When the spring of 1867 came around, I was offered my old job on the
farm, and Mrs. McCall, a kind, good woman, used all her influence to
get me to accept it. But my head was filled with dreams of adventure
in the Far West. Always, I could see the West holding its hands toward
me, and beckoning and smiling.
Meeting a Government train-master named Simpson, who was hiring men to
go out with a train that was to be shipped by railroad as far as Fort
Harker, I forgot all that Mrs. McCall had said to me about staying on
the farm, and hired to Simpson. Returning to the farm, I told my good
friends good-bye.
The Kansas Pacific railroad had now been built as far west as Fort
Harker. All our wagons and harness were new and these, together with
the mules, were loaded into cars and shipped to Fort Harker. We went
into camp close to the Fort.
In this outfit were a good many raw men, while the mules were known as
"shave-tails," which meant wild, unbroken mules; only a few had been
harnessed and driven. By this time I could handle a team with as much
ease as a man could. In my lot were two or three gentle mules--I have
cause to remember one old fellow in particular, upon whose back I
afterwards had one of the most exciting rides of my life.
We put in ten days breaking the "shave-tails." It was a scene of
hilarious excitement, and not without danger, as often mules would be
kicking and bucking in harness with might and main, while others would
be running away. At such times the drivers had no time to pay
attention to other things.
While in this camp, cholera began raging at Fort Harker, which struck
terror to many who stood in no fear of other dangers to life. Many of
our men deserted, and two died of the dread disease. I witnessed the
death of one of our men, Frinkum, and shall never forget his agony.
Men who were apparently in the full vigor of health at sunrise lay
dead by night. The authorities kept the number of dead secret as much
as possible. The burials were usually at night.
This epidemic of death extended from Fort Harker, Kansas, to Fort
Union, New Mexico. Its origin was said to have been in the Tenth
Cavalry, a negro command, which had shipped from the East to the
western frontier. Now, all this excitement did not bother me a bit--I
did not think much about it. The doctors made regular calls at our
camp every day, and we were placed on a strict diet. We were forbidden
to eat any kind of vegetable or fresh meat. The disease ran its course
in about three weeks.
Alas, and again alas, up to this time I had never seen a buffalo! I
could almost taste buffalo, so keen was I to behold one of these
shaggy monsters, pawing the sandy plain, throwing dust high in air,
and shaking his ponderous head at his enemies, defying them to battle.
The Government here issued a new lot of arms and ammunition to us.
This looked warlike, and was greatly to my liking. The guns were the
Sharpe's carbine, carrying a linen cartridge, with which was used the
"army hat" cap. In addition, we were given a six-shooter Remington,
cap and ball pistol. These were the very latest arms.
Now came an eventful, a momentous morning, I had just crawled from
under my blankets and was feeding my mules. Glancing to the northwest,
I saw a lone object on the plains. At the moment the object apparently
failed to make an impression upon my mind, and I turned toward my
mules. Then I jumped as if I had been stung by a hornet. With eyes
distended, I whirled and looked again at the lone object on the
Plains. My body was vibrating as if touched by a dynamo.
A buffalo! No mistake about it. There he stood, rather far off and
dim. Maybe he had been waiting for me all these years, waiting for me
to see him. That was my buffalo. I determined that I should get him,
even if I had to twist my fingers in his shaggy mane and drag him
alive into camp.
Seizing a blind-bridle, I slipped it onto the gentle old mule to which
I referred in an earlier page, made a dash for my rifle and rode away
bareback and at top speed after the buffalo.
The buffalo had turned and was moving away from camp when he caught
sight of the boy on the mule riding wildly toward him. With a flip of
his tail, the buffalo struck his rocking-chair gait and went lumbering
away. Up and down hills and across gullies he galloped. I was hot
behind him, and at times was just at the point of getting range, only
to see the buffalo increase his speed and spoil my shot.
We had consumed about eight miles in this sort of thing, when we came
to a smooth flat. My old mule was panting and pretty well winded by
this time, but I was able to make him take another spurt in speed.
This brought me within range. The buffalo fell dead at the first shot.
The explosion scared the mule into hysteria, but his was no worse than
mine. I had not only killed a buffalo, but had killed, unaided, the
first buffalo I ever saw.
