EARLY INFLUENCES.
General Harney was in command at Fort Leavenworth at the time of our
visit, and a regiment of cavalry was stationed there. They were having a
dress parade when we rode up, and as this was the first time that I had
ever seen any soldiers, I thought it was a grand sight. I shall never
forget it, especially the manoeuvres on horseback.
After witnessing the parade we resumed our journey. On the way to my
father's trading camp we had to cross over a high hill known as Salt
Creek Hill, from the top of which we looked down upon the most beautiful
valley I have ever seen. It was about twelve miles long and five miles
wide. The different tributaries of Salt Creek came down from the range of
hills at the southwest. At the foot of the valley another small
river--Plum Creek, also flowed. The bluffs fringed with trees, clad in
their full foliage, added greatly to the picturesqueness of the scene.
While this beautiful valley greatly interested me, yet the most novel
sight, of an entirely different character, which met my enraptured gaze,
was the vast number of white-covered wagons, or "prairie-schooners,"
which were encamped along the different streams. I asked my father what
they were and where they were going; he explained to me that they were
emigrant wagons bound for Utah and California.
At that time the Mormon and California trails ran through this
valley, which was always selected as a camping place. There were at
least one thousand wagons in the valley, and their white covers lent
a pleasing contrast to the green grass. The cattle were quietly
grazing near the wagons, while the emigrants were either resting or
attending to camp duties.
A large number of the wagons, as I learned from my father, belonged to
Majors & Russell, the great government freighters. They had several
trains there, each consisting of twenty-five wagons, heavily loaded with
government supplies. They were all camped and corraled in a circle.
While we were viewing this scene, a long wagon train came pulling up the
hill, bound out from Fort Leavenworth to some distant frontier post. The
cattle were wild and the men were whipping them fearfully, the loud
reports of the bull-whips sounding like gun-shots. They were
"doubling-up," and some of the wagons were being drawn by fifteen yokes
of oxen. I remember asking my father a great many questions, and he
explained to me all about the freighting business across the great
plains, and told me about the different government posts.
Pointing over to the army of wagons camped below us, he showed me which
were the Mormons' and which were the Californians', and said that we must
steer clear of the former as the cholera was raging among them. Five
hundred had died that spring--1853--and the grave-yard was daily
increasing its dimensions. The unfortunate people had been overtaken by
the dreadful disease, and had been compelled to halt on their journey
until it abated.
While we were looking at the Mormons they were holding a funeral service
over the remains of some of their number who had died. Their old cemetery
is yet indicated by various land-marks, which, however, with the few
remaining head-boards, are fast disappearing.
We passed on through this "Valley of Death," as it might then have been
very appropriately called, and after riding for some time, my father
pointed out a large hill and showed me his camp, which afterwards
became our home.
There was another trading-post near by, which was conducted by Mr.
M.P. Rively, who had a store built, partly frame, and partly of logs.
We stopped at this establishment for a while, and found perhaps a
hundred men, women and children gathered there, engaged in trading and
gossipping. The men had huge pistols and knives in their belts; their
pantaloons were tucked in their boots; and they wore large
broad-rimmed hats.
To me they appeared like a lot of cut-throat pirates who had come ashore
for a lark. It was the first time I had ever seen men carrying pistols
and knives, and they looked like a very dangerous crowd. Some were buying
articles of merchandise; others were talking about the cholera, the
various camps, and matters of interest; while others were drinking whisky
freely and becoming intoxicated. It was a busy and an exciting scene, and
Rively appeared to be doing a rushing trade.
At some little distance from the store I noticed a small party of
dark-skinned and rather fantastically dressed people, whom I ascertained
were Indians, and as I had never before seen a real live Indian, I was
much interested in them. I went over and endeavored to talk to them, but
our conversation was very limited.
That evening we reached our camp, which was located two miles west of
Rively's. The first thing I did was to hunt up my ponies, and from my
father's description of them, I had no difficulty in finding them.
They were lariated in the grass and I immediately ran up to them
supposing them to be gentle animals. I was greatly mistaken, however,
as they snorted and jumped away from me, and would not allow me to
come near them.
My father, who was standing not far distant, informed me that the ponies
were not yet broken. I was somewhat disappointed at this; and thereupon
he and one of his men caught one of the animals and bridled her, then
putting me on her back, led her around, greatly to my delight. I kept
petting her so much that she soon allowed me to approach her. She was a
beautiful bay, and I named her "Dolly;" the other pony was a sorrel, and
I called him "Prince."
