BACK TO GOD'S COUNTRY
We were a cheerful trio next morning as we started out of camp on the
home-stretch for "God's country," with Jack singing: "Ain't we glad to
get out of the wilderness!"
I had brought my captured ponies along, thinking to use them for riding
stock going in and to realize something on them after we reached
Leavenworth, and for the first day tried them--Jack riding one and I
the other--but they were in such poor condition that by the time we
had reached Charley Rath's ranch, the first evening, I saw that they
were not going to be able to stand the travel on grass alone--and I had
been unable to teach them to eat grain--so I left them with Charley,
with a note to Wild Bill requesting him to dispose of them to the best
advantage for me, which he did, turning in the money to me a few weeks
later in Leavenworth.
Our bales of peltries made a bulky but not heavy load, and our two
mules and two broncos hauled it with ease, and, though we were all
anxious now to reach the end of our journey, still we were under
contract to deliver the team to Mr. Kitchen in Leavenworth in good
condition and, therefore, must not overdrive.
Of course each one of us was now doing some lively planning for the
future.
"Well, taking all things into consideration," remarked Jack, the first
evening after we had got settled in camp, "though we're glad to get
out of the wilderness for a while, we've done pretty well this winter.
We've had lots of fun, some lively adventures, and we've made more
money than we had any idea of when we started into the business."
"Yes," I replied, "we'll each have something over a thousand dollars in
clear cash for our winter's work, when we divide up, and that's more
money than I ever possessed before--how is it with you fellows?"
"Same here," said Jack.
"Me, too," said Tom.
"Well," I continued, "I suppose each one of you is studying out how he
can quickest blow it in before re-enlisting?"
"I don't know about that," replied old Tom. "I expect to re-enlist
after a bit, of course, for soldiering's the only trade I know and
I haven't really much use for the money, but I'll not squander it
foolishly. I've studied out a better use for it. I have a widowed
sister with several children living on a little farm back in
Pennsylvania, and they only make a poor, cornbread living off the
place by close economy. I've made up my mind that the best use I
can put this money to is to go back there and fix them up in good
shape--and then I'm off to the war."
"Good for you, Tom," I said approvingly, "but then I naturally expected
that you would put your money to a sensible use. How is it with Jack?"
And Tom and I turned our inquiring looks to the Irishman.
"I know what you think," retorted he quickly. "You think you know
what'll get away with Jack's money. In your minds you see my money
going for whiskey and me never drawing a sober breath till I'm down
to bed-rock. But I'm going to fool you. I've been doing some thinking
for myself--and that's a rare thing for Jack, you know--an' I says to
myself, says I, 'Jacky, boy, this is the time of your life to do some
good for your poor kindred in ould Ireland.' I haven't heard from any
of them for several years and don't know who of them is living an' who
is dead. But I've made up my mind that when we get into Leavenworth
not a drop will I touch, and soon as I crook me fingers on that money
I'll hit the trail for New York, take passage for the ould dart, and
if I can find any of my family living I'll bring them back with me to
this glorious land of liberty, where one man's as good as another and a
blamed sight better if he behaves himself decently. And mind you, now,
I'm not going to touch a drop of liquor till I get back from the ould
country. And then, of course, I'll re-enlist, for soldiering's my best
hold."
Before he was done speaking each of us had extended a hand to give him
a hearty hand shake of encouragement in his good resolution.
"My boy," said old Tom, with tears in his eyes, as he took one of
Jack's hands in both his, "you don't know how glad it makes me to hear
you talk that way. If you'll only stick to it, I'd give the half of my
possessions to help you carry out that resolution."
"Same here, Jack," I added.
"Well, I'm going to show you that I can and will do it."
After a little pause Tom inquired:
"But now about yourself, Peck. What do you expect to do with yourself?"
"Well, I've made up my mind that I'll not re-enlist," I replied. "I've
had soldiering enough, I think; but I suppose I'll have to enter
Uncle Sam's service in some shape or other. I noticed when we were in
Leavenworth before that the quartermaster's department at the fort is
fitting out a good many trains of new six-mule teams; and, as that is
something to my notion, I think I'll try for a job as wagon-master."
When we reached Council Grove, then the gateway of the border
settlements, we felt as if we were really getting back into "God's
country." As we passed the place where we had had the controversy with
the jayhawkers, we stopped a little while to have a chat with the old
storekeeper and told him the disposition we had made of the black
horse. He had never heard of any owner of the horse and did not think
it probable that Wild Bill would ever be disturbed in his possession
of him. He had heard nothing more concerning the jayhawkers after they
were gobbled up by the soldiers and taken to the military prison at
Fort Leavenworth.
When we reached Leavenworth City, we again put up at Ned Welch's
boarding-house, on Seneca Street, and our team at Jim Brown's stable.