By this time three or four men from the outfit had arrived. They were
jubilant over my success, and were kind enough to exaggerate the
distance of the shot. The buffalo was a hard animal to kill instantly,
as a vital spot had to be struck. We skinned the carcass, and each man
cut off a chunk of meat and took it back to camp. Greatly to our
disgust, not a mouthful were we allowed to cook or eat, because of the
cholera quarantine.
A few days later orders were given to load the wagons with Government
supplies for Fort Hayes, Kansas, 90 odd miles west of Fort Harker. By
this time our "shave-tail" mules were under fairly good control, and
we got under headway without much trouble.
On this trip, at a distance, we saw a bunch of Indian warriors, but
did not come in contact with them. In my lack of experience I was
eager for the fray, and was disappointed when I saw the war party
disappear over a long ridge, without my having been able to test my
marksmanship and my new Sharpe's rifle. Buffaloes were seen in
numbers, and I was lucky enough to kill several "on my own hook." We
reached Fort Hayes in about four days, and returned to Fort Harker in
about the same time.
Fort Hayes was garrisoned mostly with negro soldiers. No buildings had
been erected at that time, and we unloaded our supplies in the open
prairie, where guards had been stationed to protect them. The timber
for the buildings was being hauled from Fort Harker.
Our next trip was to Fort Wallace, with Government supplies, the
distance being considerably greater than from Fort Harker to Fort
Hayes. We always had an escort of soldiers, as there was constant
danger of meeting an Indian war party.
In August, 1867, we were sent to Fort Lyon, and on this trip we saw
thousands of buffaloes. The breeding season was now approaching its
close, and at night and early morning could be heard the constant, low
thunder of the bulls, their grunting rising into a roar that was one
of the most striking of the natural phenomena of the Plains country.
The calves, by this time, were alert, active little fellows, closely
guarded by their mothers. Later in the season, all the bulls would
segregate themselves from the cows, to range apart until the next
breeding season. West of Fort Dodge we saw Indians in war paint, and
expected to be attacked, but the rascals veered round us and went on
their way.
Fort Hayes was on a tributary of the Smoky Hill River; old Fort Zarah,
on Walnut Creek; Fort Larned on Pawnee Fork, and Fort Harker on Big
Creek. All these forts were being remodeled and improved. In this way
we put in all that summer, hauling supplies to one fort or the other,
and when not engaged in this, we hauled rock for the foundations of
the buildings.
Along in October, 1867, while several Government trains were at Fort
Harker, waiting for orders, we were notified to make ready to
accompany a party of peace commissioners that had been authorized to
treat with several of the main plains tribes of Indians in the
Southwest, at Medicine Lodge, Kas. These negotiations were afterwards
known as the Medicine Lodge Treaty. Like most other treaties with
these tribes, it was soon broken.
Several trains, with a part of ours, were to accompany this
expedition. I was eager to go, but as no orders had been given to my
outfit, I was fearful that I might be left behind. Here was the
opportunity I had long looked for--to see a big gathering of Indians
close at hand, without danger of getting scalped. I had almost given
up in despair, when an orderly galloped up from headquarters, saying
that two more wagons must be sent forward at once. It was now 6
o'clock in the evening. Simpson, our wagon-master, approached me and
said:
"Billy, you and Frickie (Frickie drove the wagon next to mine) get
ready at once and go into Fort Harker."
As a rule, nothing ever greatly excited me in my frontier days, but I
am bound to admit that I was now going round and round, so overjoyed
was I at my good luck. My agitation came near causing me to be left
behind.
I ran as quickly as possible to where my mules were eating their
grain, and without halting jerked the harness from the rack to throw
it onto the lead mule. With both feet this mule kicked me squarely in
the small of the back. I dropped as if I had been struck with an axe,
and found myself partly paralyzed, and scarcely able to move.
Recovering slightly, I regained my feet, but found that I could not
straighten my body. I was game, however. Calling Frickie, I told him
what had happened, and asked him to help me harness my mules, and not
to say a word to anybody about my being hurt. Were it known that I had
been kicked, I might be sent to the hospital. Frickie was a good
fellow, and I was soon on my way to the Fort. By next morning I was in
fairly good shape.
