JACK MORROW'S RANCH
On a following night we camped on what for the lack of a better word I
would term the shore of the so-called Plum Creek. There was naught in it
of what is generally regarded as the chief characteristic of a creek,
to-wit, water; but it had one feature that is proper for a creek, and
that was a gully, which we regarded as unnecessarily deep, but which was
absolutely dry. I was informed, no plums have ever been known to grow on
its treeless margins. I remember, indeed, having read in later Nebraska
agricultural reports that twenty varieties of wild plums are native to
the territory, but that they are so similar one to another that none but
an expert can distinguish or classify them. They may grow on the river
islands, though I observed none on our course.
Near the waterless creek was a newly built stage station, known also as
Plum Creek. The station formerly on its site had been destroyed by the
Indians, one in each of the two preceding years. Such was the history of
nearly all the stations along the Platte.
A few miles west of Plum Creek, we became satisfied that somewhere along
there we should cross the one-hundredth meridian, which had figured
prominently in the literature of the day as approximately defining the
border of the American desert, beyond which undefined line there was no
hope for the agriculturist. Fremont had described the country as "a
vast, arid desert, impregnated with salts and alkali."
Mr. Holton, in an address before the Scientific Club in Topeka, as late
as the year 1880, is reported to have said that, "Commencing at the
Rocky Mountains and extending eastward toward the Missouri, and from the
Gulf of Mexico to the Northwestern part of the United States, lay the
great American desert of thirty years ago," and, he added, "the
geographies of that day were right."
As I rode from day to day far back upon the uplands, I, too became
convinced that they were right.
"The stinging grass, the thorny plants,
And other prickly tropic glories,
The thieving, starved inhabitants
Who look so picturesque in stories,"
about constitute the impression received by one observer.
Somewhere along this belt we certainly passed by slow gradation into a
still more arid country having an exceedingly scant vegetation, in which
the stubby, spiny, prickly types were prominent. The buffalo grass,
having a short, rounded blade resembling the needles of a pine tree, and
which cured like hay in the dry air, was very nutritious for the stock,
but even where it grew, its small brown bunches covered but little of
the soil. I have observed, and it is generally conceded, that the
eastern prairie grass has of late each year spread westward, because
"rain follows the plow."
Across that seemingly forbidding expanse, tens of thousands of Mormon
emigrants had passed, to reach another desert equally inhospitable,
where the "soil was impregnated with salts and alkali." Hundreds of
trains had transported the families of gold hunters to California and
the Pike's Peak region, and now we were watching the tide of migration
still press westward along this trail, but as far as I could discern,
not one person of all these voyagers had deigned to pause and leave his
impress upon this land. Their pathway was marked only by the bleaching
bones of horses and oxen that had perished in thousands by the wayside;
and these bones were nearly all that those travelers left behind. This
slumbering, inert expanse must slumber on, until some one shall find and
develop its springs of life.
On the evening of June 22nd, our national flag was seen in the west,
streaming out from the staff at Fort McPherson, a post named in memory
of our general who fell in front of Atlanta. The station was known also
as Cottonwood. As we passed on to where we camped beyond it, we observed
three small buildings made of cedar logs, also a quartermaster's
building, and a small barracks of the same material. Three adobe barns
were in the rear. In one of the buildings was the sutler's store, an
institution that was always present at every post, where supplies both
wet and dry were obtainable. The agreeable fragrance of cedar induced
us, at a considerable sacrifice of money, to purchase a small log to
carry with us for fuel, as we had become weary of being scavengers of
refuse material for our fires. On investigation we learned that two
companies of U. S. Volunteers, and two companies of U. S. Cavalry, were
then stationed at the post, for protection against the Indians.
At night the mosquitoes proved themselves to be the most ferocious and
blood-thirsty creatures we had as yet encountered. Hoping to secure
some immunity from their attacks, a few of us decided to sleep in the
tent and in it start a dense smudge produced by some coarse,
semi-combustible material, on the generally accepted theory that those
insects could be driven out by smoke. While this process was going on,
we sat outside on the smoky side of the camp, hoping there to obtain
some relief. As additional protection, the smokers lighted their pipes
and cigars in the confident belief that their troubles were over for a
time; but when we counted five large, long-legged mosquitoes perched
serenely upon a single lighted cigar, in addition to the uncounted
insects encamped on the face of the smoker, we concluded that the smoke
habit was not offensive to those impertinent marauding pests. On lying
down in our tent we were suffocated with the smoke, the only chance for
respiration being to put our noses out from under the canvas, where they
became instant centers of attack from fresh invaders. There was little
sleep to be had that night, and we determined that, in the future, we
should camp on higher lands back from the river, whenever it was
practicable.
