A mile from the scene of this adventure Silver Creek joined the Saline,

and at the junction it was determined to make our camp. We descended

among heavy "brakes," staying our loaded wagons with ropes from behind.

Immense quarries of the soft, white limestone rose from the valley's bed

to the level of the plains above, and the rains of centuries had

fashioned out pillars and arches, giving them the appearance of ancient

ruins staring down upon us. Mr. Colon picked up a fine moss agate and

the Professor a Kansas diamond. Under the surface of the former were

several figures of bushes and trees, outlined as distinctly as the

images one sees blown into glass. The diamond was as large as a hazel

nut and as clear as a drop of pure water, so that, notwithstanding its

size, ordinary print could be easily read through it. Had it possessed a

hardness corresponding with its beauty, the Professor could have

enriched with it half a dozen scientific institutions. Such stones now

command a fair market value among travelers, and are generally mounted

in rich settings as souvenirs of their trips.

A picturesque group of some half-dozen oaks offered a good camping spot,

and around it the wagons were placed for the night in a half-circle, the

ends of the crescent resting each side of us upon the creek. The rule of

the plains is, "In time of peace prepare for war."

Northward from us, and distant perhaps fifty yards, rippled the clear

waters of the Saline, which was then at a low stage. High above it was

the table-land of the plains, and the edge of this, as far as we could

trace it, was dotted with the dark forms of countless buffalo. So

distant as to appear diminutive, their moving seemed like crawling, and

the back-ground of light grass gave them much the appearance of bees

upon a board. They were crowding up to the very edge of the valley of

the Saline, from whence, as we were told, they extended back to the

Solomon, thence to the Republican, and at intervals all the way

northward to the remote regions of the Upper Missouri.

Could the venerable Uncle Samuel go up in a balloon and take a thousand

miles' view of his western stock region, he would perceive that his

goodly herds of bison, some millions in number, feeding between the

snows of the North and the flowers of the South, were waxing fat and

multiplying. This latter fact might somewhat surprise him, when he

discovered around his herd a steady line of fire and heard its continual

snapping. The unsophisticated old gentleman would see train after train

of railroad cars rustling over the plains, every window smoking with the

bombardment like the port-holes of a man-of-war. He would see Upper

Missouri steamers often paddling in a river black with the crossing

herds, and pouring wanton showers of bullets into their shaggy backs. To

the south Indians on horseback, to the north Indians on snow shoes,

would meet his astonished gaze, and around the outskirts of the vast

range his white children on a variety of conveyances, and all, savage

and civilized alike, thirsting for buffalo blood. That the buffalo, in

spite of all this, does apparently continue to increase, shows that the

old and rheumatic ones, the veteran bulls which in bands and singly

circle around the inner herds of cows and calves, are the ones that most

commonly fall the easy victims to the hunters. Their day has passed, and

powder and ball but give the wolves their bones to pick a little

earlier.

Such were the thoughts that revolved in my mind while sitting upon one

of the wagons, and dividing my attention between the tent pitching going

on under the trees and the shaggy thousands which, feeding against the

horizon, seemed to grow larger as the sun went down behind them and they

stood out in deepening relief in the long autumn twilight. These

solitudes made me think of Du Chaillu on the African deserts when night

set in, and I wondered if the brute denizens there could be more

interesting than those which surrounded us. Had a lion roared, I doubt

whether it would have struck me as unnatural, although it might have

induced a speedy change of base. It begets a peculiar feeling in one's

mind, I thought, when the lower brutes surround him and his

fellow-creature alone is absent. Animal organizations are every-where,

blood throbbing and limbs moving, and yet the world is as solitary to

him as if the planet had been sent whirling into space and no living

being upon it except himself. A handkerchief, a hat, any thing which his

brother man may have worn, yields more of companionship than all the

life around him.

And now, through the trees, we saw several of our men running with their

weapons in hand, and immediately afterward heard the rapid reports of

their revolvers and rifles from the creek just below, followed by the

fluttering, noisy exit of turkeys from among the trees. Some flew away,

but most of them were running, and, in their fright, passed directly

among the wagons. One old gobbler, with a fine glossy tuft hanging at

his breast, had a hard time of it in running the gauntlet of our

camp-followers, narrrowly escaping death by a frying pan hurled from the

vigorous grasp of Shamus.

This class of our game birds is noted the continent over for its

wildness and cunning, these qualities furnishing old hunters with

material for numberless yarns, as they gather around the camp-fires and

weave their fancies into connected sequence. Thus it has become a matter

of veritable history that knowing gobblers sometimes examine the tracks

that hunters have left to see which way they are going.

On Silver Creek the turkeys were very tame, and before it became too

dark for shooting our party had killed twelve. Muggs and Sachem had

combined their forces and devoted their joint attention to one of them

sitting stupidly on a limb, where it received a bombardment of five

minutes' duration before coming down. Our Briton explained that "the

bird was unable to fly away, you see, because I 'it 'im at my first

shot." To this statement Sachem stoutly demurred upon two grounds:

First, that Muggs' gun had gone off prematurely, the time in question,

and barely missed one of his English shoes; and, second, that the turkey

showed but one bullet mark, and that wound was necessarily fatal, as it

had carried away most of the head! A compromise was finally effected,

and we were much edified by seeing the two coming into camp with the

bird between them, sharing mutually its honors.

Great numbers of turkeys seemed to inhabit the creek, all along which we

heard them, at dark, flying up to their roosts. This induced a number of

our party to visit a large oak scarcely a hundred yards from camp, which

one of our men had marked as a favorite resort. Proceeding with the

utmost caution, under the dim shadows of approaching night, we presently

stood beneath the roost. Clearly defined between us and the sky were the

limbs, and clustering thickly over them, like apples left in fall upon a

leafless tree, we could descry large black balls, indicating to our

hunger-stimulated imaginations as many prospective turkey roasts. For

this special occasion our only two shot guns had been brought forth from

the cases, the remainder of the party being furnished with Spencer and

Henry rifles.

We had been instructed each to select our bird, and fire at the word to

be given by the guide. How loud and sharp the clicking of the locks

sounded, in the stillness of that jungle on the plains, as six barrels

pointed upward, but their aim made all unsteady by the thumping of as

many palpitating hearts. Then, in a low tone, came the words--and they

seemed hoarsely loud in the painful silence around us--"Ready! Take

careful aim!" "Hold!" cried the Professor, in a sudden outburst of

enthusiasm; "Gentlemen, you see above us thirty fine specimens of that

noblest of all American birds, the turkey. Wisely has it been said that,

instead of the eagle, the turkey should have been our National"--"Fire!"

cried the guide, in an agony, as the Professor, having dropped his gun,

was rising to his feet, and the turkeys, alarmed by his eloquence, were

preparing for flight.

And fire we did. A half dozen tongues of flame shot upward, and the roar

of our unmasked battery reverberated over the solitude. The rustling and

fluttering among the tree tops was terrific, and showers of twigs and

bark rained down upon us. Every one of us knew that his shot had told,

yet for some reason, perhaps owing to the superior cunning of the birds,

none fell at our feet. Before regaining the wagon, however, we found

fluttering on our path a fine fat one with a shattered second joint. It

was claimed by Sachem, on the ground that in his aiming he had made legs

a speciality, not wishing to injure the breasts.

Later in the season, when the birds had become much wilder, I often shot

them, both running and flying. They are very hard to kill, and a sorely

wounded one will often astonish the hunter by running long distances, or

hiding where it seems impossible. The fall through the air, or sudden

stop from full speed when running, are alike exciting spectacles. And

the big body, with red throat and dark plume, luscious even to look at,

is fit game to excite the pride of any sportsman.

The modes of hunting the wild turkey are numerous.[2] Mounted on a swift

pony it is not difficult to run one down, as may be done in half an

hour, the birds, when pushed, seeking the open prairie and its ravines

at once. On foot, with a dog, they can easily be started from cover, and

generally rise with a tremendous commotion among the bushes, when they

may be brought down with coarse shot. Another method of turkey shooting,

and one that became quite a favorite of mine, was to steal out from camp

in the gray of early morning--so early that only the tops of the trees

were visible against the sky--provided with a rifle and shot gun both.

When the birds have once been hunted, extreme caution is necessary to

get within seventy yards of them. Upon a high bough, in the gloom, the

old gobbler appears twice his real size, looking as long as a rail. Try

the rifle first, and, two chances out of three, there is a miss. Then,

as the great wings spread suddenly, like dark sails against the sky, and

the big body, launched from the bough, shakes the tree top as if a wind

was passing through it, catch your shot gun, and fire. In the dim

light, and at long distance, it takes a quick and true eye to call from

the ground that welcome resound which tells of game fallen.

[2] The amateur sportsman or other reader, will find them described at

length in the Appendix.

Under the big oaks, meanwhile, our camp fire burned brightly, and Shamus

was developing the mysteries of his art. Roast turkey and broiled

antelope tempt the pampered appetites of dyspeptic city men, but here in

the wilderness, their fresh juices, hissing from beds of glowing coals,

filled the air with a fragrance that to us was sweeter than roses. Tired

enough, after an all day's ride, and hungry as bears from twelve hours

fasting, we sucked in the odors of the cooking meat, as a sort of aerial

soup, while the Dobeen stood an aproned king of grease and turkey, with

basting spoon for scepter, and with it kept motioning back the hungry

hordes that skirmished along his borders.

Two mess chests had been placed a few feet apart, with the tail-boards

of our wagons connecting them, and over this was spread a linen table

cloth, white plates, clean napkins, and bright knives, with salt,

pepper, and butter. All were in their accustomed places. This our first

meal on the plains looked more like an aristocratic pic-nic than a

supper in the territory of the buffaloes. But the picture was too bright

to last, and ere many days neither napkins nor cloth could have been

made available as flags of truce.

It is one of those threadbare truisms, adorning all hunting stories of

every age and clime, that hunger is the best seasoning. We had an excess

of it on hand just then, and would willingly have shared it with the

dyspeptic, baldheaded young men of Fifth Avenue. The turkey we found fat

and very rich in flavor, and the antelope steaks more delicate than

venison. Condensed milk supplied well the place of the usual lacteal,

and was an improvement on the city article, inasmuch as we knew exactly

what quantity and quality of water went into it. We were obliged to

economize, however, respecting this part of our supplies. The following

entry in our log-book, by Sachem, under date of the day preceding this,

will explain the reason: "Two cans of milk stolen, probably by the

Cheyennes. Consider the article more reliable for families than city

stump-tail, requiring neither milking or feeding, and never kicking the

bucket, or causing infants to do so. Had no idea that a taste of it

would develop such a talent for hooking."

