About the ninth day, we found ourselves running short of meat. A bunch of buffaloes were grazing about two miles distant. Mounting my horse, I told the boys that I would ride out and kill two good ones for meat. I was so well acquainted with the ways of buffaloes that I could judge quickly by their actions whether they would run or stand when approached. I saw that these were getting ready to run.
This fact was a plausible hint that Indians were moving through the country. My own experience and the testimony of other hunters convinced me that nothing causes greater alarm among buffaloes than the scent or odor of Indians, a peculiarity easily distinguished by a white man's nostrils. When Indian hunting parties went on the buffalo grounds to get their winter's supply of meat, the herds were soon in great commotion, making it difficult for the white hunter to do his killing at a "stand." Strange as it may seem, if there were no Indians moving among the buffaloes, the latter would pay scarcely any attention to white hunters, even though the big buffalo guns were booming from sunrise to sunset.
Upon nearing the buffaloes as closely as I thought expedient, I dismounted and began crawling. Picking out a young bull, I turned loose with my big "50" gun. The herd stampeded at the first crack, and raised such a dust that I could distinguish nothing. I fired as rapidly as I could pull the trigger at the indistinguishable mass, and was lucky enough to bring down six or seven before the herd was out of range.
This fusillade from my gun set things moving in camp, where the boys jumped to the conclusion that I had been attacked by Indians. To add to the excitement a herd of about fifty antelopes appeared on a hill perhaps half a mile from camp. The swiftly running animals would traverse a wide circle and dash again to the top of the hill, where they would stand rigidly attentive gazing in my direction. The excited imagination of the boys in camp soon transformed these harmless creatures into mounted Indians. They had not the slightest doubt of my having been killed and scalped, my body left weltering in its own blood, and speared and arrowed until it resembled a sieve.
When I rode into camp a few minutes later, I found everything ready for flight and battle. All the fighting guns were conveniently at hand, and all the camp equipment was loaded on the wagon. The boys were just at the point of pulling out, but had lingered a moment to debate whether they should try to recover my dead body or whoop her up for Dodge City.
Jack Callahan was declaring that it would be wrong to go away without being sure that I was dead. While this discussion was under way each man was as busy as a coon in a hen roost. McCabe had been set at work priming a lot of shells, which were already loaded. In his excitement he held the primers in his left hand, asking all the while, "Where in thunder are those primers? I can't find a single one, yet I saw a lot of them only a moment ago. Unless we get these shells primed, we'll be in bad shape!"
McCabe was so nervous that the primers rattled in his shaking hand, without his seeing them. McCabe lived in mortal terror of Indians, though as brave as a lion under all other emergencies, a peculiarity I have seen in other men on the Plains. The scent or odor of the Indian affected some men as it did certain animals other than the buffalo. All kinds of game seemed to know when an Indian was around. A horse could be safely depended upon to give warning of the near approach of an Indian. I have had my horse run to and fro on his picket rope, manifesting the greatest alarm, apparently without cause, as I could see nothing. I never failed, however, to find later that an Indian had been close by.
The boys gazed at me in utmost astonishment as I rode into camp, safe and sound. They could not believe that I had really returned, and began asking me a thousand questions. We laughed over what had happened, each teasing the other about having been "scared out of a year's growth." All save McCabe took the joking in good nature. When the boys began poking fun at him about losing the primers, McCabe slashed on his war paint, and squared off to fight. He shouted that he would fight with bare fists, with a butcher knife or with a gun whoever repeated the story. He would have done as he threatened, but all of us liked him and only laughed at him the more.
We loaded up with hides next day and pulled out for Dodge City, where we were lucky enough to strike a good market. We had to make three trips to get all the hides, for which we received from $2.50 to $4 a piece, the highest price we ever received. The full amount was $1,975, but the buyer wrote us a check for the even sum of $2,000, a little matter like $25 being of no moment in those days at Dodge City.
The weather was now growing much colder, warning us that we should prepare for snow, sleet and howling blizzards. Each man bought himself a supply of warm winter clothing, and with lots of supplies and ammunition, we again went in search of the shaggy buffalo. We went up the Arkansas as far west as the next railroad station, where we hunted a few days, finding buffaloes so scarce that we moved over on the head of South Pawnee.