At this post, as at Kearney, a reorganization of trains had to be made.
As illustrating the average composition of these trains, from the
records made at the post, we found that there preceded us in one day,
three trains equipped as follows:
Captain J. S. Miller, 42 men, 3 women, 7 children, 33 oxen, 25
revolvers, 15 guns. Destination, Denver.
Captain Harmon Kish, 30 men, 20 ox wagons, 8 guns, 23 revolvers.
Destination, Denver.
Captain S. M. Scott, 34 men, 32 wagons, 34 revolvers, 20 guns.
Destination, Salt Lake City.
This number of trains in one day was doubtless above the average.
As the result of a conference, Dr. Brown with his family had dropped
behind us with another train that would afford better protection. Having
been assigned to the convoy of a large outfit, we moved out with it on
the following day, but quickly separated from it and camped twelve miles
distant in the bluffs beyond and overlooking the ranch of the
redoubtable Jack Morrow, concerning whom we had heard many remarkable
tales. He had been reported as an occasional visitor to the river towns,
which he painted a vivid red after he had taken sufficient booze to
bedim his usually clear judgment. We had been informed in Nebraska City
that when on his recreation visits to the river towns he frequently
indulged in the pastime of lighting his cigar with a bank note,--and no
one dared to interfere! If his history were truly written it would be
made up largely of thrills.
All except Pete and the Deacon went down to the ranch rather early, to
spend the evening with Jack and his associates. The establishment was
the most extensive that we saw on all our travels, and consisted in part
of a large, two-story building, well constructed of logs. Entering the
large room, which was the business part of the ranch, we observed that
it was well stocked with staple goods adapted to the requirements of
emigrants and for barter with the Indians. A few saddles were suspended
by their stirrups from pegs driven in the logs that formed the side
walls of the apartment. Behind a solid rough counter were barrels of
sugar and other groceries. On the shelves were articles of clothing of
coarse material, also piles of moccasins, and upon the floor a pile of
furs, doubtless received in trade with the Indians.
The heavy log beams that supported the low second floor were exposed,
and from over the counter and near the side of the room there hung from
the beams a multitude of articles, all for sale or exchange. Half a
dozen men were lounging in the room, and one of Morrow's assistants was
sitting upon the wide lower shelf with his feet upon the counter. As no
traders were in the store, there was a free and easy "nothing doing"
atmosphere pervading the establishment.
Soon after our arrival, Jack entered the room from a side door. On his
first appearance he impressed us with the conviction that he was a man
of more than ordinary power; and the effect of his entry upon all who
were in the room indicated that he was a leader of men. His striking
personality would attract attention in any company. His nose, which was
strongly prominent, was decidedly aquiline; his eyes were small and
bright; and a face is rarely seen that would so quickly suggest that of
an eagle. Comporting perfectly with the quick and penetrating glance of
his eyes, his athletic frame seemed to be closely knit; he was vigorous
and alert. He wore a negligee shirt, a soft hat and, strapped to his
waist, a brace of revolvers. He observed us immediately on entering the
room, and coming at once to where we were standing in a group he entered
into conversation, freely answering our many questions. Later in the
evening, after having been called away for a time, he returned, and
having asked us to be seated he was led to relate many interesting
incidents connected with his western life.
During Jack's absence, Dan and I took a seat in another part of the room
beside a man who had recently entered, and who, I learned, was an
_attache_ of the ranch. In the course of conversation, he described in
these words a recent event which had occurred on the ranch.
"One afternoon a few weeks ago, while Jack and I were here alone, a
band of hot-headed Sioux crowded into the ranch here to clean it out, as
they have done at some time with almost every ranch on the Platte. I
reckon they had got too much whiskey somewhere. Anyhow, you see there's
lots of things in the store, and they wanted to get what they could
before they burned the building. Jack saw just what was coming, and
backed up against that wall over there, and I went and stood with him,
and he was as cool as a cucumber. I was just waiting to see what he
would do, for we had our guns all right.
"Their chief and two of the older Indians who knew Jack better than the
young bucks did, were up pretty close to us. The chief told the bucks to
let the stuff alone. One of them said he had sworn by his fathers that
he would take anything he wanted. I understood what he said, you know,
and then the redskins began to load up with stuff. At this, the chief in
a flash drew his bow to the arrow's head and quicker than lightning the
arrow point was stuck deep into the Indian's side, and he dropped on the
floor in a chunk. The chief said to the young bucks, 'Take him away, for
have I not said it?' They took the body out and Jack hasn't been
troubled any more. But if their chief hadn't stopped the business just
then, there would have been carcasses for more than one Indian funeral,
for both Jack and me had a gun in each hand when we were backed against
that wall. You know, when they come in such crowds they scare lots of
these fellows, but they can't scare Jack if he has any sort of a chance,
and he is a great shot and never gets rattled. He's always ready for a
fight, and he has had lots of 'em."