CHAPTER XIV.

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."

"Dogs can study out many things better than men can," said Shamus, in

his most impressive manner. "Before I left old Ireland for America, I

had a dashing beast, with as much wit as any boy in the country. He

could poach a rabbit and steal a bird from under the gamekeeper's nose,

an' give the swatest howl of warnin' whenever a bailiff came into them

parts."

Sachem suggested that these were rather remarkable habits for a dog

connected with the great house of Dobeen.

"But yez must know he was only a pup when my fortunes went by,"

responded Shamus, "and he learnt these tricks afterward. Ah, but he was

a smart chap! Couldn't he smell bailiffs afore ever they came near, an'

see all the witches and ghosts, too, by second sight! He wouldn't never

go near the O'Shea's house, that had a haunted room, though pretty Mary,

the house-girl, often coaxed at him with the nicest bits of meat."

Sachem thought that perhaps the animal's second sight might have shown

him that stray shot from pretty Mary's master, aimed at a vagabond,

might perhaps hit the vagabond's dog.

"I wasn't a vagabond them times," retorted Shamus, quickly, yet with

entire good humor, "and sorry for it I am that the name could ever

belong to me since. And please, Mr. Sachem, don't be after interruptin'

again. Some people wonder why the dogs bark at the new moon an' howl

under the windows afore a death. In the one matter, your honors, they

see the witches on a broomstick, ridin' roun' the sky, an' gatherin'

ripe moon-beams for their death-mixtures an' brain blights. Many a man

in our grandfathers' time--yes, an' now-a-days too--sleepin' under the

full moon, has had his brains addled by the unwholesome powder falling

from the witches' aprons. Wise men call it comet dust. And why shouldn't

a dog that has grown up to mind his duty of watchin' the family, howl

when he sees Death sittin' on the window sill, a starin' within, and

preparin' to snatch some darlint away? Ah, but their second sight is a

wonderful gift though!

"The name of my dog, your honors, was Goblin, an' he came to us in a

queer sort of way, just like a goblin should. There was a hard storm

along the coast, an' the next mornin' a broken yawl drifted in, half

full of water, with a dead man washin' about in it, an' a half-drowned

pup squattin' on the back seat. Me an' my cousin buried the man, an' the

other beast I brought up. May be there was somethin' in this distress

that he got into so young that he couldn't outgrow. Even the priest used

to notice it, and say the poor creature had a sort of touch of the

melancholy; an' sure, he never was a joyful dog. Smart an' true he was,

but, faith, he wasn't never happy; yez might pat him to pieces, an' get

never a wag of the tail for it. He delighted in wakes and buryins, an'

when a neighborin' gamekeeper died, he howled for a whole day an' a

night, though the man had shot at him twenty times. Mighty few men, your

honors, with a dozen slugs in their skin, would have stood on the edge

of a man's grave that shot them, an' mourned when the earth rattled on

the box the way Goblin, poor beast, did then. Ah, nobody knows what dogs

can see with their wonderful second sight. That beast thought an'

studied out things better than half the men ye'll find; an' it's my

belief that dogs did so before, an' they have done it since, an' they

always will."

"You are right, Dobeen," said the Professor. "Put a wise dog, and a

foolish, vicious master together. The brute exhibits more tenderness and

thoughtfulness than the man. In the latter, even the mantle of our

largest charity is insufficient to cover his multitude of sins, while

the skin of his faithful animal wraps nothing but honest virtue. The

dog, having once suffered from poison, avoids tempting pieces of meat

thenceforward, when proffered by strange hands, but the man steeps his

brain in poison again and again--or as often as he can lay hold of it.

While grasping the deadly thing, he sees, stretching out from the bar

room door, a down grade road, with open graves at the end, and

frightened madmen, chased by the blue devils and murder and misery,

rushing madly toward them. These swallow their victims, as the hatches

of a prison ship do the galley slave, and close upon them to give them

up only when the jailer, the angel of the resurrection, shall unlock the

tombs, and calls their occupants to judgment. Does the sight appall and

bring him to his senses? No, he crowds among the terrors, and takes to

his bosom the same venomous serpent that he has seen sting so many

thousands to death before him. And yet people give to the brute's wisdom

the name of instinct, and call man's madness wisdom."

"But, your honors," interposed Dobeen, "I shall be after losing my dog

entirely, unless yez lave off interruptin' me, an' let me finish my

story."

"Go on, Shamus, go on!" we all cried with one breath.

"Well, then, when Goblin came to me in his infancy, he wore a silver

collar with his name all beautifully engraved on it. May be the dead

man in the boat had been bringing him from some strange land to the

childer at home, and thinking how the odd name would please them all,

when the shadows were darting around his hearth. And so Goblin howled

his way through the world, till one full moon eve, when every bog was

shinin' as if the peat was silver. Such times, any way in old Ireland,

your honors, the air is full of unwholesome spirits. This was good as a

wake for Goblin, and I can just hear him now the way he cried and howled

that night! He kept both eyes fixed on the moon, and no mortal man,

livin' or dead, will ever know what he saw, but when he howled out worse

nor common that night, it meant, may be, that some witch, uglier than

the rest, had just whisked across the shinin' sky. Just at midnight, I

was waked out of a swate sleep by the quietness without, the way a

miller is when his mill stops. I looked out of the window at the dog

where he sat, an', faith, the dog wasn't there at all! Just then I heard

a despairin' sort of howl, away up in the air above the trees, an' by

that token I knew the witches had Goblin. Next mornin', one of the lads

livin' convanient to us told me he had heard the same cry in the middle

of the night, the cry, your honors, of the poor beast as the witches

carried him off. Afore the week was out, Goblin's collar was found on

the gamekeeper's grave; that was all--not a hair else of him was ever

seen in old Ireland."

As Shamus concluded his veracious narrative he looked around upon us

with an air of triumph, as if satisfied that even Sachem dare not now

dispute the second sight of the canine race.

That worthy took occasion to declare on the instant, however, that the

nearest neighbor was fully justified in playing the witch. If any thing

could destroy the happiness of human beings, as well as of the

broom-riding beldams, it would be the howling of worthless curs at

night. He himself had often been in at the death of vagabond cats and

dogs engaged in moon-worship. The outbursts of Goblin had simply been

silenced in an outburst of popular indignation.

[Illustration: _BUREAU OF ILLUSTRATION NY._

SMASHING A CHEYENNE BLACK KETTLE.]

CHAPTER XV.

A FIRE SCENE--A GLIMPSE OF THE SOUTH--'COON HUNTING IN

MISSISSIPPI--VOICES IN THE SOLITUDE--FRIENDS OR FOES--A STARTLING

SERENADE--PANIC IN CAMP--CAYOTES AND THEIR HABITS--WORRYING A

BUFFALO BULL--THE SECOND DAY--DAUB, OUR ARTIST--HE MAKES HIS MARK.

Our fire scene was evidently no novelty to the Mexicans, whose lives had

been spent in camping out, and who, with one cheap blanket each, for

mattress and covering, slept soundly under the wagons. Across their

dark, expressionless faces the flames threw fitful gleams of light,

which were as unheeded as the flashes with which the Nineteenth Century

endeavors to penetrate the gloom which shrouds them as a nation. While

the world moves on, the degenerate descendants of Montezuma sleep.

In the valley bordering our little skirt of trees we could hear the

horses cropping the short, juicy buffalo grass, and trailing their

lariat ropes around a circle, of which the pin was the center.

Semi-Colon lay on the grass close to his father, who occupied a

cracker-box seat in this tableau, the amiable son at little intervals

raising his head to indorse, in his peculiar dissyllabic way, what the

positive parent said. Looking at the group around me, and thinking of

our evening turkey hunt, memory carried me back to the last time I had

been among the trees after dark, with gun in hand, which was at the

South, away down in Mississippi, just after the war.

It was a lazy time, those November days. Large flocks of swans filled

the air above, with their flute-like notes, and thousands of sand-hill

cranes circled far up toward the sun, their bodies looking like distant

bees, as from dizzy heights they croaked their approbation of the rich

crops beneath them. Ducks passed like charges of grape shot, sending

back shrill whistles from their wings, as they dived down into the

standing corn.

As night came on, the moon went up in a great rush of light, like the

reflector of a railroad train mounting the sky. Soon every shadow is

driven from the woods, and then the horns are tooted, the dogs howl, and

away go gangs of woolly heads, old and young, in pursuit of Messrs.

'Possum and 'Coon. In vain the sly tree-fox doubles around stumps, and

leaving tempting persimmon and oaks full of plumpest acorns, at the

warning noise, seeks refuge among huge cypresses. On go the hunters--big

dogs, little dogs, bear-teasers, and deer-hounds, sprinkled with

darkeys--crashing through cane and underbrush, the human portion of the

party laughing and yelling as if a tempest had stolen them ages ago from

Babel, and just discharged them in pursuit of that particular 'coon.

The voice of the Professor suddenly called me back to the present, and I

found myself chilled by the wet grass, as if my body had been wandering

with the mind in that land of cotton, and was unprepared for the

northern air.

"Gentlemen"--this was what the voice said--"we are now one thousand and

five hundred miles from Washington City, latitude 39, longitude 99.

Stick a pin there on the map, and you will find that we have got well

out on the spot that geographers have been pleased to call desert. Does

it look like one? Tell me, gentlemen, had you rather discount your

manhood among the stumps of New England than loan it at a premium to the

rich banks of these streams?"

The Professor came to an abrupt pause, for borne to us on the still air

was that most unmistakable of all sounds, the human voice. The note of

one bird at a distance may be mistaken for another, and the cry of a

brute, when faintly heard, lose its distinguishing tones. But once let

man lift up his voice in the solitude, and all nature knows that the

lord of animal creation is abroad. There are many sounds which resemble

the human voice, just as there are many objects which, indistinctly

seen, the hunter's eye may misinterpret as birds. But when a flock of

birds does cross his vision, however far away, he never mistakes them

for any thing else. The first may have excited suspicion, the latter

resolves at once into certainty.

