William F. Cody was employed as chief of scouts under Generals Sheridan, Custer, Crook, Miles, Carr, and others in their campaigns against hostile Indians on our frontier, and as such rendered very valuable and distinguished service.
S. S. Drum, Adjutant-General.
MAJOR-GENERAL W. H. EMORY.
Washington, D. C., February 8, 1887.
Mr. Cody was chief guide and hunter to my command when I commanded the district of North Platte, and he performed all his duties with marked excellence.
W. H. Emory,
Major-General U. S. A.
COLONEL JAMES W. FORSYTH.
Headquarters Seventh Cavalry,
Fort Mead, D. T., February 14, 1887.
My Dear Sir: Your army career on the frontier, and your present enterprise of depicting scenes in the far West, are so enthusiastically approved and commended by the American people and the most prominent men of the United States Army, that there is nothing left for me to say. I feel sure your new departure will be a success.
With best wishes, I remain, yours truly,
James W. Forsyth,
Colonel Seventh Cavalry.
BRIGADIER-GENERAL H. C. BANKHEAD.
Jersey City, 405 Bergen Avenue, February 7, 1887.
Hon. Wm. F. Cody.
My Dear Sir: I fully, and with pleasure, indorse you as the veritable Buffalo Bill, United States scout, serving with the troops operating against hostile Indians, with whom you secured renown by your services as a scout and successful hunter. Your sojourn on the frontier at a time when it was a wild and sparsely settled section of the continent fully enables you to portray that in which you have personally participated—the pioneer, Indian fighter, and frontiersman. Wishing you every success, I remain,
Very respectfully yours,
H. C. Bankhead,
Brigadier-General U. S. A.
COLONEL W. B. ROYALL.
Hotel Richmond,
Washington, D. C., January 9, 1887.
W. F. Cody (“Buffalo Bill”) was with me in the early days when I commanded a battalion of the Fifth Cavalry, operating against the hostile Sioux. He filled every position and met every emergency with so much bravery, competence, and intelligence as to command the general admiration and respect of the officers, and became chief of scouts of the department. All his successes have been conducted on the most honorable principles.
W. B. Royall,
Colonel Fourth Cavalry U. S. A.
BREVET-BRIGADIER-GENERAL N. A. M. DUDLEY.
Headquarters First Cavalry,
Fort Custer, M. T.
I often recall your valuable services to the Government, as well as to myself, in years long gone by, especially during the Sioux difficulties, when you were attached to my command as chief of scouts. Your indomitable perseverance, incomprehensible instinct in discovering the trails of the Indians—particularly at night, no matter how dark or stormy—your physical powers of endurance in following the enemy until overtaken, and your unflinching courage, as exhibited on all occasions, won not only my own esteem and admiration, but that of the whole command. With my best wishes for your success, I remain, your old friend,
N. A. M. Dudley,
Colonel First Cavalry, Brevet-Brigadier-General U. S. A.
BREVET-MAJOR-GENERAL JNO. H. KING.
Tallahasse, Fla., January 12, 1887.
Hon. William F. Cody: I take great pleasure in recommending you to the public as a man who has a high reputation in the army as a scout. No one has ever shown more bravery on the Western plains than yourself. I wish you success in your proposed visit to Great Britain.
Your obedient servant,
Jno. H. King,
Brevet-Major-General U. S. A.