In the evening some Indians visited the camp--which as yet consisted only
of tents, though some logs had been cut preparatory to building
houses--and exchanged their furs for clothing, sugar and tobacco. Father
had not learned their language, and therefore communicated with them by
means of signs. We had our supper by the camp-fire, and that night was
the first time I ever camped out and slept upon the ground.
The day had been an eventful one to me, for all the incidents were full
of excitement and romance to my youthful mind, and I think no apology is
needed for mentioning so many of the little circumstances, which so
greatly interested me in my childhood's days, and which no doubt had a
great influence in shaping my course in after years. My love of hunting
and scouting, and life on the plains generally, was the result of my
early surroundings.
The next morning father visited the Kickapoo agency, taking me along. He
rode a horse, and putting me on my pony "Dolly," led the animal all the
way. He seemed anxious to break me in, as well as the pony, and I
greatly enjoyed this, my first day's ride on a Kansas prairie.
At the Kickapoo village I saw hundreds of Indians, some of whom were
living in lodges, but the majority occupied log cabins. The agent resided
in a double-hewed log house, one of the apartments of which was used as a
school for the Indians. The agency store was opposite this structure.
All the buildings were whitewashed, and looked neat and clean. The
Kickapoos were very friendly Indians, and we spent much of our time among
them, looking about and studying their habits.
After a while we returned to our own camp, and just as we arrived there,
we saw a drove of horses--there were three or four hundred in
all--approaching from the west, over the California trail. They were
being driven by seven or eight mounted men, wearing sombreros, and
dressed in buckskin, with their lariats dangling from their saddles, and
they were followed by two or three pack-mules or horses. They went into
camp a little below us on the bank of the stream.
Presently one of the men walked out towards our camp, and my father
called to me to come and see a genuine Western man; he was about six feet
two inches tall, was well built, and had a light, springy and wiry step.
He wore a broad-brimmed California hat, and was dressed in a complete
suit of buckskin, beautifully trimmed and beaded. He saluted us, and
father invited him to sit down, which he did. After a few moments
conversation, he turned to me and said:
"Little one, I see you are working with your ponies. They are wild yet."
I had been petting Dolly and trying to break her, when my father called
me to come and look at the Californian.
"Yes," I replied, "and one of them never has been ridden."
"Well, I'll ride him for you;" and springing lightly to his feet, he
continued: "come on. Where is the animal?"
Accordingly we all went to the place where Prince was lariated. The
stranger untied the rope from the picket pin, and taking a half-loop
around the pony's nose, he jumped on his back.
In a moment he was flying over the prairie, the untamed steed rearing and
pitching every once in a while in his efforts to throw his rider; but the
man was not unseated. He was evidently an experienced horseman. I watched
his every movement. I was unconsciously taking another lesson in the
practical education which has served me so well through my life.
The Californian rode the pony until it was completely mastered, then
coming up to me, jumped to the ground, handed me the rope, and said:
"Here's your pony. He's all right now."
I led Prince away, while father and the stranger sat down in the shade of
a tent, and began talking about the latter's horsemanship, which father
considered very remarkable.
"Oh, that's nothing; I was raised on horseback," said the Californian; "I
ran away from home when a boy, went to sea, and finally landed in the
Sandwich Islands, where I fell in with a circus, with which I remained
two years. During that time I became a celebrated bare-back rider. I then
went to California, being attracted there by the gold excitement, the
news of which had reached the Islands. I did not go to mining, however,
but went to work as a _bocarro_-catching and breaking wild horses, great
numbers of which were roaming through California. Last summer we caught
this herd that we have brought with us across the plains, and are taking
it to the States to sell. I came with the outfit, as it gave me a good
opportunity to visit my relatives, who live at Cleveland, Ohio. I also
had an uncle over at Weston, across the river, when I ran away, and
to-morrow I am going to visit the town to see if he is there yet."
[Illustration: BILLINGS AS A BOCARRO]
"I am acquainted in Weston," said father, "and perhaps I can tell you
about your uncle. What is his name?"
"Elijah Cody," said the Californian.
"Elijah Cody!" exclaimed father, in great surprise; "why Elijah Cody is
my brother. I am Isaac Cody. Who are you?"
"My name is Horace Billings," was the reply.
"And you are my nephew. You are the son of my sister Sophia."
Both men sprang to their feet and began shaking hands in the heartiest
manner possible.
The next moment father called me, and said: "Come here, my son. Here is
some one you want to know."