We listened attentively and anxiously. It might very naturally be

supposed that, after leaving the abodes of his fellows, and going far

out into the solitary places of Nature, man would rejoice to catch the

sounds which told him that others of his race were near, but this, like

many other things, is modified by circumstances. On the plains the

first question asked is, "Are they friends or foes?" No one being able

to answer, the breeze and general probabilities are inquired of, and

until the eyes pass verdict the moments are laden with suspense. Even in

times of peace the hunter, if possible, avoids the savage bands which

flit back and forth across Buffalo Land; for, if he saves his life, he

is apt to lose an inconvenient amount of provisions, at least, at their

hands.

Our guide speedily informed us that Indians never make any noise when in

camp, which was gratifying intelligence. All further suspense was

shortly relieved by the appearance down the valley of muskets glittering

in the moon-light. The bearers proved to be two soldiers, who stated

that some officers, with a small force of cavalry, were in camp a mile

below us, being out for the purpose of obtaining buffalo meat, and

having as guests two or three gentlemen from St. Louis, desirous of

seeing the sport. They had heard our late heavy firing, and sent to know

what was the matter. We gave the soldiers a late paper to carry back,

and with many regrets that our fatigue was too great to think of

accompanying them for a neighborly call, we bade them good-night, and

saw them disappear down the valley.

At the Professor's suggestion, preparations were now made for retiring,

and we sought our tent and blankets. In a few brief moments, the others

of the party were blowing, in nasal trumpetings, the praises of

Morpheus. I could not sleep, however; for each bone had its own

individual ache, and was telling how tired it was. Pulling up a

tent-pin, I looked out under the canvas.

On a log by the fire sat Shamus, his head between his hands, gazing at

the coals, and droning a low tune. Occasionally, he would make a dash at

some fire-brand, with a stick which he used as a poker, and break it

into fragments, or toss it nervously to one side. Whether this was

because it resolved itself into a fire-sprite winking at him, or some

unhappy memory glowed out of the coals, I tried to tempt sleep by

conjecturing.

Off at a little distance, I could see one of our men standing guard near

the horses, and once or twice my excited fancy thought it detected

shadows creeping toward him. A little beyond, nervously stretching his

lariat rope, while walking in a circle around the pin, was Mr. Colon's

Iron Billy. His clean head erect, and fine nose taking the breeze, the

intelligent animal appeared restless, and I could not help thinking that

he saw or smelt something unusual, away in the darkness. What if the

bottom grass was full of creeping savages?

The crescent moon, just rising over the divide, was scarred by many

cloud lines, and as yet gave no light. The sensation which had stolen

over me was becoming disagreeable, when far off, at some ford down the

creek, I heard animals splashing through water, and concluded that

Billy's nervousness was caused by crossing buffaloes. The horse had an

established reputation as a watch, his former owner having assured us

that neither Indian nor wild beast could approach camp without Billy

giving the alarm.

Presently, Dobeen resumed his droning, which had been suspended for a

few moments, this time singing some snatches from an old Irish ballad.

The last words were just dying away, when I started to my feet in

horror. What an infernal chorus filled the air! Each point of the

compass was represented, and we were wrapped around with a discordant,

fiendish cordon of sound. Bursting upon us with a deep mocking cry, it

ended abruptly in a wild "Ha-ha!" It was such a chorus as pours through

Hades, when some poet opens, for an instant, the gate of the damned. Our

poor Irishman, at the first sound, had fallen from the log as if shot,

but had suddenly sprung to his feet, and was now performing a

terror-dance behind the fire with a club. For a moment, I, too, had

taken the outburst for the war-whoop of savages, but was saved from a

panic by seeing through the gloom the figure of the sentinel still at

his post, and the next instant the voice of the guide was lifted, with

the re-assuring intelligence--"Only cayotes, gentlemen, only cayotes!"

Mr. Sachem and Mr. Muggs had been lying close behind me in their

blankets. The former had given a terrified snort, and then both lay

motionless. After the alarm, Sachem admitted that he was frightened. Had

always heard that people shot over instead of under the mark in battle.

Was resolved to lay low. Had no high views about such things. Muggs had

not thought it worth while to get up. Knew they were wolves. Had heard

more hextraordinary 'owls before he came to the blarsted country.

But where was the doctor? Echo answered, "Where?" "Hallo, Doctor!"

cried the guide, and a voice from the woods, which was not echo,

answered, "Coming!" Again Buffalo Bill lifted his voice in the solitude,

and again came an answer, this time in a form of query, "Is it

developed, my boy? If so, classify it." And we answered that the birth

in the air had developed into wolves, and been classified as the _canis

latrans_, noisy and harmless.

Finding that this new lesson in natural history had taken away all

desire for sleep, I finished the study by the fire, with our guide for a

tutor.

The cayote (pronounced K[=i]-o-te), in its habits, is a villainous cross

between a jackal and a wolf, feasting on any kind of animal food

obtainable, even unearthing corpses negligently buried. With the large

gray wolf, the cayotes follow the herds of bison, generally skulking

along their outskirts, and feeding upon the wounded and outcasts. These

latter are the old bulls which, gaunt and stiff from age and spotted all

over with scars, are driven out of the herd by the stout and jealous

youngsters. Feeding alone, and weak with the burden of years upon his

immense shoulders, the old bull is surrounded by the hungry pack. But

they dare not attack. One blow of that ponderous head, with the weight

of that shaggy hump behind it, is still capable of knocking down a

horse. The veteran could fling his adversaries as nearly over the moon

as the cow ever jumped, if they only gave him a chance. Like a grim old

castle, he stands there more than a match for any direct assault of the

army around.

[Illustration: MIDNIGHT SERENADE ON THE PLAINS.]

With the tact of our modern generals, a line of investment is at once

formed, and a system of worrying adopted. No rest now for the old bull.

He can not lie down, or the beasts of prey will swarm upon him. Again

and again he charges the foe, each time clearing a passage readily, but

only to have it close again almost instantly. In these resultless

sorties the garrison is fast using up its material of war. The

ammunition is getting short which fires the old warrior, and sends the

black horns, like a battering-ram, right and left among his foes. As

long as he keeps his feet he lives, though hemmed in closely by the

snapping and snarling multitude. The tenacity of one of these patriarchs

is wonderful. For a whole life-time chief of the brutes on his native

plains, he has grown up surrounded by wolves. Not fearing them himself,

he has easily defended the cows and calves. An attempted siege would

once have been but sport to him, and it seems difficult for the brain in

the thick skull to understand that Time, like a vampire, has been

sucking the juices from his joints and the blood from his veins.

Tired out at length, the old bull begins to totter, and his knees to

shake from sheer exhaustion. His shakiness is as fatal as that of a Wall

Street bull. As he lies down the wolves are upon him. They are clinging

to the shaggy form, like blood-hounds, before it has even sunk to the

sod, and the victim never rises again.

The cayotes are very cowardly, and when carcasses are plenty, sleep

during the day in their holes, which are generally dug into the sides of

some ravine. If found during the hours of light, it is usually skulking

in the hollows near their burrows. They have a decidedly disagreeable

penchant for serenading travelers' camps at night, so that our late

experience, the guide assured me, was by no means uncommon. They will

steal in from all directions, and sit quietly down on their haunches in

a circle of investment. Not a sound or sign of their coming do they

make, and, if on guard, one may imagine that every foot of the country

immediately surrounding is visible, and utterly devoid of any animate

object. All at once, as if their tails were connected by a telegraphic

wire, and they had all been set going by electricity, the whole line

gives voice. The initial note is the only one agreed upon. After

striking that in concert, each particular cayote goes it on his own

account, and the effect is so diabolical that I could readily excuse

Shamus for thinking that the dismal pit had opened.

At this point Dobeen approached and cut off my further gleaning of wolf

lore. The corners of his mouth seemed still inclined to twitch, showing

that the shock had not yet worn off. He was chilled by the night, he

said, and did not feel very well, and craved our honors' permission to

sleep at our feet in the tent. Consent was given, and as he left us he

turned to announce his belief that animals with such voices must have

big throats.

It was not yet light, next morning, when our camp was all astir again.

Drowsiness has no abiding place with an expedition like ours upon the

plains. Should he be found lurking anywhere among the blankets, a bucket

of water, from some hand, routs him at once and for the whole trip. Even

Sachem, who usually hugged Morpheus so long and late, might that

morning have been seen among the earliest of us washing in the waters of

the creek.

We were all in excellent spirits, and with appetites for breakfast that

would have done no discredit to a pack of hungry wolves. No sign of the

sun was yet visible, save a scarcely perceptible grayish tinge diffusing

itself slowly through the darkness, and the lifting of a light fog along

the creek upon which we were encamped. Although sufficiently novel to

most of our party, the scene was quite dreary, and we longed, amid the

gloom and chill, for the appearance of the sun, and breakfast. By the

way, I have noticed that with excursion parties, whether sporting or

scientific, enthusiasm rises and sets with the sun. The gray period

between darkness and dawn is an excellent time for holding council. The

mind, no less than the body, seems to find it the coolest hour of the

twenty-four, and shrinks back from uncertain advances.

Added to the discomforts usually attendant upon camp-life were our stiff

joints. The first day upon horseback is twelve hours of pleasant

excitement, with a fair share of wonder that so delightful a recreation

is not indulged in more generally. The next twenty-four hours are spent

in wondering whether those limbs which furnish one the means of

locomotion are still connected with the stiffened body, or utterly riven

from it; and, if the whole truth must be told, the saddle has also left

its scars.

As the edge of the plateau overlooking the river became visible in the

growing light, we saw, as on the evening previous, multitudes of buffalo

feeding there, and after breakfast a council of war was held. I am

somewhat ashamed to record that it voted no hunting that day. To find

the noblest of American game some of us had come half away across the

continent, and now, in sight of it, the tide of enthusiasm which had

swept us forward hitherto stood suddenly still. Not because it was about

to ebb, but simply in obedience to certain signals of distress flying

from the various barks, and which it was utterly impossible for any of

us to conceal.

For mounting a horse was entirely out of the question for that day. Not

one of us could have swung himself into saddle for any less motive than

a race with death. Our steps were slow and painful, and we felt as if,

at this period of life's voyage, every timber of our several crafts had

been pounded separately upon some of the hidden rocks of ocean. It was

absolutely necessary to go into dock for repairs, and the valley

promised to be a pleasant harbor.