We were informed by one of the loungers in the ranch that Jack was
living with two Indian wives who were then in the building. This
statement was confirmed by freighters whom we saw later. His brother,
who had an Indian wife, was associated with him in business. We were not
disposed to question the rancher concerning so trifling a matter as that
of his domestic relations. It would be thoroughly consistent for so
eminent an Indian-American diplomat to adopt the most advanced customs
of the distinguished heads of the tribes with whom he usually preserved
pleasant relations (for Jack, being familiar with the language of some
of the tribes, had served the Government as an interpreter in Indian
treaties). Polygamy was common among the chiefs of many western tribes.
Both Parkman and Catlin cite numerous cases of plurality of wives which
came under their observation among the Indians. They also mention
instances in which wives were sold, the almost universal price being a
horse, a highly cherished possession among the savages. The stealing of
wives is also mentioned in old writings concerning the tribes. A trapper
stated to us that any Indian might steal a squaw, and if he chose
afterwards to make an adequate present to her rightful proprietor, then
the easy husband, to quote the language exactly, "for the most part fell
asleep." Parkman refers to Mahto Tatonka who, out of several dozen
squaws whom he had stolen, could boast that he had never paid for one,
but snapping his fingers in the face of the injured husband had defied
the extremity of his indignation; and no one had dared to lay the finger
of violence upon him. Men of the West say that an arrow shot from a
ravine, or a stab in the dark, an act which demands no great valor, and
is especially suited to the Indian genius, has often proved the sequel
to the stealing of a squaw. The theft of a horse, I really believe, is
regarded as a graver offense.
It was my good fortune to learn from Jack Morrow some facts concerning
my former friend and schoolmate, Billy Comstock. Comstock, well-known on
the plains as "Buffalo Bill," was descended from excellent stock. He was
born in Comstock, Michigan, a town that was named in honor of his
father. As a boy I remember him as being almost as dark in complexion as
an Indian, and with hair as black as a raven. He was slender, but firmly
built, and was a successful sprinter, having great endurance. His
temperament well-fitted him for a roving life, and when but a youth he
was on the plains. He was on the mount of the first pony express to
Pike's Peak, which started on April 4, 1859, and shared the thrilling
experiences of the daring young men who on their flying steeds
transported the mails through the Indian country. They exchanged their
horses at frequent intervals, usually vaulting from one saddle to that
of a fresh horse held in waiting. As he had become familiar with the
Indian dialects, Comstock's services as interpreter were frequently
secured by the Government. He had his headquarters at Jack Morrow's
ranch a considerable part of the time during the years 1864 and 1865.
Two years after our visit to Jack Morrow, (to be more exact, in the year
1868), Comstock was reported to have been killed by the Indians about
fifty miles northeast of Sheridan, Kansas. Later information indicated
that he was killed by Sharp Grover, a noted scout. Grover was in turn
killed in a row at Pond City, near Fort Wallace. These facts were
confirmed in a later interview with William F. Cody. Cody, who was a
close personal friend of Comstock, but somewhat younger, was also a
frequent guest at the Jack Morrow ranch. The two were among the
distinguished characters on the plains.
[Illustration: GRIZZLY BEAR]
Cody received his _sobriquet_ "Buffalo Bill" as the result of a
contest with Billy Comstock. It happened that a short time prior to the
death of the latter, while the work on the Pacific Railroad was being
pushed in Kansas, the superintendent of construction was dependent
largely on the buffalo for meat for the workmen. Some of the hunters
failed to furnish the required quantity. This condition resulted in
putting these two famous men into competition. The number killed by each
in the time agreed has been given to the writer by one of the
contestants. Suffice it to state that William F. Cody secured the
championship, wresting the title from Comstock, and has since been known
as Buffalo Bill. Cody has been the guide for princes and presidents on
hunting and other expeditions through the far West, and with his Wild
West Show, so well known throughout America, he has appeared before the
crowned heads of many European countries. Not long ago the writer
discovered him in Rome, where Cody introduced the Italian King and a
royal party to the types of western life which he succeeded so well in
presenting.
Cody was born in Scott County, Iowa, in 1845. He was started on his
public career by Colonel Judson, better known as Ned Buntline, a writer
of sensational stories. One of Ned Buntline's stories has been
dramatized under the title of "Buffalo Bill, the King of Border Men."