As I approached he introduced us. "Horace, this is my only son. We call
him little Billy;" and turning to me said: "Billy, my boy, this is a
cousin of yours, Horace Billings, whom you've often heard me speak of."
Horace Billings had never been heard of from the day he ran away from
home, and his relatives had frequently wondered what had become of him.
His appearance, therefore, in our camp in the guise of a Californian was
somewhat of a mystery to me, and I could hardly comprehend it until I had
heard his adventurous story and learned the accidental manner in which he
and father had made themselves known to each other.
Neither father nor myself would be satisfied until he had given us a full
account of his wanderings and adventures, which were very exciting to me.
Late in the afternoon and just before the sun sank to rest, the
conversation again turned upon horses and horsemanship. Father told
Billings all about Little Gray, and his great fault of running away.
Billings laughed and said Little Gray could not run away with him.
After supper he went out to look at the horse, which was picketed in the
grass. Surveying the animal carefully, he untied the lariat and slipped a
running noose over his nose; then giving a light bound, he was on his
back in a second, and away went the horse and his rider, circling round
and round on the prairie. Billings managed him by the rope alone, and
convinced him that he was his master. When half a mile away, the horse
started for camp at the top of his speed. Billings stood straight up on
his back, and thus rode him into camp. As he passed us he jumped to the
ground, allowed the horse to run to the full length of the lariat, when
he threw him a complete somersault.
[Illustration: BILLINGS RIDING LITTLE GRAY.]
"That's a pretty good horse," said Billings.
"Yes, he's a California horse; he was captured there wild," replied
father. The exhibition of horsemanship given by Billings on this
occasion was really wonderful, and was the most skillful and daring feat
of the kind that I ever witnessed. The remainder of the evening was spent
around the camp, and Horace, who remained there, entertained us with
several interesting chapters of his experiences.
Next morning he walked over to his own camp, but soon returned, mounted
on a beautiful horse, with a handsome saddle, bridle and lariat. I
thought he was a magnificent looking man. I envied his appearance, and my
ambition just then was to become as skillful a horseman as he was. He had
rigged himself out in his best style in order to make a good impression
on his uncle at Weston, whither father and I accompanied him on
horseback.
He was cordially received by Uncle Elijah, who paid him every possible
attention, and gave me a handsome saddle and bridle for my pony, and in
the evening when we rode out to the farm to see my mother and sisters, I
started ahead to show them my present, as well as to tell them who was
coming. They were delighted to see the long-lost Horace, and invited him
to remain with us. When we returned to camp next day, Horace settled up
with the proprietor of the horses, having concluded to make his home with
us for that summer at least.
Father employed him in cutting house logs and building houses, but this
work not being adapted to his tastes, he soon gave it up, and obtained
government employment in catching United States horses. During the
previous spring the government herd had stampeded from Fort Leavenworth,
and between two and three hundred of the horses were running at large
over the Kansas prairies, and had become quite wild. A reward of ten
dollars was offered for every one of the horses that was captured and
delivered to the quartermaster at Fort Leavenworth. This kind of work of
course just suited the roaming disposition of Billings, especially as it
was similar to that in which he had been engaged in California. The
horses had to be caught with a lasso, with which he was very expert. He
borrowed Little Gray, who was fleet enough for the wildest of the
runaways, and then he at once began his horse hunting.
[Illustration: EXCITING SPORT.]
Everything that he did, I wanted to do. He was a sort of hero in my eyes,
and I wished to follow in his footsteps. At my request and with father's
consent, he took me with him, and many a wild and perilous chase he led
me over the prairie. I made rapid advances in the art of horsemanship,
for I could have had no better teacher than Horace Billings. He also
taught me how to throw the lasso, which, though it was a difficult thing
to learn, I finally became, quite skillful in.
Whenever Horace caught one of the horses which acted obstinately, and
would not be led, he immediately threw him to the ground, put a saddle
and bridle on him, and gave me Little Gray to take care of. He would then
mount the captive horse and ride him into Fort Leavenworth. I spent two
months with Horace in this way, until at last no more of the horses were
to be found. By this time I had become a remarkably good rider for a
youth, and had brought both of my ponies under easy control.
Horace returned to assist father in hauling logs, which were being used
in building a dwelling for the family who had moved over from Missouri.
One day a team did not work to suit him, and he gave the horses a cruel
beating. This greatly displeased father, who took him to task for it.
Horace's anger flew up in a moment; throwing down the lines he hurried to
the house, and began packing up his traps. That same day he hired out to
a Mormon train, and bidding us all good-bye started for Salt Lake,
driving six yokes of oxen.