It was a truly melancholy spectacle to behold Sachem and Muggs. The

liveliest and the gayest ones yesterday, but to-day the gravest of the

grave. That rotund form, which always doubted his own or other people's

emotions, was the walking embodiment of woe, and for once evidently

clear of all doubt upon one subject, at least. Muggs was even free to

confess that, for general results, yesterday's rough riding exceeded "a

'unt with the 'ounds." Our animals were also quite stiff, but the

hostlers attributed this not so much to their yesterday's service as to

their long ride in the cars. They had not yet got their "land legs"

fully on again. It was soothing to our pride, if not to our feelings,

to reflect that perhaps some of our soreness was the result of their

first day's stiffness.

A beaver colony near us, and a great abundance of turkeys, offered

lessons in natural history of no small interest, and within reach of

lame students. The valley gave an entomological invitation to Mr. Colon,

and the great ledges, with their possibilities of valuable fossils,

attracted the Professor.

Sitting on a wagon tongue, and applying liniment to an abraded shin,

might have been seen Pythagoras, M. D., whose daily life, since leaving

Topeka, had been a series of struggles with the brute he rode. His

belief in the transition of souls into horses was growing upon him. He

felt that he was combating the spirit of a deceased prize-fighter, which

used its hoofs as fists, landing blows right and left. Doctor David

called these "spiritual manifestations." A favorite habit of the animal

was what is known as brushing flies from the ear with the hind foot, and

often, as the owner was about to mount, this species of front kick would

upset him. The equine's disposition, it must be said, had not been

improved by the immense saddle-bags with which the Doctor had surmounted

him when on the march. Originally, these contained a small amount of

medicine, but this had all been ground to powder under the weight of

sundry stones and bones, gathered in the furtherance of the great theory

of development.

As the sun got well up in the heavens, staying in camp became

monotonous, and we hobbled off in different directions, to examine the

surroundings. Our Mexicans climbed to the plains above, taking their

rusty muskets along to kill buffalo. Our guide went down to the hunting

camp below us, intending to return to Hays with the officers, home

duties requiring his attention. One of our hostlers, familiar with the

country, was to be our pilot in future.

Back of our camp lay the castellated rocks which had attracted our

notice the previous evening, and over which Daub, our artist, now became

intensely enthusiastic. He wandered back and forth in front of them, his

soul in his eyes, and these upturned to the bluffs. And thus we left

him.

"Genius is struggling hard for utterance there," said the Professor

impressively. "That young man will make his mark; see if he doesn't."

Alas, how little we thought he would do it so soon.

An hour later, returning that way, we descried our artist high up on the

face of the rocks, perched on a jutting fragment, and clinging to a

stunted cedar with one hand, while with the other he plied his brush.

Fully forty feet intervened between him and the earth.

"What devotion!" cried the Professor.

"Beautiful spirit," said Mr. Colon, "how soon it commences to climb."

"That young man will develop," said Dr. Pythagoras.

A few feet more, and the artist and his work were fully revealed. He had

developed. A cry of agony came from the Professor's lips; for there in

large yellow lines, half blotting out a beautiful stone, our eyes beheld

the diabolical letters, S O Z.

He never finished the word. The Professor seized a rifle, and brought it

to a level with the artist's paint pot. "Come down, you rascal!" he

cried. "How dare you deface one of nature's castles with a patent name?"

Would he have fired? I think he would. But the man of genius caught his

eye, and comprehending the situation, cried, with face whiter than the

chalk before him, "O, don't!"

"Add the 'odont', you villain," screamed the Professor, "and I'll--I'll

fire!"

With our first returning wagon, the artist went back to Hays, but his

work, alas! remains, and perhaps--who knows?--some future generation may

yet point to that wall and tell how SOZ, king of an extinct people, once

held dominion over the beautiful valley.

CHAPTER XVI.

BISON MEAT--A STRANGE ARRIVAL--THE SYDNEY FAMILY--THE HOME IN THE

VALLEY--THE SOLOMON MASSACRE--THE MURDER OF THE FATHER AND THE

CHILD--THE SETTLERS' FLIGHT--INCIDENTS--OUR QUEEN OF THE

PLAINS--THE PROFESSOR INTERESTED--IRISH MARY--DOBEEN HAPPY--THE

HEROINE OF ROMANCE--SACHEM'S BATH BY MOONLIGHT--THE BEAVER COLONY.

At noon we were all in camp again, fully prepared to do justice to the

ample dinner of buffalo, antelope, and turkey which we found awaiting

us. The Mexicans brought in the quarter of an old bull, and, according

to their own story, had committed terrible slaughter on the plain above;

but, as we had already learned to balance a Mexican account by a

deduction of nine-tenths for over-drafts, we felt that we saw before us

the result of their day's hunt. This our first taste of bison, gave us

highly exaggerated ideas of that animal's endurance. The entire flesh

was surprisingly elastic--indeed, a very clever imitation of India

rubber. It recoiled from our teeth with a spring, and just then I should

scarcely have been surprised had I seen those buffalo which were feeding

in the distance, go bounding off like immense foot-balls. My opinion in

regard to buffalo meat afterward underwent a great change, but not until

I had tasted the flesh of the cows and calves. Shamus, on this occasion,

had devoted his culinary energies especially to the turkeys, and they

were well worthy such attention. Their fat forms, nicely browned, would

have tempted the veriest dyspeptic.

Just as we rose from dinner, a covered emigrant wagon was discovered

approaching us, coming down the valley right on our trail. From the fact

that we were off the route of overland travel, our first conjecture was

that it was from Hays, with a party of hunters, or possibly with

Tenacious Gripe, so far recovered as to be rejoining us. We assumed an

attitude of dignified interest, prepared to develop it into friendship,

or "don't want to know you" style, as occasion might require. A hale,

elderly man was the driver, now walking beside his oxen. The outfit

halted before our astonished camp, and as it did so two women, genuine

spirits of calico and long hair, lifted a corner of the wagon cover and

looked out. Both were apparently young, but one face was thin, and had

that peculiar expression of being old before its time which is far more

desolate than age. The other countenance was certainly good-looking and

interesting--quite different, indeed, from those usually seen peeping

out of emigrant wagons. Introductions are short and decisive on the

plains. We liked their looks, and invited them to stop; they liked ours,

and accepted. I think the Professor's dignified attitude and scholarly

bearing stood us in good stead as references.

Another female developed as the wagon gave forth its load--this time a

bouncing Irish girl, rosy-cheeked and active, evidently the family

servant. At this latter apparition Shamus dropped one of our platters,

but quickly recovering himself, began to put forth wonderful exertions

to prepare a second dinner, the new comers having consented, after some

hesitation, to become our guests during the nooning hour.

Before proceeding to give the reader the history of this interesting

family, I ought, perhaps, to say that I do so with their express

permission, the only disguise being that, at his request, the father

will here be designated by his Christian name, Sydney.

These people, after an absence of about a year, were now returning from

Elizabeth City, a recently-started mining town in New Mexico, to their

former home, about forty miles east of our present camp, which they had

left the preceding season under circumstances that were sad, indeed.

About three years before, the family, then consisting of Mr. Sydney and

wife, and their two daughters, had moved from Ohio to Kansas and settled

on a tributary of the Solomon. Availing himself of the homestead law,

Mr. Sydney took a tract of one hundred and sixty acres, and commenced

improving it. One of the daughters soon married a young man to whom she

had been betrothed at the East, and who at once set earnestly to work to

make for himself and young wife a home in the new land. The houses of

the father and the child were but half a mile apart, and, no timber

intervening, each could be plainly seen from the other. For a time this

little colony of two families was very happy. Having had the first

choice, their farms were well situated, embracing both river and valley,

and their herds, provided with rich and unlimited range, increased

rapidly. Soon rumors came from below that a railroad, on its way to the

Rocky Mountains, would shortly wind its way up the Solomon Valley,

bringing civilization to that whole region, and daily mails within a few

miles of their doors.

The second year of prosperity had nearly ended, when one morning a man

from the settlements above dashed rapidly past Mr. Sydney's house,

turning in his saddle to cry that the Cheyennes had been murdering

people up the river, and were now sweeping on close behind him. The

message of horror was scarcely ended when the dusky cloud appeared in

sight, rioting in its tempest of death down the valley. Midway between

home and the house of her daughter, Mrs. Sydney was overtaken by the

yelling demons. In vain the agonized husband pressed forward to the

rescue, firing rapidly with his carbine. She was killed before his eyes,

but not scalped, the Indians evidently considering delay dangerous.

It is a fact that speaks volumes in illustration of the mingled ferocity

and cowardice that characterize the wild Indians of to-day that, in all

that terrible Solomon massacre, not a single armed man who used his

weapon was harmed, nor was one house attacked. The victims were composed

entirely of the surprised and the defenseless, overtaken at their work

and on the roads.

Passing the dead body of the mother, the Cheyennes, on their wiry

ponies, swept onward, like demon centaurs, toward the home of the

daughter. Sitting by our fire at evening, with that dreary, fixed look

which one never forgets who has once seen it, the young woman told us

the story of her childless widowhood. Her face was one of those which,

smitten by sorrow, are stricken until death. Once evidently comely, the

smiles and warm flush had died out from it forever--just as in the lapse

of centuries the colors fade from a painting. Though scarcely

twenty-five, her youth was but an image of the past. She told her story

in that mechanical, absent sort of manner which showed that no morning

had followed the evening of that desolate day. She was still living with

her dead.

"The Lord gave me then a cup so bitter," she said, "that its sting drove

a mother's joy from my heart forever. I have been at peace since,

because, among the dregs, I found that God had placed a diamond for me

to wear when I was wedded to him. Even then I did not rebel and reproach

my Maker, but I sunk down with one loud cry, and it went right along to

the great white throne up there, with the spirits of my husband and my

babe. I thought I could see them in the air, like two white doves

flitting upward, bearing with them, as part of our sacrifice, the cry

that I gave, when my heart-strings seemed to snap, and I knew that I was

a widow and childless. Perhaps I was crazed for a moment, or--I do not

know--perhaps my spirit really did go with them part of the way. The

neighbors found me there for dead, and I remained cold, till they

brought in my dear babe, my poor, mutilated babe, and placed him on my

breast. His warm blood must have woke me, and I sat up, and saw them

bringing John's body to lay it by me. And then the whole scene came

before me again, and it seemed so stamped into my very brain, that

shutting my eyes left me more alone with my murdered ones and the

murderers. And I just dragged myself where I could look at the setting

sun, and tried with its bright glare to burn the scene from off my

vision, so that, if I went mad, there wouldn't be any memory of it left.