Night had come by the time we reached Fort Harker. We had to load and
then drive about three miles to camp, on the Smoky Hill. The last two
wagons were loaded with ammunition for a small Gatling gun, not an
undesirable equipment on Indian peace expeditions in those days.
We pulled out bright and early next morning for Plum Creek, where
there was a small road-ranch. Next day we reached Fort Zarah on Walnut
Creek and on the third day we went on up the Arkansas and crossed it
about seven miles below Fort Larned. We reached Medicine Lodge on the
fourth day, where the treaty was to be held.
All along the way on this trip we were traveling through countless
numbers of buffaloes. I remember seeing a wounded buffalo cow followed
by six big lobo wolves. No hoofed animal could withstand these savage
beasts--they were a terror to other wild life on the Plains. Wantonly,
several buffaloes had been shot, and left lying to rot on the ground.
An orderly came riding down the line with strict orders, that if
another man in the outfit fired another shot at a buffalo he would be
placed in irons.
Between the Arkansas River and Medicine Lodge we were met by a number
of noted Indian chiefs, mounted upon their finest horses and arrayed
in their most splendid costumes. They carried themselves with dignity
and in every feature was revealed their racial pride and their haughty
contempt of the white man. Among them I recall Satanta, Kicking Bird,
and Black Kettle.
Satanta, chief of the Kiowas, rode a big black horse, and presented a
magnificent appearance. It was because of his complaint that the order
had been issued against the killing of buffaloes--a complaint that lay
at the very heart of the grievances of the Indian against the white
man in frontier days. He declared that the buffaloes were the property
of himself and his people, and to destroy the buffalo meant the
destruction of the Indian. Leading a nomadic life, which prevented his
tilling the soil, even if he had wished to engage in agriculture,
which he did not, the Indian saw that he would be deprived of his
principal and most necessary food--buffalo meat--if the buffaloes were
killed.
At a later day General Phil. Sheridan, to subdue and conquer the
Plains tribes for all time, urged and practiced the very thing that
Satanta was fearful might happen. In the early 70's, the state
legislatures of Kansas and Colorado, listening to the appeal of the
Indians, through sympathetic white persons, enacted laws to stop the
slaughtering of the buffaloes, General Sheridan at that time was in
command of the Military Department of the Southwest, with headquarters
at San Antonio. The Texas legislature, in session at Austin, was at
the point of declaring against the merciless slaughter of buffaloes
that was then under way in the Staked Plains and Panhandle regions.
General Sheridan is said to have told the legislators that the state
should give to every buffalo-hunter a bronze medal, on one side of
which should be a dead buffalo, and on the other, a discouraged
Indian, adding:
"These men have done more in the last year to settle the vexed Indian
question than the entire regular army has done in the last thirty
years. They are destroying the Indians' commissary; and it is a
well-known fact that an army losing its base of supplies is placed at
a great disadvantage. Send them powder and lead, if you will; but, for
the sake of a lasting peace, let them kill, skin, and sell until the
buffaloes are exterminated. Then your prairies can be covered with
speckled cattle, and the festive cowboy, who follows the hunter as a
second fore-runner of an advanced civilization."
The Texas legislature accepted General Sheridan's advice. The Texans
as a people were readily disposed to agree with that point of view,
for in no State did the Plains Indians commit crimes more cruel and
horrible than in Texas.
On our way to Medicine Lodge our train of sixty wagons was strung out
for a distance of about two miles, accompanied by a strong escort of
soldiers.
