CHAMPION BUFFALO KILLER.
Shortly after the adventures mentioned in the preceding chapter, I had my
celebrated buffalo hunt with Billy Comstock, a noted scout, guide and
interpreter, who was then chief of scouts at Fort Wallace, Kansas.
Comstock had the reputation, for a long time, of being a most successful
buffalo hunter, and the officers in particular, who had seen him kill
buffaloes, were very desirous of backing him in a match against me. It
was accordingly arranged that I should shoot him a buffalo-killing match,
and the preliminaries were easily and satisfactorily agreed upon. We were
to hunt one day of eight hours, beginning at eight o'clock in the
morning, and closing at four o'clock in the afternoon. The wager was five
hundred dollars a side, and the man who should kill the greater number of
buffaloes from on horseback was to be declared the winner.
The hunt took place about twenty miles east of Sheridan, and as it had
been pretty well advertised and noised abroad, a large crowd witnessed
the interesting and exciting scene. An excursion party, mostly from St.
Louis, consisting of about a hundred gentlemen and ladies, came out on a
special train to view the sport, and among the number was my wife, with
little baby Arta, who had come to remain with me for a while.
The buffaloes were quite plenty, and it was agreed that we should go into
the same herd at the same time and "make a run," as we called it, each
one killing as many as possible. A referee was to follow each of us on
horseback when we entered the herd, and count the buffaloes killed by
each man. The St. Louis excursionists, as well as the other spectators,
rode out to the vicinity of the hunting grounds in wagons and on
horseback, keeping well out of sight of the buffaloes, so as not to
frighten them, until the time came for us to dash into the herd; when
they were to come up as near as they pleased and witness the chase.
We were fortunate in the first run in getting good ground. Comstock was
mounted on one of his favorite horses, while I rode old Brigham. I felt
confident that I had the advantage of Comstock in two things--first, I
had the best buffalo horse that ever made a track; and second, I was
using what was known at that time as the needle-gun, a breech-loading
Springfield rifle--calibre 50,--it was my favorite old "Lucretia," which
has already been introduced to the notice of the reader; while Comstock
was armed with a Henry rifle, and although he could fire a few shots
quicker than I could, yet I was pretty certain that it did not carry
powder and lead enough to do execution equal to my calibre 50.
At last the time came to begin the match. Comstock and I dashed into a
herd, followed by the referees. The buffaloes separated; Comstock took
the left bunch and I the right. My great _forte_ in killing buffaloes
from horseback was to get them circling by riding my horse at the head of
the herd, shooting the leaders, thus crowding their followers to the
left, till they would finally circle round and round.
On this morning the buffaloes were very accommodating, and I soon had
them running in a beautiful circle, when I dropped them thick and fast,
until I had killed thirty-eight; which finished my run.
Comstock began shooting at the rear of the herd, which he was chasing,
and they kept straight on. He succeeded, however, in killing
twenty-three, but they were scattered over a distance of three miles,
while mine lay close together. I had "nursed" my buffaloes, as a
billiard-player does the balls when he makes a big run.
After the result of the first run had been duly announced, our St. Louis
excursion friends--who had approached to the place where we had
stopped--set out a lot of champagne, which they had brought with them,
and which proved a good drink on a Kansas prairie, and a buffalo hunter
was a good man to get away with it.
While taking a short rest, we suddenly spied another herd of buffaloes
coming toward us. It was only a small drove, and we at once prepared to
give the animals a lively reception. They proved to be a herd of cows and
calves--which, by the way, are quicker in their movements than the bulls.
We charged in among them, and I concluded my run with a score of
eighteen, while Comstock killed fourteen. The score now stood fifty-six
to thirty-seven, in my favor.
Again the excursion party approached, and once more the champagne was
tapped. After we had eaten a lunch which was spread for us, we resumed
the hunt. Striking out for a distance of three miles, we came up close to
another herd. As I was so far ahead of my competitor in the number
killed, I thought I could afford to give an extra exhibition of my skill.
I had told the ladies that I would, on the next run, ride my horse
without saddle or bridle. This had raised the excitement to fever heat
among the excursionists, and I remember one fair lady who endeavored to
prevail upon me not to attempt it.
"That's nothing at all," said I; "I have done it many a time, and old
Brigham knows as well as I what I am doing, and sometimes a great
deal better."
So, leaving my saddle and bridle with the wagons, we rode to the windward
of the buffaloes, as usual, and when within a few hundred yards of them
we dashed into the herd. I soon had thirteen laid out on the ground, the
last one of which I had driven down close to the wagons, where the ladies
were. It frightened some of the tender creatures to see the buffalo
coming at full speed directly toward them; but when he had got within
fifty yards of one of the wagons, I shot him dead in his tracks. This
made my sixty-ninth buffalo, and finished my third and last run, Comstock
having killed forty-six.