For mad people have their memories and suffer from them, and they know

it, and the very fact that they know it keeps them mad. I went through

it all.

"A person dreaming is not rational, and yet may suffer so, and feel it

too, as to shudder hours after waking up. There was John, running toward

the house with our baby boy, and the savages yelling and whipping their

ponies, trying to get between the open door and him. Alone, he could

have saved himself. And our baby thought John was running for play, and

was clapping his little hands and chirping at me as the savages closed

around my husband. I had only time to pray five words, 'O God, save my

husband!' and it did not seem an instant until I saw the poor body I

loved so well lying on the ground, and they standing over, shooting

their arrows into it. Baby was not killed, but thrown forward under one

of the horses, and I had just taken a step or so toward him, when an

Indian, who seemed to be the chief, lifted him by the dress to his

saddle. I think his first intention was to carry him with them, but,

seeing some of our neighbors hurrying toward us, they struck the baby

with a hatchet, and hurled him to the ground. At the instant they struck

him, he was looking back at me with his great blue eyes wide open and

staring with fright."

And then the poor woman, having finished her story, began sobbing

piteously.

The Solomon had numberless tales of these terrible massacres equally as

harrowing as this, and I could fill pages of this volume with chapters

of woe that terminated many a family's history. The result of these and

other Indian atrocities is probably yet remembered throughout the entire

country. Kansas well nigh rebelled against a government which left her

unprotected. The War Department authorized vigorous measures, and the

Governor of the State raised a regiment and at its head took the field.

Through blows from Custar and Carr, the savages found out, at last, that

the dogs of war which they let loose might return to bay at their own

doors.

Two women from the Saline were carried into captivity by the Indians,

and taken as wives by two of their chiefs. One day Carr, at the head of

his troops, looked down into the valley upon the encampment of a band

especially noted for its hostility, now lying in fancied security below

him. The two white captives were in the wigwams. Suddenly, to the ears

of the savages, came a murmur from the hill-side like the first whisper

of a torrent.

Instantly, almost, it increased to a roar, and, as they sprung to their

feet and rushed forth, the blue waves of vengeance dashed against the

village, and broke in showers of leaden spray upon them. Mercy put no

shield between them and that annihilating tempest. Every savage in the

number was a fiend, and, as a band, they had long been the scourge of

the border. Their hands were yet red with the blood of the massacres

upon the Saline and Solomon, and white women toiled in the wigwams of

their husbands' murderers. One of the captives, Mrs. Daley, was killed

by the savages, to prevent rescue; the other was saved, and restored to

her husband.

Somewhat later, two women from the Solomon were taken captive, one of

them being a bride of but four months who had recently come out with her

young husband from the State of New York. Custar seized some chiefs and,

with noosed lariats dangling before their eyes, bade them send and have

those prisoners brought in, or suffer the penalties. Indians have an

unconquerable prejudice against being hung, as it prevents their spirits

entering the happy hunting grounds, and the captives were promptly sent

to Custar's camp. We afterward saw one of them, Mrs. Morgan, on the

Solomon. What an agony must have been hers, as she came in sight of her

old home, and the memory of her wrongs since leaving it, rose anew

before her!

But to return to the history of our emigrants. After the murders, Mr.

Sydney and his daughters abandoned their farms, and with the same wagon

and oxen which two years before had brought the family out from Ohio,

they started for the recently discovered mines in New Mexico. The

journey was tedious, and, when at length arrived there, he found but

little gold, and even less relief from his mighty sorrow. The old home,

with its graves, beckoned him back, and thither he was now returning to

spend his remaining days, unless, as he laconically stated, some one had

"jumped the claim." Lest my readers toward the rising sun should not

clearly understand the old gentleman's meaning, I ought perhaps to

explain that, under existing laws, a "Homesteader" can not be absent

from his land over six months at any time, without forfeiting his title,

and rendering it liable to occupancy by other parties. It was already

two days over the allotted period, he said. But the oxen were thin, and

he finally decided to rest with us until the next morning, and then push

forward.

Flora, the younger daughter, was a blooming Western girl of a thoroughly

practical turn, and a counselor on whose advice the father and sister

evidently relied greatly. The Professor assured me confidentially that

evening, and with much more than his wonted enthusiasm on such a

subject, that she preferred the language of the rocks to that of fashion

plates. She had even disputed one of his statements, he said, and

vanquished him by producing the proof from a well-worn scientific

work--one of a dozen books carefully wrapped up and stowed away with

other goods in the wagon.

A novel accomplishment which the young lady possessed was that of being

an excellent rifle shot, and it afforded us all considerable merriment

when she challenged Muggs to a trial of skill, and, producing a target

rifle, utterly defeated him. Such a woman as that, the Professor said,

was safe on the frontier; she could fight her own way and clear her

vicinity of savages, whenever necessary, as well as any of us.

We did not wish our emigrant maiden aught but what she was, and were

well pleased with the romance of her visit. For the nonce, she was our

queen; the rough ox-wagon was her throne, and the great plains her ample

domain. In sober truth, she might justly challenge our esteem and

admiration. Here was one of the gentler sex willing to make divorce of

happiness, that she might minister to a half-crazed father and mourning

sister, and who, for their sake, chose to wander through a country which

might at any moment become to them the valley of the shadow of death. In

the presence of such heroism, what right had we, though bruised and

tired, to complain? No wonder the Professor took early occasion to tell

us that she was a noble woman, an honor to her sex.

This emigrant wagon, with its wee bit of domestic life, was a pleasant

object to all of us out there on the desert, with the single exception

of Alderman Sachem. That worthy member of our party avoided its

vicinity, as if a plague spot had there seized upon the valley. "I did

think," he exclaimed, dividing glances that were quite the reverse of

complimentary between the Professor and Shamus--"I did think that we had

got out of the latitude of spooning. We haven't had a digestible

mouthful since they came in sight. A love-struck Irishman can neither

eat, himself, or let others."

But Shamus was too happy to heed the remark; for the first time since

starting, he seemed perfectly contented. An Irish girl, the like of

Mary, and devoted enough to follow her old master through such

adversity, seemed Dobeen's beau ideal of the lovely and lovable in the

sex. The valley became for him the brightest spot upon earth. He would

have been content there to court and cook, I think, during the remainder

of his natural life. Mary was shy, and Shamus was bold, but it was quite

apparent that both enjoyed the situation immensely.

Although the little party stayed but a day, their departure seemed to

leave quite a void in the valley. The most noticeable results to us were

some errors in cooking and a slackness in the prosecution of scientific

investigations.

Mr. Sydney gave us a hearty invitation to visit him upon the Solomon, if

our wanderings took us that way, and our prophetic souls, with a common

instinct, told all of us that the Professor would recognize a call of

science in that direction. By a look and a smile from a maiden, the

Philosopher, deeply sunken in the primary formation, had been drawn to

the surface of the modern, a result which fashionable society had more

than once striven in vain to bring about. Miss Flora certainly bid fair

to become a favorite pupil of his, were the opportunity only offered.

This maiden of the plains was a new character. The beautiful heroine

mentioned in most Western novels as having penetrated the Indian

country, is either the daughter of "once wealthy parents," or the

heiress of a noble family and stolen by gypsies for reward or revenge.

It was the first appearance that I could recall of a farmer's girl in a

position where kidnapping Indians and a frantic lover could so easily

appear, and by opportune conjunction weave the plot of a soul-harrowing

romance.

Another evening in camp was spent in writing and story-telling. The

fire was getting low, when Sachem rose to his feet and called to Shamus.

"Dobeen," said he, "your country folks are always handy with the sticks.

Let's go for wood, and have a fire that will warm up the witches on

their broomsticks and send them flying off to hug the clouds." We

watched the pair go out of sight. Knowing well the habits of Tammany, we

all felt sure that, though he might find the load, Irish shoulders would

have to bear it back to camp.

Scarcely three minutes had elapsed, when out of the timber, with

garments as wet as water could make them and dripping fast, a fat form

came shivering to our fire. Our alderman had taken a night bath in the

creek--an adventure which he thus related in his own peculiar way:

"Below us in the woods is a big beaver pond, I don't know how deep. I

seemed an hour going down, and didn't touch bottom then. I was fooled by

the moon. (To be expected, though, as she's a female!) A few of her

beams, thrown down through the trees, glittered on the water like drift

wood. That sort of beams make poor timber for bridges, but I didn't know

it then as well as I do now. One of them went from bank to bank, and I

took it for a log, and got a ducking. How frightened I was, though, when

my feet touched water and my body went, with a swash, right under it! I

opened my mouth to shout and the water rushed in, and I was like a

vessel sinking with open hatches. I took in so much, I was afraid I'd be

waterlogged and never come up. I did, though, and found that rascally

Irishman throwing sticks at my head, and telling me to hold on to them.

I told him to do that thing himself, and finally climbed ashore."

We afterward sought out our newly-found neighbors, the beavers, finding

their pond a short distance below us on the creek, and a little lower

down the dam itself. Many more trees had been cut for the latter than

were used in its construction, several having been abandoned when almost

ready to fall. We noticed that the butts of the prostrated trees were

sharpened down gradually like the point of a lead-pencil, but both ways,

instead of one, so that a tree cut nearly through met from above and

below at the point of breaking, like the waist of an hour glass. This

dam was most interesting to all of us, since it seemed so much to

resemble the work of man. In this waste place of the earth, it really

seemed almost like company, and we felt a strong desire to have a

friendly conference with the builders. But these had formed this

reservoir for the express purpose that in its depths they might escape

intrusion, and now the whole regiment of engineers seemed asleep in

barracks. Still our men secured a few very fine ones by trapping.

It appeared that the beavers were a vacillating set of architects, as

all the trees which stood near the water and leaned over it at all, were

gnawed more or less, and many of them left when almost ready to fall.

The position of the dam had evidently been determined by the tree which

fell first. From the reckless manner in which they had slashed around

with their teeth, it was pertinently suggested that this colony must

have obtained from the beaver congress a government subsidy. Having been

acquainted with the art of building before man mastered it, the beaver

race also probably understood how to do it at little personal expense.