The members of this Indian Peace Commission were: N. G. Taylor,
Commissioner of Indian Affairs; John B. Henderson, United States
Senator; General William Tecumseh Sherman; General W. L. Harney; John
B. Sanborn; General A. H. Terry; S. F. Tappan, and General C. C. Augur.
[Illustration: _Satank, The Old Tiger of the Kiowas._]
Among the notable chiefs were: Satanta, Kicking Bird, Black Kettle,
Medicine Arrow, and Lone Wolf. Black Kettle was then at the height of
his power, but soon to meet the death he had so often inflicted. He
led the Cheyenne raid in the valley of the Solomon River in August,
1868, and had been in the Sand Creek fight in Colorado, November,
1864, where Colonel Chivington, commanding a regiment of Colorado
troops massacred a lot of Cheyennes. I camped on that battleground in
1870 while hunting buffaloes. The spot was still strewn with bones of
the dead, and the trees were yet scarred by the hail of bullets that
had come from the guns of the soldiers, who killed old and young,
women and children, without mercy, and atrociously mutilated the
bodies of the dead. In 1866, at Fort Harker, Black Kettle had made a
speech of great eloquence, asking the Government not to permit the
building of railroads through the Indian country, as it would drive
away the buffaloes and leave the Indians to starve.
This fear of the change that would follow the building of railroads
across the Plains was night and day in the heart of the Indian. No
chief made a speech in which he did not refer to it. In June, 1871,
Little Raven, Powder face, and Bird Chief, Arapahoes; Little Robe and
Stone Calf, Cheyennes, and Buffalo Good, Wichita, were taken to
Washington and Boston, that they might be impressed with the white
man's strength, and futility of the Indians' further resistance the
Government. Stone Calf, in a speech at Tremont Temple, Boston, handled
the railroad question in this manner.
"They (the Government) said they would teach our people to plant and
raise corn, and to build our habitations from trees. But before they
ever ploughed or planted an acre of corn for us they commenced to
build railroads through our country. What use have we for railroads in
our country? What have we to transport from our nations? Nothing. We
are living wild, really living on the prairies as we have in former
times. I do not see that we have been benefitted in the least by all
the treaties that we have made with the United States Government."
We went into camp on Medicine Lodge Creek, to wait until the gathering
Indians had come in. Near us was a small village of Indians, to whom a
runner came on the third day to notify them that some of their
livestock had been stolen by the Kaws, a neighboring tribe. We could
see the wave of excitement run over the village, and the bucks running
to and fro, getting ready for the pursuit. The squaws were no less
active. They helped saddle the ponies, etc., and jabbered and screamed
to each other in a way that would have made it hard for the marauders
had they been captives in the custody of the squaws. As each buck got
ready, he rode away without waiting for his companions. They returned
later in the day with their ponies, but had been unable to overtake
the thieves.
I shall never forget the morning of October 28, 1867. At a distance of
about two miles from our camp was the crest of a low swell in the
Plains. The background was blue sky--a blue curtain that touched the
brown Plains. For a moment I was dumbfounded at sight of what was
rising over that crest and flowing with vivid commotion toward us. It
was a glittering, fluttering, gaily colored mass of barbarism, the
flower and perfection of the war strength of the Plains Indian tribes.
The resplendent warriors, armed with all their equipment and adorned
with all the regalia of battle, seemed to be rising out of the earth.
Their number was estimated at 15,000, but I cannot vouch for its
accuracy.
As they came into plainer view, the Indians spread their ranks wider
and wider, to create as profound an impression as possible, and
inspire us deeply with their power. Now they could be heard chanting
and singing. Having arrived within a quarter of a mile of our camp,
the Indians charged like a whirlwind, firing their guns and
brandishing them above their heads. The charge was abruptly halted,
and the Indians stood at rest, waiting for the negotiations to begin.
The tribes represented were the Cheyenne, Arapahoe, Kiowa, Apache, and
Comanche.
While the Indians were advancing, and were about half a mile distant,
orders were given in camp that every man should retire at once to his
tent, and there hold himself in readiness to resist an attack, which
might be made at any moment. My boyish curiosity got the better of me,
and I was standing just outside the door of my tent, gazing with open
mouth at the oncoming Indians. General Harney was walking up and down
the line between the tents, encouraging the men, telling them not to
be afraid, as we had enough men to whip all the Indians in sight. He
saw me as he was passing my tent. Tapping me on the shoulder with his
riding whip, he said, "Get back into your tent, young man." I lost no
time in obeying him.
