As may be imagined, there was no sleep during the night that followed the day of the battle. What the Indians could not do during the light of the day, they might attempt at night, and this thought kept every man alive to the exigencies of the desperate situation. Every man did sentry duty all night long, not on the outside, as that would have been suicidal, but within the walls. When not pacing back and forth across the floor, they strained their ears listening at the openings in the walls for any noise that would indicate the approach of the foe. Light they had none, as they did not dare to so much as burn a match. It was maddening to have to spend the weary hours waiting for they knew not what. They tried to be brave, but it was a difficult matter to do so at such a critical time. There was not a one of them that was not willing to die in defense of the ranch, but the uncertainty of the situation was more galling than the attack itself. Hour followed hour, each one seemed an age, and yet there was no sign of another assault. Wearily, anxiously they waited, each moment dreading what the next might bring.
Morning dawned at last and the little band breathed easier. They felt that there was more than an even chance while daylight lasted. The condition of the place was deplorable. With weary haggard looks they gazed at each other in the pale morning light and tried to smile encouragement to each other but it was a wan effort. The excitement of the previous day, and the anxiety of the night just passed, was plainly visible on their countenances. But one thing remained, they were undaunted and ready to face their foe again if necessary. The sanitary condition of the place resembled the Black Hole of Calcutta in a lesser degree. True, they had food in abundance, but their water supply was exhausted. Fortunately for them, there was a supply of canned goods in the store. Some of these they cut open, and drained off the liquid to quench their thirst. It was not entirely, satisfying as water, but it tided them over a difficulty.
In the meantime the silence from their enemies continued to cause them considerable uneasiness. They could not imagine what new kind of deviltry they were planning to effect the purpose of the raid. They awaited another attack, but apparently it was either being delayed purposely, or the Indians had decided to forego any further attempt on the place. Which of the two it was, they did not know. Finally, when their anxiety became unendurable, Mr. Olds, the husband of the good lady who had stirred up so much excitement in the early part of the fray, volunteered to make a reconnoitre. For this purpose he built a temporary ladder. When the rude implement was constructed, he ascended to the roof of the building. Then he proceeded to make an opening in the sod roof, through which he might make a survey of the country in the neighborhood. To guard against any attack from nearby, he took a rifle up with him for safety. He looked out through the opening he had so laboriously made, and reported that there was not an Indian in sight. All were overjoyed at this bit of information. Then Mr. Olds began to descend. In some way or other, his gun caught in one of the rounds of the ladder and was discharged when he was about half way down. With a lurch from the ladder he fell heavily to the floor. Whether from the force of the blow as he fell on his head to the hardened earth, or whether it was the bullet that struck him, his brains were scattered round about in gruesome fashion. It was a very unfortunate occurance, and it cast a gloom over the whole party. Mrs. Olds was heartbroken over the sudden and untimely death of her husband. Needless to say, the other members of the heroic little band offered her what consolation their rough ways would permit. As she had just experienced the fidelity of the manhood around about her, she was much comforted, but it was hard to bear the burden of her loss with the evidence of the accident before her.
When the first duties to the afflicted had been accomplished, others thought of the feasibility of making a more extended reconnoitre from the outside of the ranch. There was also another reason for wishing to breathe again the pure air of the plains. Their water supply needed replenishing, as they were all suffering in some degree from the want of it. With anxious hearts, they removed the barricading sacks from the door and prepared for what might come. Andrew Johnson proposed that some one should go for water, and offered to make the journey himself. To this they all agreed. He took a bucket and as he stepped out, he took a good look around for any possible redskin that might be lurking in hiding. Seeing nothing to indicate the presence of the foe in the neighborhood, he set out for the creek. His companions covered his journey all the way with their buffalo guns, so that if any Indian put in an appearance, they would have either driven him to flight, or adorned the landscape with his remains. Happily for all, no foe appeared and Mr. Johnson made the journey without molestation. When he returned, he was greeted by his friends in misfortune, with all manner of expressions of gratitude. As there was no indication the presence of the foe, they did not barricade the door again.