The beaver appears to be distributed in considerable numbers all over

the western half of Kansas, although the spring floods sweep away their

dams almost every season. Once afterward, when lost on the plains for a

day, I came across a beaver dam. Several hours of anxious suspense in

the solitude, fearing to meet man lest he should prove a savage, begot a

strange feeling of companionship when I came in sight of the rude

structure of logs. If not civilization, it was a close imitation of it,

and I laid down and fell into a refreshing sleep, soothed, in the

fantasies of Dreamland, with the whir of looms and hum of factory life.

CHAPTER XVII.

PREPARATIONS FOR THE CHASE--THE VALLEY OF THE SALINE--QUEER

'COONS--A BISON'S GAME OF BLUFF--IN PURSUIT--ALONGSIDE THE

GAME--FIRING FROM THE SADDLE--A CHARGE AND A PANIC--FALSE HISTORY

AGAIN--GOING FOR AMMUNITION--THE PROFESSOR'S LETTER--DISROBING THE

VICTIM.

The early dawn of Wednesday morning saw us again astir. There was the

same creeping of mist out of the valley to join the darkness as it fled

from the plains above, and the same revealing of thousands of shaggy

forms silently feeding in the distance. This time our beasts and our

bodies were both in excellent condition for the chase. Joints gain and

lose stiffness quickly in such a life. One morning the hunter feels as

if the mill of life, though he turn its crank ever so slowly, had broken

every bone in his body; twenty-four hours later may find him elastic and

buoyant, as if youth had torn away from the embrace of the dead past and

was with him again in all its pristine vigor. In the present case, too,

that friend of early hours and foe of sleepy eyes, the coffee bean had

done its work for us grandly.

Ten horsemen comprised the strength of the party which rode out of the

valley just as daylight was coming into it. One of the hostlers and a

Mexican were left in camp, the remainder of our force accompanying us,

with a couple of wagons to bring in the game. At his earnest

solicitation, Shamus was permitted to abandon his post of duty

temporarily, and go along also, with the understanding that he was to

select choice pieces from the first suitable game we might bring down,

and, returning to camp, be ready for our arrival with an ample dinner.

As we rode down the valley of Silver Creek, gangs of wild turkeys

occasionally came out of the narrow skirt of timber, and, running along

before us for short distances, re-entered it, and were lost to view

again. Never having been hunted, they seemed destitute of the timidity

and cunning which are the usual characteristics of this bird.

Twenty minutes' ride brought us to the Saline, the basin of which we

found to be half a mile or thereabouts in width, and presenting a scene

of great desolation. We were something like two hundred feet below the

table-lands which came down to the narrow valley in barren canyons and

masses of rock. The stream itself is narrow, with less than two feet of

water running swiftly over the sands, and along its banks, at intervals,

a few dwarfed cottonwood trees. Such was the Valley of the Saline at

this point; yet thirty miles below, our men told us, the valley opened

out into rich bottom lands, and was famous for its beauty.

While in the act of crossing, we came suddenly upon four small animals

playing and fishing in the shallow water. With an exclamation of

astonishment, the Professor had his glasses out in a moment. The guide

informed us they were only 'coons, and such they were sure enough, with

the peculiar color and distinctive rings that made it impossible, on

second look, to mistake them for any thing else. Truly, Nature seemed

full of eccentricities in this remarkable region. The raccoons of

natural history have always affected trees, and been considered, _par

excellence_, creatures of the forest. I scarcely think the Professor

would have been surprised, at that moment, to know that hereabouts fish

were in the habit of climbing around in bushes, or stealing corn.

When they heard us, the four little fellows scampered away a few steps,

and disappeared in some holes in the bank, in executing which maneuver

one of them swam a yard or two across a deep spot, making good progress.

We learned from our men that small colonies of these animals are

frequently found along treeless creeks on the plains, living in the

banks, and fishing for a living, by grasping the minnows and frogs, as

they pass over the shallow places.

From the river we directed our course toward a deep canyon which,

opening toward us as if the bluff had been riven asunder by some great

convulsion of Nature, at its further end reached the level of the

plains, and offered us an easy ascent. Evidence of volcanic action

appeared along the canyon in the form of vitrified fragments and

occasional masses of lava resembling rock.

The guide called our attention to an object in the ravine some distance

ahead, which was enveloped in a cloud of dust. It was a buffalo, he

said, indulging in a game of bluff. This statement not appearing very

clear to our non-gambling party, he explained that the old fellow was

"butting against the bank, as if he was going to break it all to pieces,

when in reality he had no show at all."

As we could not approach nearer without frightening him, we stood still

for a few minutes and watched him. He would back fifteen or twenty yards

from the bluff, paw the ground for an instant, and then fling himself

headlong against the wall of earth with a tremendous force, as was

abundantly testified by the great clouds of dust that would rise in the

air. For a moment afterward he would continue violently hooking the

soil, as if the bowels of the earth were those of an adversary. We

afterward repeatedly saw bulls engaged in this exercise. It is to the

buffalo what the training school is to the prize-fighter, a developing

of brute force for future conflicts.

The shock of such charges as we witnessed, if made by a domestic ox,

would have broken his neck. Even our bison friend finally overdid the

matter. Either because his foot tripped or the blow glanced, upon one of

his charges, he fell down on his fore legs, and then rolled completely

over. We thought this a good time to push forward, and accordingly did

so at a gallop. Whether thinking himself knocked down by a foe, or

because he heard the rattling of hoofs, we could not determine, but he

suddenly sprang to his feet, whirled his shaggy head into bearing upon

us, then turned and set away at full speed up the canyon, toward the

plains above. The order was given to ply spur and close in upon him, if

possible, or he would set the herds above in motion.

It was a mad ride that we had for the next ten minutes--across beds of

gravel, among huge bowlders, and once or twice over great fissures in

the earth which chilled my blood as I took a sort of bird's-eye view of

their depths. In a lumbering run on ahead of us went the frightened

bull, his feet occasionally sending back dashes of pebbles, while behind

him rattled such a clattering of hoofs that the poor brute, if he could

think at all, must have imagined he had butted open the door of Hades,

and was now being pursued by its inmates.

There were mishaps in this our first buffalo hunt, of course, and among

them, Muggs dropped a stirrup, and was obliged to support himself

afterward on one foot--an awkward matter, resulting from his

inconvenient English saddle, one of the kind which compels one, half the

time, to sustain the whole body by the stirrups alone. We gained upon

the game steadily, though no particular member of our party excelled as

leader, first one being ahead and then the other. Cynocephalus developed

wonderfully, and kept well up with his better conditioned neighbors.

What a magnificent prize for the hunter rushed on before us, swinging

his ponderous head from side to side, for the purpose of getting better

rear views--such an ungainly and shaggy animal, a perfect marvel of

magnificent disproportions! It is well enough to go to Africa and hunt

lions, and describe their majestic, flowing manes; but this bison, in

mad flight ahead of us, could have furnished hair and mane enough to fit

out half a dozen lions. At close quarters, too, he was fully as

dangerous as the king of beasts.

We were close at his heels when the level of the plain was reached, and

pursuer and pursued shot out upon it together. A large herd, feeding not

five hundred yards away, was speedily in full flight northward. "A stern

chase is a long chase," is no less true in buffalo hunting than in

nautical matters. After considerable experience in the sport, I would

recommend amateurs to get as near their game as possible before

starting, and then try their horses' full metal. Once by the side of the

game, he can keep there to the end. And so, after a terrible chase, when

at times we had almost despaired of overtaking the old fellow, we now

found it easy to keep alongside.

Our bull was a huge one, even among his species, and in such moments of

excitement the imagination seems to have a trick of entering the

chambers of the eye, and sliding its mirrors into a sort of double focus

arrangement. With blood boiling until my heart seemed to bob up and down

on its surface, I found myself riding parallel with the brute, and had I

never seen him afterward, would have been almost willing to make oath

that his size could be represented only by throwing a covering of

buffalo robes over an elephant.

Every one in the party was firing, some having dropped their reins to

use their carbines, and others yet guiding their horses with one hand,

while they fired their holster revolvers with the other. Shooting from

the saddle, with a horse going at full speed, needs practice to enable

one to hit any thing smaller than a mammoth. You point the weapon, but

at the instant your finger presses the trigger, the muzzle may be

directed toward the zenith or the earth. An experienced hunter steadies

his arm, not allowing it to take part in the motion of his body, no

matter how rough the latter may be. But we were not experienced hunters,

and so, although such exclamations as, "That told!" "Mine went through!"

and "Perfectly riddled!" were almost as numerous as the bullets, it was

easy to see that the flying monster remained unharmed.

From the first, Mr. Colon had fired without taking any aim whatever, and

so it happened that his gun, in describing its half circle consequent

upon the rising and falling motion of the horse, at length went off at

the proper moment, and we heard the thud of the ball as it struck.

Dropping his head into position as if for a charge, the buffalo whirled

sharply to the right, and passing directly between our horses, made off

toward the main herd. But he soon slowed down to a walk, and as we again

came up with him, we could see the blood trickling from his nose, which

he held low like a sick ox.

In the excitement of the chase, and perhaps from being well blown before

coming near the buffalo, our horses had hitherto shown no fear, but now,

as the old bull stood there in all his savage hugeness, and the smell of

blood tainted the air, they pushed, jostled, snorted, and pranced, so

that it required all our efforts to keep them from downright flight.

Even Dobeen's donkey kept his rider uncertain whether his destiny was to

seek the ground or abide in the saddle.

The brute stood facing us, perhaps fifty yards off, his eyes rolling

wildly from pain and fury, and the blood flowing freely through his

nostrils.

We were waiting patiently for him to die, when suddenly the head went

into position, like a Roman battering ram, and down he came upon us. We

were utterly routed. No spur was necessary to prompt the horses, and I

doubt if their former owners had ever known what latent speed their

hides concealed. The whole thing was so sudden there was no time for

thought, and all that I can remember is a confused sort of idea that

each animal was going off at a tremendous pace, with the rider devoting

his energies to sticking on. After the first few jumps, we were no

longer an organized company, each brute taking his own course, and

carrying us, like fragments of an explosion, in different directions. A

marked exception, however, was Muggs' mule, which for the only time in

his life, seemed unwilling to run away. After being the first to start,

and assisting the others to stampede, he stopped suddenly short,

depositing his rider something like ten yards ahead of him, in a manner

quite the reverse of gentle.