This fine old warrior made a lasting impression upon me, and I can see
him now, as if it were only yesterday, passing back and forth in the
camp street, with the fire of valor burning in his eyes. He felt the
responsibility of this critical moment, and knew that the slightest
break on either side would precipitate war on the spot. He made an
imposing appearance that memorable fall morning. He was gray-haired,
straight, broad-shouldered, and towered to the commanding height of
six feet and six inches. General Harney was an experienced Indian
fighter, and exerted a powerful influence among the Plains tribes.
They knew him and respected him, believing that he had always told
them the truth.
The Indians drew up their horses at a distance of about 200 yards.
General Harney had motioned to them to stop, and for their principal
chiefs to come into camp. The latter were obedient to his request and
after dismounting, sat down with the peace commissioners. At the end
of about an hour's conference, the main body of Indians was permitted
to enter camp. There were many Indian boys not more than ten years old
among the warriors, which probably was an artifice to create among us
the belief that there were more fighting men than were actually in the
ranks.
[Illustration: _Indian Ration Issue at Fort Sill._]
Bringing up the rear were the squaws and children and dogs. The squaws
pitched their tepees on the creek in sight of our camp.
The young bucks spurned all friendly overtures, refusing to shake
hands, and conducting themselves in a sullen manner. After riding
through our camp many times, evidently to examine it carefully and
gain an accurate knowledge of our strength, they withdrew and remained
at a distance. During this time the troops were intently watching
every movement of the Indians, suspecting treachery at every turn.
The commission and the chiefs finally agreed upon the terms of the
treaty, the main point of which was that the Indians should keep south
of the Arkansas River. I had reason to remember this particular
provision in subsequent years, as did many another buffalo-hunter. To
venture south of the Arkansas for buffalo was to risk falling into the
very jaws of the lion, as the Indians fought jealously for the
preservation of the right which they declared had been given to them
at Medicine Lodge.
The making of treaties with the Plains tribes was followed by the
breaking of these treaties whenever the Indians saw fit to do so.
Conditions generally made it difficult for the Indians to do
otherwise. They were beset on all sides by a frontier population that
was as hostile to the Indians as the Indian was to the whites. Lack of
permanency and continuity in the arrangements made by the Federal
government were largely responsible for the unrest and frequent
outbreaks. The situation was clearly described by General W. B. Hazen
in 1874, when most of the southwestern tribes had gone on the warpath.
He said:
"As one example of this very point, I will call attention to
successive treaties made with the Kiowas, Satanta at the head, by five
separate and successive commissions, each ignorant of what the other
had done, and believing that they alone were receiving the fresh faith
of these people. Several solemn treaties were made, by which these
people were to cease war, and especially raiding into Texas, previous
to the Medicine Lodge treaty of 1866, all to be broken within thirty
days thereafter. Then comes that of Medicine Lodge, terms of which you
know. Then one was made with General Sheridan and myself, at Fort
Larned, in the autumn of 1868, to be quickly broken. Then, again, in
1869, with General Sheridan, to be broken not less than twenty times,
until he was imprisoned in Texas. Then a new farce with the
commissioners, by which he was released, and he is now leading the war
party of the tribe. This would have been impossible had there not been
men ignorant of the situation, at each successive occasion to deal
with these people, nor could it have taken place had the Army, with
its persistent organization, control of Indian affairs. Such is the
case all through the administration of Indian matters. One civil
administration, or one set of civil officers, in good faith undertakes
an experimental policy, good enough of itself, but as soon as anything
is done on the new plan, with all its invariable pledges, and its
flattering promises are fully conceived and begun, a new
administration begins, with equally good intent, an entirely new
policy, unintentionally disregarding all the promises and efforts of
its predecessors and their agents. The savage cannot comprehend this,
and naturally calls it a lie, the white people a nation of liars, and
as evidence relates a half dozen cases like that just described. I am
giving no fictitious imaginings, but what I know. This thoroughly
destroys any faith or interest that otherwise may be nourished in an
Indian community; nor can this be changed only by giving them a
consecutive policy, which is impractical only through some branch of
government that is in itself perpetual."
