A CAMP-FIRE SCENE—VAGABONDIZING—THE BLACK PACER OF THE PLAINS—SOME ADVICE FROM BUFFALO BILL ABOUT INDIAN FIGHTING—LO'S ABHORRENCE OF LONG RANGE—HIS DREAD OF CANNON—AN IRISH GOBLIN—SACHEM'S "SONG OF SHAMUS."
How vividly, when one is fairly embarked in any new enterprise, do the events of the first night impress one's imagination, and how indelibly do they fix themselves in the memory! Inside our tents all was clean and cheery, but as none of us were disposed to seek them before a late hour, we spent the evening around our camp-fires. Excitement, for the time, had overmastered our sense of fatigue. The Professor's notes were out, and, with his feet to the fire and a box for a desk, he looked more like the Arkansas traveler writing home, than the learned savan committing to paper the latest secrets wrung from nature. The remainder of our party were scattered promiscuously around the fire, some seated on logs and boxes, the others outstretched upon the grass.
Tammany Sachem was the first to break the silence. "Fellow citizens," he exclaimed, "let's vagabondize!" Now, with our alderman, vagabondizing meant story telling, an accomplishment which we consider the especial forte of vagabonds.
We all hailed this proposition gladly, for Buffalo Bill, stretched there before the fire, had much of plain lore stored in his active brain that we wished to draw out, and we at once seized the opportunity to ask about the black pacer we had seen during the afternoon, and his weird story of the bloody saddle.
From Bill's narrative we gathered the following: Something over a year before the era of our expedition a train of government wagons left Fort Hays destined for Fort Harker, and the Indians being troublesome, some twenty soldiers were sent in the wagons, as a guard. A few hours later there passed through Hays City a man from the mountains riding a powerful black stallion, while his family, consisting of a young wife and her brother, occupied a covered wagon which followed close behind. The stranger determined to take advantage of the protection afforded by the government train, and the little party pushed out after it over the plains. The day was a sultry one in midsummer, the sun pouring down its flood of heat on the desolate surface of the expanse that spread away on all sides. The long train, a full mile from front to rear, dragged its slow length sluggishly along, the mules sleepily following the trail, while the teamsters and soldiers dozed in the covered wagons. A driver, who happened to be awake, saw in the distance a beautiful mirage, and in it, as he looked, strange objects, like mounted men, were bobbing up and down. But then he had often seen weeds and other small objects similarly transformed, by these wonderful illusions of the plains, and even he forgot the bobbing shadows and dozed away again on his seat.
But there was danger near. Stealthily out of the mirage, and bending low in their saddles, rode a painted band of savages, hiding their advance in a ravine. Their purpose was to strike and cut off the rear of the train, the length of which promised unusual success to their undertaking, as the white men were too much scattered to oppose any resistance to a sudden onset. At length, nearly the entire train had filed by, and the foremost of the last half dozen wagons approached the ravine. At the signal, out from it burst the troop of red horsemen, and crossed the road like a dash of dust from the hand of a hurricane, every savage spreading his blanket and uttering the war whoop. The startled teams fled in stampede over the plains, dragging the wagons after them. Some of the drivers were thrown out and others jumped. Two or three were killed, and by the time the other teams and the guards had taken the alarm, and turned back for a rescue, the savages had cut the traces of the frightened mules, and were on the return with them to their distant villages. Instead of stopping the animals to release them from the wagons, the Indians urged them to wilder speed, and leaning from their saddles, cut the fastenings at full run. Among the booty taken, was a valuable race horse and fifteen hundred dollars in greenbacks, belonging to an officer who was on his way from New Mexico to the East.
Meanwhile, our friend, the owner of the black pacer, with his outfit, was moving quietly along two or three miles in the rear, entirely unaware of affairs at the front. Some of the savages, while escaping with the booty, espied him, and coveting the noble animal which he rode, they made a detour and surprised him as he sat jogging along a hundred yards or so ahead of the wagon containing his wife and brother-in-law. Though mortally wounded at their first volley, with the desperate effort of a dying man he clung to the saddle for a hundred yards or more, and then rolled upon the prairie a lifeless corpse. Frantic with terror, the horse dashed through the circle of Indians that surrounded him, and fled. The savages, probably fearing longer delay, did not pursue, nor even attack the wagon, and the black pacer was not seen again for some months, when at length some hunters discovered him, freed from saddle and bridle, the leader of the wild herd.
Buffalo Bill gave us quite an insight into some of the mysteries of plain craft. When you are alone, and a party of Indians are discovered, never let them approach you. If in the saddle, and escape or concealment is impossible, dismount, and motion them back with your gun. It shows coolness, and these fellows never like to get within rifle range, when a firm hand is at the trigger. If there is any water near, try and reach it, for then, if worst comes to worst, you can stand a siege. The savages of the plains are always anxious to get at close quarters before developing hostility. Unless very greatly in the majority, and with some unusual incentive to attack, they will not approach a rifle guard. Were they as well supplied with breech-loading guns as with pistols, the case would be different, of course. Bill was the hero of many Indian battles, and had fought savages in all ways and at all hours, on horseback and on foot, at night and in daytime alike.
As an amusing illustration of the savage abhorrence of long-range guns, I beg the reader's indulgence for introducing an anecdote which I afterward heard narrated by an officer who participated in the affair. Major A—— was sent out from Fort Hays with a company of men on an Indian scout, and, when near a tributary of the south fork of the Solomon, the savages appeared in force, and a fight commenced, which continued until dark. Several soldiers were wounded and two killed. As the Indians were evidently increasing in numbers, after nightfall a squad was dispatched to the fort for ambulances and reinforcements. Only six men could be spared, and these were sent off with a light field-piece in charge. Soon after crossing the Saline, a strong band of Indians was discovered half a mile off reconnoitering. A shell was sent screaming toward them, but the aim was too high, and it burst a short distance beyond them. Nevertheless, the effect was instantaneous; the savages vanished, nor stood upon the order of their going. During the next ten miles this scene was repeated three times, the stand-point on each occasion being removed further and further away. The last shot was a remarkably long one, and the shell burst directly in their faces. Not only did they disappear for good, but the whole investing force, on receiving their report, fled likewise.
Talking thus about Indians, under the gloom of the trees, seemed in some unaccountable way to suggest the idea of witches to the mind of Pythagoras. Perhaps, in accordance with his pet theory of development, he was cogitating whether, ages ago, the red man's family horse might not have been a broomstick. At any rate, he suddenly gave a new turn to the conversation by asking Shamus why, when the dogs pointed the witch-hazel during our quail hunt at Topeka, he had affirmed that the canine race could see spirits and witches which to mortal eyes were invisible. Now, the Dobeen had been bred on an Irish moor, where the whole air is woven, like a Gobelin tapestry, full of dreams of the marvelous, and where whenever an unusual object is noticed by moonlight, the frightened peasant, instead of stopping a moment to investigate the cause, rushes shivering to his hut to tell of the fearful phookas he has seen. He was very superstitious, and we had often been amused at his evasions, when, as sometimes happened, his faith conflicted with our commands. The time might be near when such peculiarities would prove troublesome instead of amusing, and it was well, therefore, that we should get a peep at the foundations of our cook's faith, and perhaps that portion of it which related to our friends, the dogs, would be especially entertaining. Moreover, we had had so much of the red man that we were glad to welcome an Irish witch to our first camp-fire. Dobeen's narrative was substantially as follows, though I can not attempt to clothe it in his exact language, and still less in the rich brogue which yet clung to him after years of ups and downs in "Ameriky."