We did not stop running as soon as we might have done. And I here enter

protest against the nonsense indulged in on one point by most of the

novelists who educate people in buffalo lore. When we halted, there

stood the bull not thirty yards from the spot where he had first

stopped, although we had located him, throughout more than half a mile's

ride but a few feet from our horses' tails, and at times had even

imagined we heard his deep panting. This mortifying record would have

been saved us had we known that a buffalo's charges never extend beyond

a short distance. Either his adversary or his attack is speedily

terminated. He does not pursue, in the "long, deep gallop" style at all.

Yet I scarcely remember a single instance mentioned in those old books

of western adventure, in which a buffalo's charge was for a less

distance than a mile. In one case that I now recall, the race was nip

and tuck between man and bison for over an hour, and the biped was

finally enabled to save his life only by leaving the saddle and swinging

into a tree! Such stories are simply balderdash.

As soon as possible after checking our horses, we rode back toward the

wagon and the game, seeing in the former, the grinning faces of our men.

The buffalo was still on his feet, but while we looked he slowly sunk to

his knees, like an ox lying down to rest, and then quietly reposed on

his belly, in the same attitude one sees domestic cattle assume when

wishing a quiet chew of the cud. Had it not been for his bloody nose and

wild eyes, he would have looked as peaceful as any bovine that ever

breathed.

[Illustration: _BUREAU OF ILLUSTRATION_

GOING AFTER AMMUNITION.]

Wishing to put the poor brute out of misery, we approached closer, and

several of us dismounted, when a general fire was opened. Like a cat,

the old fellow was on his feet again almost instantly. By a singular

coincidence, our entire party just then discovered that we were out of

ammunition, and in a body started for the wagon, to get some. Muggs

afterward assured us that, at the time, he had just got his hand in, "so

that every shot told, you know," and I have the authority of all for

the deliberate statement that the bull would have been riddled before

moving a foot had not the cartridges suddenly given out.

The effort of getting up had sent the mass of blood collected from

inward bleeding surging out of the buffalo's nose, and, as we looked

back, he was tottering feebly, and an instant afterward fell to the

ground. There was no doubt now of his death, and we swarmed upon and

around him. He was an immense old fellow, and his hide fairly covered

with the scars of past battles. Inasmuch as this was our first trophy,

it was determined to take his skin, and we forthwith seated the

Professor on his great shaggy neck, with the horns forming arms for an

impromptu hunter's throne. From thence he wrote upon leaves from his

note-book a letter to his class at the East, which he permitted me to

copy. I introduce it here, as showing that the blood of even a savan

pulsates warmly amid such circumstances as now surrounded us.

"ON A BUFFALO, IN THE }

YEAR OF MY HAPPINESS, ONE.}

"_Dear Class_--I know the staid and quiet habits that characterize

all of you, and that you are not given to hard riding and buffalo

hunting. Yet this prairie air, with its rich fragrance and wild

freeness, would give a new circulation to the blood of each one of

you. Like a gale at sea, the breeze sweeps against one's cheeks,

and the great billows of land rise on every side, as mountains of

troubled ocean. Why not desert the city and lose yourself for

awhile in this great grand waste? Antelope are bounding and buffalo

running on every side of us, while villages of prairie dogs bark at

the flying herds. One grows in self-estimation after breathing this

air, and, feeling that safety and life depend on his own exertions,

learns to place reliance upon the powers which Nature has given

him, with manly independence of artificial laws and police.

"While I am writing, the first victim of our prowess, a magnificent

specimen of the American bison, is being skinned by our suite, the

robe from which, when prepared, we intend sending you. The men say

it must be dressed by some of the civilized Indians on the

reserves, as the white man's tanning injures the value.

* * * * *

"The robe is now off, and half a ton of fat meat lies exposed. We

shall only take the hind quarters, a portion of the hump, and the

tongue. How glad the famishing wretches in the tenement houses of

the city would be for an opportunity to pick those long ribs which

we leave for the wolves! His horns are somewhat battered, but we

have cut them off, to supplant hooks on a future hat-rack. One of

the men has just taken a large musket ball from the animal's flank.

That shot must have been received years ago, as the ball is an old

fashioned one and is thickly encased in fat.

"The geological formation of the country is very interesting. I

expect to examine the same more thoroughly after we have studied

the animals traversing its surface. Yesterday, we had in camp a

family from the Solomon, who were sufferers some months since from

the fearful Indian massacre there. Their story was an exceedingly

interesting one, though very sad. We shall visit them if duty calls

that way. I must close. The men have thrown the skin in the wagon,

flesh side up, and deposited the meat upon it, and all are now

ready for further conquests.

"Your sincere friend and instructor,

"H----."

CHAPTER XVIII.

STILL HUNTING--DARK OBJECTS AGAINST THE HORIZON--THE RED MAN

AGAIN--RETREAT TO CAMP--PREPARATIONS FOR DEFENSE--SHAKING HANDS

WITH DEATH--MR. COLON'S BUGS--THE EMBASSADORS--A NEW ALARM--MORE

INDIANS--TERRIFIC BATTLE BETWEEN PAWNEES AND CHEYENNES--THEIR MODE

OF FIGHTING--GOOD HORSEMANSHIP--A SCIENTIFIC PARTY AS

SEXTONS--DITTO AS SURGEONS--CAMPS OF THE COMBATANTS--STEALING

AWAY--AN APPARITION.

Our further conquests for that day, it was decided, could best be

effected by still hunting. The guide had suggested that, if we desired

to fill our wagon with meat and get back to camp before night, we might

profitably adopt the practice of old hunters, who, when they pursue

bison, "mean business." The new tactics consisted of infantry

evolutions, and required a dismounting of the cavalry. We were to crawl

up to the herds, through ravines, and from those ambuscades open fire.

A mile away buffalo were feeding in large numbers, and our men pointed

out several swales into which we could sink from the surface of the

plains, and, following the winding lines, find cover until emerging

among the herd. But while we were still gazing at the latter, sharp and

distinct against the northern horizon appeared other objects, evidently

mounted men, and men in that direction meant Indians. It is wonderful

how quickly one's ardor disappears, when, from being the hunter, he

becomes the hunted. Our only desire now was, in Sachem's language, "a

hankering arter camp," which we at once proceeded to gratify.

Back again with the remainder of our party, we felt quite safe. Indians

of the plains seldom attack an armed body which is prepared for them;

and then there had been no recent demonstrations of hostility. On the

other hand, no massacre had yet occurred upon the frontier which was not

unexpected. The whole life of many of these nomads has been a catalogue

of surprises. It was Artemus Ward, I think, who knew mules that would be

good for weeks, for the sake of getting a better opportunity of kicking

a man. These savages will do the same for the sake of killing one.

Many an armed man, fully capable of defending himself, has thus been

thrown off his guard, and sent suddenly into eternity. The cunning

savage, seeing his foe prepared, approaches with signs of friendship,

and cries of "How, how?"--Indian and short for "How are you?" Their

extended hands meet, and as the palms touch, the pale-face shakes hands

with death; for, while his fingers are held fast in that treacherous

clasp, some other savage brains him from behind, or sheaths a knife in

his heart, and the betrayed white, jerked forward with a fiendish laugh,

kisses the grass with bloody lips. We had been repeatedly warned by our

guides that, when in the minority, the only safe way to hold councils

with the Indians is at rifle range. Even if bound by treaty, a

knowledge that they can take your scalp without losing their own, is

like binding a thief with threads of gold: the very power which should

restrain, is in itself a temptation.

Our little camp soon bristled all over with defiance, a sort of mammoth

porcupine presenting points at every angle for the enemy's

consideration. Our animals were put safely under cover among the trees,

where they could not be easily stampeded; the wagons were ranged in a

crescent, forming excellent defense for our exposed side; and pockets

were hurriedly filled with ammunition. As we were thus earnestly

preparing for war, an entomological accident occurred. Sachem, while

excitedly thrusting a handful of cartridges into Mr. Colon's pockets,

suddenly drew back his hand with an expression of alarm, bringing with

it a whole assortment of bugs. One of the pocket-cases of our

entomologist had opened, and the inmates, imprisoned but that morning,

were now swarming over our fat friend's fingers, and up his arm, which

he was shaking vigorously. There they were--rare bugs and plethoric

spiders, together with one lively young lizard--all clinging to the limb

which had brought them rescue from their cavernous cell with more

tenacity than if they had been stuck on with Spalding's glue. Poor

Sachem! While he danced and fumed, and gave his opinion of bug-men

generally, Mr. Colon cried--"O, my bugs, my beautiful bugs!" and grasped

eagerly at his vanishing treasures. Our alderman disengaged himself at

length from his noxious visitors, and meanwhile the other members of

the party, having provided themselves, poured into the other pocket of

the grieved naturalist a further supply of cartridges, thereby utterly

annihilating the remainder of his collection.

Our preparations being concluded, and still no signs of the Indians, we

sat down to dinner. Shamus was terribly agitated, and the shades of

dyspepsia hovered over his cooking; but, although the coffee was muddy

and the meat burned, we were in no mood to take exceptions. There was

considerable determination visible on the faces of all our party. The

red man was getting to be as sore a trouble to us as the black man had

been to politicians, and having already lost a day on his account, we

were now fully resolved to hold our ground. We had seen the savage in

all the terrors of his war-paint, and felt a very comforting degree of

assurance that a dozen cool-headed hunters, mostly armed with

breech-loaders, possessed the odds.

At length, along the edge of the breaks beyond the Saline, a dark object

appeared, followed by another and then another in rapid succession,

until forty unmistakable Indians came in sight, and were bearing

directly toward us, following the tracks of our wagons. Half a mile off

they halted, and then we saw one big fellow ride forward alone. His form

seemed a familiar one, and soon it revealed itself as that of our late

friend, White Wolf. Now we had, but a few days before, in the space of

four brief hours, concluded at least forty treaties of peace with this

chief and his drunken braves; yet, remembering past history, we should

have wanted at least as many more treaties, before taking the chances

of having one of them kept, and admitting the painted heathens before us

to full confidence and fellowship.

As the leader of our party, it devolved upon the Professor to go forward

and meet the chief, which he promptly did, taking along our man who was

acting in Cody's place as guide, to assist him in comprehending the

savage's wishes. Midway between us the respective embassadors met. We

heard the chief's loud "How, how?" and saw their hand-shaking, and could

not help wondering what the Philosopher's class would say, could they

have beheld their honored tutor officiating as a frontispiece for such a

savage background.