The "peace policy" of the Government actually encouraged a number of
the more daring chiefs to become defiant in their dealings with
Washington. When they saw that the Government did not strike back, or
strike back quickly, they did not hesitate to go on raids and commit
depredations. Shortly after Satanta and Big Tree, Kiowas, had been
paroled by the Texas authorities, in 1873, the Commissioner of Indian
Affairs, then at Fort Sill, demanded the surrender and arrest of
certain Comanche warriors who had been raiding in Texas, saying that
if this order should not be obeyed within ten days, it would be
inforced by military power. A portion of the Comanche warriors
immediately left for the Plains, and it being evident that an attempt
to compel compliance by military force could only be successful after
a long campaign, the order was suspended and no arrests were made.
The effect of this wavering policy was bad. The same hostile warriors
of the Comanches and Kiowas considering themselves victorious, became
more and more open in their hostile demonstrations, and during the
winter and spring frequent consultations were held by them, sometimes
including the neighboring Cheyennes, looking to the marauding
expeditions upon a larger scale than for the many years before. Some
time in May, at the annual "Medicine" dance of the Comanches, near the
mouth of the Sweetwater, one of their young men, making his first
appearance as a "medicine" man or prophet, professed to have a
revelation from the Great Spirit, to the effect that the Caddoes,
Wichitas, and other friendly Indians who were following in the way of
the whites, would soon go out of existence, and this would be the fate
of the Comanches if they followed the same road; that the only way for
them to become the great and powerful nation they once were, was to go
to war and kill all the white people they could. The Indians said that
he predicted the great drouth that occurred that year; and that he
told them that the bullets would drop harmlessly from the guns of the
white men; that he appealed to them for the truth of his revelation by
predicting that the comet, then attracting general attention, would
disappear in five days, and made other demonstrations which to them
appeared miraculous and obtained for him entire credence for all his
words. The hearts of all the young Comanche warriors were at once
fired. Another "medicine" dance was soon after appointed, to which all
Kiowas and Cheyennes were invited, when the Comanche "medicine" man
again appeared, and at which plans were discussed and determined on
for a campaign of murder and rapine. From this period murders and
depredations became so frequent as to excite general alarm.
War parties were soon ranging through what is now western Oklahoma,
the Texas Panhandle, western Kansas, and eastern Colorado. The war
plans of the Kiowas, Comanches and Cheyennes were consolidated by an
exciting occurrence at Wichita Agency, August 22, 1874, which inflamed
them to outbreaks on a larger scale.
A number of Kiowas and the Noconee band of Comanches with their squaws
and children went to the Agency and began raiding the fields and
gardens of the friendly Wichitas. General J. W. Davidson, in command
at Fort Sill, was notified, and he sent Lieutenant Woodward with a
detail of forty men of the Tenth Cavalry to disarm the hostiles and
compel their return to Fort Sill. Big Red Food, the chief, turned over
a few guns and pistols, but declared that he would not surrender his
bows and arrows. In the latter he was supported by the terms of a
recent agreement in which it was held that only guns should be classed
as arms. With a whoop Big Red Food and his warriors dashed away. The
soldiers fired a volley at the Indians. The latter destroyed much
property and committed several murders in the neighborhood of the
Agency. The war party quickly grew in numbers, and prospect of peace
in the Plains country was vanishing.
Wagon loads of supplies and presents had been brought for the Indians,
all of which were now distributed. The supplies were mostly blankets,
clothing, hats, sugar, coffee and flour, which were issued to the head
men, and these in turn made distribution among the families. The
Indians now seemed in much better humor.
The day was warm, though fall was at hand, and the heat brought much
discomfort to some of the Indians--those, for instance, who put on
every article of clothing that had been given to them. It was a
comical sight to see some of the old bucks wearing two or three heavy
coats and two high-crowned Army hats, one on top of the other. Others
were attired in Army uniforms, but without trousers. The latter was a
garment which no wild Indian could be induced to wear.
In a short time there was much trading going on between the soldiers
and the Indians, but on the sly, as strict orders had been issued
against it, especially the trading of any kind of fire-arms to the
Indians. The temptation was too strong, however, and I traded my old
cap-and-ball six-shooter to an old Indian for three buffalo robes and
other trinkets.
About 4 o'clock in the afternoon of the day the Indians came in we got
orders to be ready to pull out in an hour. It was nearly sundown when
we broke camp. We traveled until late that night to reach the Arkansas
River crossing, where we went over and made camp.