The next move was to send out scouts to discover, if possible, whether there was any further danger of attack. Needless to say, they did not wander far afield, as, just then, it was a wise proceeding to be in close proximity to the base of supplies and protection. Those who did not go on the scouting tour, performed the humane task of burying Mr. Olds, and those who had been killed outside the ranch house. With what tenderness their natures possessed they laid away the mortal remains of their companion not far from the spot where they had spent such a heart-rending day and night. As for burying the Indians that lay around them on the plain, they left that part of the duty to the coyotes and the buzzards. At least, I have never heard of any burial service being read over them, on that occasion. Such a method of procedure was common enough in those days, as it seemed to be the usual way in which the enemy regarded the disposal of the remains of his victims. They could not be charged with neglect of duty, as, of all the white men that I have heard of being scalped, murdered, and mutilated in any part of the West, I do not know of one case where the Indian ever took the time and trouble to bury them. There is more truth than poetry in the remark of Gen. Sherman, that “War is Hell,” and the little skirmish had a strong resemblance to a section of the infernal regions while it lasted.
The above is the general outline of the fight as it occurred. As I have said in the beginning, my authority for the truth of what I have said was one of the leading men of the battle, if there were any leading men in that terrific struggle where every man stood up to the fight like a ‘man.’ I have read several accounts of the affray from sources that are unreliable. As a proof of what I say in that regard, though the article purport to be written by some one who had a hand in the affray, it is apparent that they did not write them personally, but left it to some scribe to put down some of the salient features, passing over some of the most important events of the struggle. How would it be possible for a writer who had a share in the battle to forget the important part played by Miller Scott? You say it would be impossible, yet I have seen accounts of the battle in which he is not even mentioned. How could he forget the tragic death of Mr. Olds? However, some writers fail to mention it. How about the killing of the negro in the wagon? And some of them narrate the story in an entirely different manner. I fear that the imagination of many a writer has filled up with fancy when facts of the most thrilling kind were at hand. I know that a writer, in narrating a hair-raising episode under the pressure of excitement is liable to overlook some important feature, nevertheless, for the sake of accuracy and truth, he should revise what he has written and correct the error when discovered if he knows it.
To satisfy the curiosity of the reader in regard to the origin of the Adobe Walls, and how it happened that there were buffalo hunters in that neighborhood in preference to any other locality, I shall append an explanation as well as mention many of the old-timers who followed that occupation.
In regard to the origin of the Adobe Walls, of which some writers appear to know nothing, I shall narrate the story as told me by those who know. The original walls were built of brick dobe made out of clay and grass, and were sun-dried before being set into place. Under the ordinary care, these walls would have lasted one hundred years or more. These walls were built by the Mexicans before the country was granted its freedom, and long before it entered the union. There was a chain of such structures built across the country to be utilized as trading posts, as well as for fortifications. This chain of little forts extended from the Wichita Mountains down through Texas to Mexico. The reason of their being located so far northward was due to the fact that there were mines in operation in the Wichita range long before the country gained its freedom, and these forts served as protection to the freighters who were engaged in transferring the ore down to Old Mexico. When Texas gained her independence, all these forts and supply stations were abandoned, and in course of time were rubbed and horned down by the countless buffalo that ranged at will over the territory. Then the country became almost a waste, the home of the buffalo, the cougar, and the other wild beasts that grew in number unmolested by man.
About thirty-five years ago I became acquainted with two Mexicans named Romero. They told me that they had freighted ore from the Wichita mountains to old Mexico, and that if I would go with them they would show me where they got it. As I did not know anything about mining I declined the kind offer. Today there are hundreds of men exploring these mountains in search of the precious metal, and if ever they come upon the site of the Mexican mines, their fortune is assured.
In regard to the presence of the buffalo hunters near the Adobe Walls, I am compelled to say that they were there, more by necessity than by choice. The trail passed by the Adobe Walls and offered an opportunity for the hunters to ship their hides into Dodge City, the only trading post within the radius of over a hundred miles. They were compelled to pitch their camp where they could find water for their stock as well as for themselves. For this reason they located themselves at the head of Wolf Creek, in what is now Ochiltree county, Texas. Others located their outfits in the breaks of Clear Creek, on the south line of No-Man’s Land, and a few more were established in the hills on the north side of the South Canadian river, and west of the Adobe Walls. They could not possibly camp on the flats on account of the scarcity of water. There extended there a strip of territory thirty-three miles wide where there was no water except after a prolonged wet-spell, which seldom occurred. Regarding the other conveniences, such as fuel and other things, they had little difficulty, as the buffalo chips supplied the demands in abundance.