White Wolf stated that he had been out after Pawnees; he could not find

them, and so "Indian felt heap bad!" Just at this instant a loud, quick

cry came from his knot of warriors, who were now manifesting the wildest

excitement, lashing up their ponies, stringing their bows, and making

other preparations as if for a fight. Without a word, the chief turned

and ran for dear life toward his band, while the Professor and our guide

wheeled and ran for dear life toward us. Seldom has the man of science

made such progress as did the respected leader of our expedition then.

The guide called, "Cover us with your guns!"--a command which we

immediately proceeded to obey, evidently to the intense alarm of the

Professor, for so completely were they covered, that I doubt if either

would have escaped, had we been called upon to fire.

Our first thought had been a suspicion of treachery, but we now saw

that the Cheyennes had faced toward the hills, and, following their

gaze, we beheld coming down their trail, and upon the tracks of our

wagon, another band of mounted Indians. It soon became clear to us that

the Pawnees, the Wolf's failure to find whom had made that noble red man

feel "heap bad," were coming to find him. We counted them riding along,

twenty-five in all--inferior in numbers, it was true, but superior to

the Cheyennes in respect to their arms, so that, upon the whole, the two

forces now about to come together were not unevenly matched. The Pawnees

live beyond the Platte, and for years have been friendly to the whites,

even serving in the wars against the other tribes on several occasions.

What a stir there was in the late peaceful valley! The buffalo that were

lately feeding along the brow of the plateau had all fled, and here

right before us were sixty-five native Americans, bent upon killing each

other off, directly under the eyes of their traditional destroyer, the

white man. The Professor said it forcibly suggested to his mind some of

the fearful gladiatorial tragedies of antiquity. Sachem responded that

he wasn't much of a Roman himself, but he could say that in this show he

was very glad we occupied the box-seat, the safest place anywhere around

there; and we all decided that it must be a face-to-face fight, in which

neither party dare run, as that would be disorganization and

destruction.

It was strange to see these wild Ishmaelites of the plains warring

against each other. Over the wide territory, broad enough for thousands

of such pitiful tribes, they had sought out each other for a bloody

duel, like two gangs of pirates in combat on mid-ocean; and, like them,

if either or both were killed, the world would be all the better for it.

It was clearly what would be called, on Wall street, a "brokers' war,"

in which, when the operators are preying on each other, outsiders are

safe.

While we were looking, a wild, disagreeable shout came up from the

twenty-five Pawnees, as they charged down into the valley, which was

promptly responded to by fierce yells from the forty Cheyennes.

"Let it be our task to bury the dead," said the Professor, looking

toward the wagon in which rested his geological spade. "It is extremely

problematical whether any of these red men will go out of the valley

alive."

And thus another wonderful change had come over the spirit of our dream.

From being a scientific and sporting expedition, we had been suddenly

metamorphosed into a gang of sextons, who, in a valley among the

buffaloes, were witnessing an Indian battle, and waiting to bury the

slain.

As the Pawnees came down at full gallop, the Cheyennes lashed up their

ponies to meet them. Then came the crack of pistols, and a perfect storm

of arrows passed and crossed each other in mid-air. As the combatants

met, we could see them poking lances at each other's ribs for an

instant, and then each side retreated to its starting point. Charge

first was ended. We gazed over the battle-field to count the dead, but

to our surprise none appeared.

[Illustration: BATTLE BETWEEN CHEYENNES AND PAWNEES.]

A few minutes were spent by both parties in a general overhauling of

their equipments, and then another charge was made. They rode across

each other's fronts and around in circles, firing their arrows and

yelling like demons, and occasionally, when two combatants accidentally

got close together, prodding away with lances. The oddest part of the

whole terrible tragedy to us was that the charges looked, when closely

approaching each other, as if they were being made by two riderless

bands of wild ponies.

The Indians would lie along that side of their horses which was turned

away from the enemy, and fire their pistols and shoot their arrows from

under the animals' necks, thus leaving exposed in the saddle only that

portion of the savage anatomy which was capable of receiving the largest

number of arrows with results the least possibly dangerous. I noticed

one fat old fellow whose pony carried him out of battle with two arrows

sticking in the portion thus unprotected, like pins in a cushion. He

still kept up his yelling, but it struck me that there was a touch of

anguish in the tone, and I felt confident that he would not sit down and

tell his children of the battle for some time to come.

We saw one exhibition of horsemanship which especially excited our

admiration. An arrow struck a Cheyenne on the forehead, glancing off,

but stunning him so with its iron point, that, after swaying in the

saddle for an instant, he fell to the earth. Another of the tribe, who

was following at full speed, leaned toward the ground, and checking his

pony but slightly, seized the prostrate warrior by the waistband, and,

flinging him across his horse in front of the saddle, rode on out of the

battle.

For several hours--indeed until the sun was low in the heavens and the

shadows crept into the valley--this terrible fray continued, the

charging, shouting, and firing being kept up until both combatants had

worked down the river so far that we could no longer see them.

It was approaching the dusk of evening when White Wolf and his band rode

back. We counted them and found the original forty still alive. The

chief assured us they had killed "heap Pawnees," whereupon some of us

sallied forth to visit the battle-field. Three dead ponies lay there,

and with a disagreeable sensation we looked around, expecting to

discover the mangled riders near by. Not one was visible, however, nor

even the least sign of their blood. The grass was not sodden with gore,

nor did a single rigid arm or aboriginal toe stick up in the gathering

gloom. Neither the wolves or buzzards gathered over the field, and

slowly the conviction dawned upon us that Indian battles, like some

other things, are not always what they seem.

As we turned again toward camp, the Professor, dragging his spade after

him, suggested that, in accordance with the reputed habits of these

savages, the Pawnees had perhaps carried off their dead. But at the

instant, only a short distance down the river, the camp-fire of that

miserable and all but annihilated band glimmered forth. It was decidedly

too bold and cheerful for the use of twenty-five ghosts, and we knew

then that White Wolf had lied.

That valorous chieftain we found limping around outside our wagons, with

a lance-cut in one of his legs, while several of his warriors had

arrow-wounds, and one a pistol-shot, none of the injuries, however,

being dangerous. The Pawnees probably suffered with equal severity; and

this was the sum total of the day's frightful carnage--the entire result

of all the fierce display that we had witnessed.

Not long afterward, in front of a Government fort, and in plain sight of

the garrison, a battle occurred between two large parties of rival

tribes, about equal in numbers. Back and forth, amid furious cries and

clouds of arrows, the hostile savages charged. Noon saw the affair

commenced, and sunset scarcely beheld its ending. The Government report

states, if my memory serves me correctly, that one Indian and two horses

were killed; and a shade of doubt still exists among the witnesses

whether that one unlucky warrior did not break his neck by the fall of

his pony!

These savages fight on horseback, and are neither bold nor successful,

except when the attacking party is overwhelming in numbers, and then the

affair becomes a massacre. All this knowledge came to us afterward, but

our first introduction to it was a surprise. Kind-hearted man though he

was, I think the resultless ending of the battle disconcerted even the

Professor. Having nerved one's self to expect horrors, it is natural to

seek, on the gloomy mirror of fate, some rays of glimmering light which

can be turned to advantage. I think the Professor's rays, had the

contest proved as sanguinary as we first anticipated, would have found

their focus in some stout cask containing a nicely-pickled Pawnee or

Cheyenne _en route_ to a distant dissecting table. It would have been

rather a novel way, I have always thought, of sending the untutored

savage to college.

We made a requisition upon our medicine-chest, and dressed the wounds of

the suffering warriors. White Wolf stripped to the waist, and, exposing

his broad, muscular form, exhibited thirty-six scars, where, in

different battles, lances and arrows had struck him. It struck us all as

a rather remarkable circumstance, though we prudently refrained from

commenting upon it just then, that nearly all these scars were on his

back.

The chief expressed great friendship for us, and I really believe he

felt it. Sachem's stout form was especially the object of his

admiration. Between these two worthies a very cordial regard seemed to

be springing up, until White Wolf unluckily offered him an Indian bride

and a hundred buffalo robes, if he would go with the band to its wigwams

on the Arkansas--a proposition which disgusted our alderman beyond

measure. Savages, sooner or later, generally scalp white sons-in-law,

and it would be "heap good" for the Cheyenne to have such an opportunity

always handy. Sachem declined the honor with all the dignity he could

command, and carefully avoided "the match-making old heathen," as he

termed him, for the remainder of the evening.

We kept early hours that night. Guard was doubled, to prevent any

possible treachery, and a sleepy party laid down to rest. The Cheyennes

went into camp a few hundred yards up the creek, a barely perceptible

light, looking from our tents like a fire-fly, marking the spot.

When a "cold camp" is discovered on the plains, the experienced

frontiersman can always determine at once whether white men or Indians

made it, by the size of the ash-heap. The former, even when trying to

make their fire a small one, will consume in one evening as much fuel as

would last the red man a half-moon. The latter, putting together two or

three buffalo chips, or as many twigs, will huddle over them when

ignited, and extract warmth and heat enough for cooking from a flame

that could scarcely be seen twenty yards.

The two opposing parties, which were now resting only a mile or so

apart, had each tested the other's metal, and, as the sequel proved,

found them foemen worthy of their _steal_. From the unconcealed fires in

their respective camps, we concluded that neither side had any intention

of attacking, or fear of being attacked.

It was early in the dawn of the next morning when we were startled from

our slumbers by a terrific cry from Shamus, which brought all of us to

our tent-doors, with rifles in hand ready to do battle, in the shortest

possible time. Looking out, we beheld our cook standing near the first

preparations of breakfast, and gazing with astonished eyes toward the

darkness under the trees, among which we heard, or at least imagined we

heard, the stealthy steps of moccasined feet. In answer to our

interrogatories, Shamus stated that just as he was putting the meat in

the pan, he saw the light of the fire reflected, for an instant, on a

painted face peering out at him from behind a tree. "Faith, but I shaved

the lad's head wid the skillet!" said Dobeen, and sure enough we found

that article of culinary equipment lying at the foot of the suspected

cottonwood, badly bent from contact with something, but whether that

something was the bark or a painted skull is known only to that skulking

Cheyenne.