While at the Junction house we learned from Morrow that a large band of
Sioux was reported to have come down recently from the North to a point
on the river twenty-seven miles farther West; and from information
received concerning their conduct Jack was of the opinion that trouble
was brewing. Returning to our camp we quickly secured our blankets and
slept upon the open ground. The air was so dry, clear, and exhilarating
that even Fred's little tent was not pitched. At about midnight Pete,
who was on guard, quietly crept to where Paul and I were sleeping, and
gently arousing us, whispered that he had discovered figures moving
round in the shadows, and at one time saw them distinctly as they passed
over the hill. It was at once decided that we should quietly inform our
men, and then ascertain who were the interlopers. Pete had been unable
by the faint light of the stars to determine whether they were Indians
or whites.
The stealing of stock was a common pursuit of many men of both races,
and the fact that these intruders were lurking in the valley led us to
conclude that the visitors were thieves. We silently separated, and by
prearrangement secured our rifles; in twos we noiselessly circled the
valley, and like a net gradually closed in to the center.
Two skulking men were evidently surprised when an equal number of our
party confronted them and shouted a signal to the other boys to close
in. The intruders were thus corralled almost before they were aware that
they were discovered.
"What the devil are you after, creeping around our camp at this time of
night?" said Pete sternly to the strangers, and at the same time he
snapped the cock of his gun. With a stammering voice one replied that
they were hunting for stock. "Whose stock are you hunting?" was asked
with considerable vehemence. The stragglers both swore that they had
lost some stock which they were trying to find. Our boys had closed in
upon the captives, who, doubtless knowing the unwritten law of the
plains, became manifestly uncomfortable.
They protested so fervently and made so many contradictory statements
that we were convinced of their guilty intentions. Dan, with vigorous
tones, informed them that if they believed that any stock which they
might have missed had become mixed with our horses, they should not
unnecessarily hazard their lives by endeavoring to secure their property
by stealth at midnight, because stragglers, who should invade and lurk
around an isolated camp in that country at that hour were liable to be
shot at sight, as a precautionary measure. In the general clamor there
were other similar arguments presented. We finally conducted the
suspects to our camp for further examination, where by the light of a
lantern we found them to be well armed. Their guns were temporarily
placed in Paul's custody. The flickering glare of the lamps also
revealed their features and dress, and if they were not thieves they
certainly had all the prevailing symptoms.
It devolved upon us to hold a council and pass upon the prisoners. Our
form of procedure was not restricted by any established code. The burden
of evidence seemed to be so overwhelming against the accused that the
majority promptly decided in favor of the usual punishment for western
horse thieves. Deacon Cobb, however, argued for a commutation of the
sentence: he urged that the suspects should report forthwith at Jack
Morrow's ranch, should rouse him from his slumbers, and return with his
certificate of their good character. They were reinvested with their
guns, having assured us that they would conform to the terms, and on
Pete's report that none of our horses were missing, were allowed to
start on their mission; as was expected they were seen by us no more.
At day-break on the following morning while our breakfast was being
prepared, Dan and I were on a bluff watching the glorious sunrise.
Before us was the junction of the North and South branches of the Platte
River. The course of those streams could be followed far to the west,
and the main channel, which we had been following, was glistening in the
east. Near the junction, and far below us, was Jack's ranch, visited the
previous night, and also known as the Junction House,--but Jack had a
wider reputation than the forks of the Platte.
We observed that the river valley had gradually narrowed and that the
bluffs were nearer to the stream than they were further east. As we were
surveying the beautiful scenery, we were suddenly startled by the music
of a brass band coming from behind a spur of the bluffs in the west. The
booming of cannon could not have been a greater surprise to us. Changing
our position to another spur in the hills, we discovered a regiment of
cavalry, which we learned later was the 11th Ohio. It was preceded by a
long mule train transporting baggage and some invalids. This was
followed by the mounted officers, who immediately preceded the band
wagon. The cavalry moved along further behind with little regard for
order. In the rear were about fifty Indians mounted on horses, riding
rapidly back and forth, as if to give an exhibition of their superior
horsemanship.
Possibly, like children they were attracted by curiosity; more probably,
however, as we concluded later, they were following to create the
impression that all was serene with the Indians; and they were
undoubtedly pleased to see the troops moving eastward from their
country, and desired to report their progress to their chiefs, whose
lodges were not far away in the northwest. We learned that the cavalry
was on its way home, to be discharged. The band was playing for the
special entertainment of Jack Morrow, and continued from time to time
until it reached his ranch. Jack would be sure to open something
attractive for the entertainment of the whole party. Before the troops
or the Indians left Jack's ranch we were again on the trail, rolling
westward.