"What's the damage, Fritz?"
"Ach," he replied, "the table cost me $500; a barrel of whisky and cigars, beer, my fine mirror—everything is gone?"
"Yes, I see, the whole bizness," said the boss.
"Well," said Fritz, "the boys spent $600 mit me, so I make it $600 more; maybe I can repair the table."
So the bill was paid, the wagons were loaded, and the outfit sallied forth across the plains, the bridgeless rivers, and the mountain passes to Fetterman where there was a pay-day. Deductions pro-rata were made from every man's wage to even up the score with Fritz, and every bullwhacker paid his share willingly, saying it was cheap sport for the price. There was no feeling against Fritz because Fritz had not shown fight. If he had—well, most of the men in the outfit were wild and woolly, and rough, but not killers. Still one or two could not be trusted.
Hunton put up a log house, a forge and a charcoal kiln just outside the south limit of the Fort Fetterman government reserve, a section five miles square south of the Platte. Just before this plant was erected a series of Indian depredations began; several men engaged in cord wood chopping for a government contractor were murdered by small bands of Sioux, and many saddle horses stolen. There were also several raids in the Lapariel bottoms; and one day a small band of Sioux, well mounted, forded the Platte almost in sight of the fort, stampeded a herd of mules and drove them far into the Indian country before a company of soldiers took up the chase.
A military telegraph line ran from Fort Fetterman to Fort D. A. Russell at Cheyenne, and the northwestern end of the line was down most of the time, the Indians taking the wire away to use in ear and nose rings and for other purposes, although the line was destroyed many times, no doubt, for pure cussedness. One time I traveled for fifty miles on horseback along this telegraph line, and in places the wires were connected with insulators which were mounted on buffalo horns. In many places the wire was on the ground.
It was said at the time of the running off of the mules that the Fort Fetterman commandant was unable to follow the Indians without orders from Washington via Fort Russell. However, this was not confirmed. Anyway, on this and many other occasions the army moved slowly and was past understanding on the part of the few citizens in the country. Nevertheless, the soldiers of those days, whenever in conflict with the redskins, usually gave a good account of themselves.
Things got so warm one spring in the vicinity of Fort Fetterman that the thirty or forty citizens camping outside the military reservation organized a secret society known as the Buckskin Militia, and determined to avenge the deaths of several men, Jesse Hammond, a woodchopper, and others, if opportunity should present itself. The only qualification for membership in the Buckskins was a willingness to take the oath, which was as follows:
I, John Smith, do solemnly swear that I will shoot on sight any male Indian, no matter whether he is attacking me or other white men, stealing or attempting to steal my property or the property of others, or whether he is approaching or moving from me. Furthermore, I will answer any call from another member of this band or any other good white citizen, for assistance in the destruction of any male Indian found on the south side of the North Platte river; and will join in any raid upon an Indian camp when called upon by the Chief Buckskin. So help me God.