A few days later, on the arrival of Mr. Kitchen's train, we transferred
our team and camp outfit to him, as per agreement, divided up the cash
proceeds of our expedition, and the wolf hunters disbanded, promising
to keep track of each other in the future by correspondence.
Then Jack and Tom started East, intending to travel together as far as
Pennsylvania.
I parted with my dear comrades with sincere regret, fearing that in the
vicissitudes of the great war then getting under good headway, I might
never see them again.
When next I heard from Jack he had re-enlisted and was back in the old
company again. In the war he did gallant service and received some
honorable scars, re-enlisted again after the war and in his last
enlistment took service in the Seventh Cavalry, and was one of the last
remnant of that doomed band who with their gallant leader met a heroic
death on that fatal knoll by the Little Big Horn River on Sunday, June
25, 1876. With few serious faults, and many virtues, our untutored,
wild Irishman was a brave, unselfish, and manly man.
Tom carried out his plan of using his money for the benefit of his
widowed sister and her children on the little farm in Pennsylvania, saw
them comfortably fixed, and then went to Washington, where, through the
influence of army officers who had known him in the service he obtained
a commission as captain in a volunteer cavalry regiment, soon rose to
be colonel of the regiment, and at the close of the war was a brevet
brigadier-general, commanding a brigade.
He had hoped when the war ended to obtain a commission in the regular
army, but his wounds so far disabled him as to unfit him for active
service in the regulars. He was, therefore, compelled to accept a
pension and retired to the little farm to try to content himself with
the dull life of citizen.
After years of perilous adventures and desperate encounters on the
frontier, Wild Bill was finally assassinated in the city of Deadwood,
South Dakota, by a wretched gambler.
And I? Well, of course, I married "the girl I left behind me" in
Leavenworth City, for which piece of wisdom--or good fortune--I have
always congratulated myself. After getting married I took service with
Uncle Sam as a wagon-master, in which capacity I served through the
Civil War, in Kansas, Missouri, Arkansas, and the Indian Nation.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Afterward Fort Lyon, on the Arkansas River, and later abandoned.
The site is within a few miles of the present town of Lamar, Colorado.
[B] James Butler Hickock, better known as Wild Bill, was a famous
character in Kansas and the West from 1860 to 1876. In 1861 he was
sometimes called "Indian Bill" or "Buckskin Bill," but the nickname
"Wild Bill" soon became so firmly fixed that few people knew his real
name.
Wild Bill was the son of New England parents, born in Vermont, who
moved to New York immediately after their marriage, which occurred in
1829 or 1830. From New York they moved to Illinois, settling first in
Putnam County and later in La Salle County. Here, near the village of
Troy Grove, the son, James Butler, was born, on May 27, 1837.
He went West when only a boy and for some time served as scout at
different military posts and afterward as marshal and sheriff in
various new towns in Kansas. He was a man of unflinching courage and
a natural shot with the pistol and had many extraordinary adventures,
in all of which he was successful. A remarkable incident told of him
was the killing of Jake McCandless and his gang of twelve men in a
hand-to-hand fight near Fort Hayes, Kansas.
In 1873 or 1874, with William F. Cody and John Omohundro and a number
of Pawnee Indians, he appeared for a short time on the stage in one of
Ned Buntline's dramas of the plains, but his career as an actor was
brief.
In March, 1876, Wild Bill was married to Mrs. Agnes Thatcher Lake
and that summer went to the Black Hills, where he prospected. Here,
in Deadwood, South Dakota, August 2, 1876, he was murdered, while
playing cards, by Jack McCall, who walked up behind him and shot him
in the back of the head. McCall was tried at Deadwood and acquitted.
Subsequently he was rearrested by Colonel N. J. O'Brien, then sheriff
of Cheyenne, Wyoming, and was taken to Dakota, tried, convicted, and
executed during February, 1877.
Wild Bill was in no sense a desperado. He was a mild-mannered, pleasant
man who avoided trouble when it was possible, but when trouble came he
met it with a strong heart.
[C] Tom Carney, wholesale groceryman of Leavenworth City, was, a year
or two later, elected governor of Kansas.
[D] There were no metallic cartridge shells in use in those days, the
cartridges for Sharp's rifles and all firearms being put up in paper.
The Sharp's rifle carbine, which was one of the earliest breech-loaders
brought into use on the frontier, had been adopted by the government
for the cavalry service and was also a favorite buffalo gun among
frontiersmen generally. Their extreme effective range was eight hundred
yards, the longest-range guns then in use on the plains. The Colt's
navy pistols we used then would shoot with the force and accuracy of a
rifle for about three hundred yards. I remember seeing a sergeant in
the Second Dragoons kill an antelope one day with a Colt's navy (taking
a dead rest) at a distance of three hundred paces. The regulation
"pace" is thirty inches.
[E] This firm about this time minted private gold coins known as Pike's
Peak coins.
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:
Italicized words are surrounded with underscores: _italics_
Obvious spelling and punctuation errors have been standardized.