Word was sent of their predicament to the nearest fort, and Lieutenant Pershing was sent with a small detachment to their rescue. He rode straight up to the Zuni chief, who was now on the warpath, and told him he must call off his braves—that the United States Government would punish these men. The chief finally grunted assent, and Pershing strode forward alone into the clearing and approached the cabin. At any time a shot might have come out, but disregarding his own danger he went on, pushed open the door, and found himself looking into the muzzles of three guns.
A single false move on his part would probably have ended him, but he did not waver. He folded his arms and said quietly:
"Well, boys, I've come to get you."
The outlaws laughed noisily and swore by way of reply.
"You might as well come along," he went on, without raising his voice.
"My men are posted all around this cabin."
More profanity, but the men at last consented to go, if they could carry their guns. They wouldn't budge otherwise.
"You'll come as I say, and you'll be quick about it," said Pershing, a note of command coming into his voice.
And they did.
The next duty which fell to Lieutenant Pershing was quite different. From chasing Indians and outlaws on the plains, he was assigned to the task of putting some "half baked" cadets through their paces. In September, 1891, he became Professor of Military Science and Tactics at the University of Nebraska.
The discipline at this school was of a piece with that of other State colleges, where a certain amount of drilling was demanded, but beyond this the students were allowed to go their own gait. At Nebraska it had become pretty lax—but the arrival of the new instructor changed all that. A student of this time, in a recent article in The Red Cross Magazine, gives a humorous account of what happened.