As we passed out of the dog village, the engine gave several short, sharp whistles, and numberless heads were at once thrust out to ascertain the cause. "Buffalo!" was the cry, and with this there was a rush to the windows for a view of the noblest of American game. Even sleepy elderly gentlemen jostled rudely, and Sachem forgot his liver so far as to crowd into a favorable position beside a young woman.
"There they go!" "Oh, my, what monsters!" "What beards!" "What horns!" "Beats a steeplechase!" "Uncanny beasts, lookin' and gangin' like Nick!" "Sure, they're going home from a divil's wake!" and similar ejaculations filled the car, as they do a race-stand when the horses are off. Two huge bulls had crossed just ahead of the engine, and one of them, apparently deeming escape impossible, was standing at bay close to the track, head down for a charge. He was furious with terror, the hissing steam and cow-catcher having been close at his heels for a hundred yards. As we flew past he was immediately under our windows, and we were obliged to look down to get a view of his immense body, with the back curving up gradually from the tail into an uncouth hump over the fore shoulders.
These two solitary old fellows were the only buffalo we saw from the train, the herds at large having not yet commenced their southern journey. At certain seasons, however, they cover the plains on each side of the road for fifty or sixty miles in countless multitudes. These wild cattle of Uncle Samuel's, if called upon, could supply the whole Yankee nation with meat for an indefinite period.
About noon we arrived at Hays City, two hundred and eighty miles from the eastern border of the State, and eighty miles out upon the plains. A stream tolerably well timbered, known as Big Creek, runs along the southern edge of the town, and just across it lies Fort Hays, town and fort being less than a mile apart.
The post possessed considerable military importance, being the base of operations for the Indian country. We found Sheridan there, an officer who won his fame gallantly and on the gallop. During the summer our red brethren had been gathering a harvest of scalps, and, in return, our army was now preparing to gather in the gentle savage.
We had read accounts in the newspapers, some time before, of the capture of Fort Wallace and of attacks on military posts. Such stories were not only untrue, but exceedingly ridiculous as well. Lo is not sound on the assault question. His chivalrous soul warms, however, when some forlorn Fenian, with spade on shoulder and thoughts far off with Biddy in Erin's Isle, crosses his vision. Being satisfied that Patrick has no arms, his only defense being utter harmlessness, and well knowing that the sight of a painted skin, rendered sleek by boiled dog's meat, will make him frantic with terror, the soul of the noble savage expands. No more shall the spade, held so jauntily, throw Kansas soil on the bed of the Pacific Railroad; and the scalp, yet tingling with the boiling of incipient Fenian revolutions underneath, on the pole of a distant wigwam will soon gladden the eyes of the traditionally beautiful Indian bride, as with dirty hands she throws tender puppies into the pot for her warrior's feast. The savage hand, crimson since childhood, descends with defiant ring upon the tawny breast, and, with a cry of, "Me big Indian, ha, whoop!" down sweeps Lo upon the defenseless Hibernian. A startled stare, a shriek of wild agony, a hurried prayer to "our Mary mother," and Erin's son christens those far-off points of the Pacific Railroad with his blood. A rapid circle of hunting-knife and the scalp is lifted, a few twangs of the bow fills the body with arrows, there is a rapid vault into the saddle, and a mutilated corpse, with feathered tips, like pins in a cushion, dotting its surface, alone remains to tell the tale of horror.
"And Erin's son christens those far-off points of the Pacific Railroad with his blood."
Blood had been every-where on the railroad, which reached across the plains like a steel serpent spotted with red. There was now a cessation of hostilities, and Indian agents were reported to be on the way from Washington to pacify the tribes. As they had been a long time in coming, the inference was irresistible that the popping of champagne corks was a much more pleasant experience than that of Indian guns would have been. The harvest of scalps had reached high noon some time before. Far off, south of the Arkansas, the savages had their home, and from thence, like baleful will-o'-the-wisps, they would suddenly flash out, and then flash back when pursued, and be lost in those remote regions. Lately, United States troops have been so placed that the Indian villages may be struck, if necessary, and retaliation had; and this, together with the pacificatory efforts of the Quaker agents, is doing much to bring about a condition of things which promises permanent peace.