We pulled into Fort Harker about November 1, and drove on out to where
the rest of the train was in camp. While unloading our wagons at the
Post, a rumor spread that gave us some uneasiness--a rumor about what
might happen to the fellows who traded fire-arms to the Indians at
Medicine Lodge. The fine for a man who had sold a six-shooter would be
fifty dollars, which was enough money to buy a whole lot of fun in
those days.
These arms were the property of the United States Government, and
proof that a man had sold a gun meant serious trouble. An order came
to the men to turn in all their arms. It looked as if I was in bad
shape. In my predicament Frickie again came to my aid, and just in the
nick of time, by offering to lend me his six-shooter--a six-shooter
which he personally owned. I turned in Frickie's gun, and later
received another, which I gave to him.
We had grown rather tired of the job of telling the boys that had
stayed behind all about the Medicine Lodge treaty by the time orders
came for us to hitch up for a trip to Fort Leavenworth. At Fort Harker
was a lot of artillery that had been assembled there in 1866 by
General Hancock for an Indian campaign. He found that dragging cannons
here and there over the Plains in pursuit of hostile Indians was about
as feasible as hitting a hummingbird with a brickbat. The Indians
moved like the wind or like shadows, and were too wary to come within
range of artillery. So the cannons were parked at Fort Harker as
useless. All of them were to be hauled back by wagon to Fort
Leavenworth. Our trail led along the railway for miles, and it seemed
ridiculous that the cannons should not be transported by train. The
cost of shipment would have been excessive, however, and inasmuch as
the government owned the teams and wagons and was paying us by the
month there was no good reason why we should not be hauling cannon to
Fort Leavenworth.
We made our first camp near Salina, Kas., and narrowly escaped losing
our wagons by fire. In the early morning, a spark blew from a
camp-fire into the tall, dry grass. Instantly, the fire began running
with the speed of a race horse. All hands turned out to save tents,
bedding, wagons, etc. By back-firing, and by beating out the flames
near our tents, we were able to get the fire under control. At best,
however, we would have lost our wagons had it not been for our good
luck in having the teams hitched before the fire broke out. This
enabled us to shift the position of the wagons as necessity required.
The fires on the Plains in fall and winter, after frost had cured the
grass, were often a magnificent spectacle, especially at night when
their radiance reddened the sky for many miles. The sky would be
luminous, even though the fire was too far beyond the horizon to be
seen. Once under strong headway, with the fire spread over a wide
area, it was difficult to arrest its progress. To the experienced
plainsman, equipped with a flint or matches, there was no imminent
danger, as he knew how to set out protective fires, and thus insure
his safety.
These big fires were rather terrifying, nevertheless, especially to
the "tenderfoot." Carried forward in the teeth of a high, boisterous
wind, the fire was appalling, and there was something sinister and
somber in the low roar that sent terror to the heart of wild animals.
Vast clouds of smoke were carried into the heavens, until the sun lost
its radiance and hung red and dull, like a copper shield, in the
opaque depths. The ashes of burned vegetation sifted down hour after
hour, as if a volcano were throwing out fine lava dust. At night, when
the wind was still, a fire on the Plains was a beautiful sight. In the
far distance, the tongues of flame appeared so small that they looked
like a red line of countless fingers, pointing with trembling motion
toward the sky. The danger of these fires to life in the Plains
country has commonly exaggerated. The grass that grew in the Plains
did not have the height to produce a sweeping, high-rolling fire, such
as was often seen in the regions of the tall bluestem in eastern
Kansas.
Upon reaching Fort Leavenworth, the wagons were unloaded, the outfits
turned over to the Government, and the "shave-tail drivers" paid off.
I had a comfortable stake for a young fellow, and spent the winter in
Leavenworth and Kansas City, mingling with the hardy frontiersmen and
listening delightedly to their incomparable tales of adventure. I went
frequently to the home of my friends, the McCall's, where I always
found a hospitable welcome. Several times I went out from both
Leavenworth and Kansas City with hunting parties. In those days,
railroad companies used to promote "personally conducted" hunting
parties to the buffalo range, hunters coming from such distances as
Cincinnati, Chicago, and St. Louis.