As it was now late in the afternoon, Comstock and his backers gave up
the idea that he could beat me, and thereupon the referees declared me
the winner of the match, as well as the champion buffalo-hunter of the
plains.[A]
[Footnote A: Poor Billy Comstock was afterwards treacherously murdered by
the Indians. He and Sharpe Grover visited a village of Indians, supposed
to be peaceably inclined, near Big Spring Station, in Western Kansas; and
after spending several hours with the redskins in friendly conversation,
they prepared to depart, having declined an invitation to pass the night
there. It appears that Comstock's beautiful white-handled revolver had
attracted the attention of the Indians, who overtook him and his
companion when they had gone about half a mile. After surrounding the two
men they suddenly attacked them. They killed, scalped and robbed
Comstock; but Grover, although severely wounded, made his escape, owing
to the fleetness of the excellent horse which he was riding. This sad
event occurred August 27, 1868.]
On our way back to camp, we took with us some of the choice meat and
finest heads. In this connection it will not be out of place to state
that during the time I was hunting for the Kansas Pacific, I always
brought into camp the best buffalo heads, and turned them over to the
company, who found a very good use for them. They had them mounted in the
best possible manner, and sent them to all the principal cities and
railroad centers in the country, having them placed in prominent
positions at the leading hotels, dépôts, and other public buildings, as a
sort of trade-mark, or advertisement, of the Kansas Pacific Railroad; and
to-day they attract the attention of the traveler almost everywhere.
Whenever I am traveling over the country and see one of these
trade-marks, I feel pretty certain that I was the cause of the death of
the old fellow whose body it once ornamented, and many a wild and
exciting hunt is thus called to mind.
The end of the track finally reached Sheridan, in the month of May, 1868,
and as the road was not to be built any farther just then, my services as
a hunter were not any longer required. At this time there was a general
Indian war raging all along the western borders. General Sheridan had
taken up his headquarters at Fort Hayes, in order to be in the field to
superintend the campaign in person. As scouts and guides were in great
demand, I concluded once more to take up my old avocation of scouting
and guiding for the army.
Having no suitable place in which to leave my old and faithful
buffalo-hunter Brigham, and not wishing to kill him by scouting, I
determined to dispose of him. I was very reluctant to part with him, but
I consoled myself with the thought that he would not be likely to receive
harder usage in other hands than he had in mine. I had several good
offers to sell him; but at the suggestion of some gentlemen in Sheridan,
all of whom were anxious to obtain possession of the horse, I put him up
at a raffle, in order to give them all an equal chance of becoming the
owner of the famous steed. There were ten chances at thirty dollars each,
and they were all quickly taken.
Old Brigham was won by a gentleman--Mr. Ike Bonham,--who took him to
Wyandotte, Kansas, where he soon added new laurels to his already
brilliant record. Although I am getting ahead of my story, I must now
follow Brigham for a while. A grand tournament came off four miles from
Wyandotte, and Brigham took part in it. As has already been stated, his
appearance was not very prepossessing, and nobody suspected him of being
anything but the most ordinary kind of a plug. The friends of the rider
laughed at him for being mounted on such a dizzy-looking steed. When the
exercises--which were of a very tame character, being more for style than
speed--were over, and just as the crowd were about to return to the city,
a purse of $250 was made up, to be given to the horse that could first
reach Wyandotte, four miles distant. The arrangement was carried out, and
Brigham was entered as one of the contestants for the purse. Everybody
laughed at Mr. Bonham when it became known that he was to ride that
poky-looking plug against the five thoroughbreds which were to take part
in the race.
When all the preliminaries had been arranged, the signal was given, and
off went the horses for Wyandotte. For the first half-mile several of
the horses led Brigham, but on the second mile he began passing them one
after the other, and on the third mile he was in advance of them all, and
was showing them all the road at a lively rate. On the fourth mile his
rider let him out, and arrived at the hotel--the home-station--in
Wyandotte a long way ahead of his fastest competitor.
Everybody was surprised, as well as disgusted, that such a homely
"critter" should be the winner. Brigham, of course, had already acquired
a wide reputation, and his name and exploits had often appeared in the
newspapers, and when it was learned that this "critter" was none other
than the identical buffalo-hunting Brigham, nearly the whole crowd
admitted that they had heard of him before, and had they known him in the
first place they certainly would have ruled him out.
I finally lost track of Brigham, and for several years I did not know
what had become of him. Three years ago, while I was at Memphis,
Tennessee, I met a Mr. Wilcox, who had been one of the superintendents of
construction of the Kansas Pacific Railroad, and he informed me that he
owned Brigham, and that he was at that time on his farm, only a few miles
out of town. The next day I rode out with Mr. Wilcox and took a look at
the gallant old horse. He was comfortably cared for in Mr. Wilcox's
stable, and looked the same clever pony that he always was. It seemed as
if he almost remembered me, and I put my arms around his neck, as though
he had been a long-lost child. Mr. Wilcox bought the horse at Wyandotte,
from the gentleman who had won him at the raffle, and he intends to keep
him as long as he lives. I am grateful that he is in such good hands, and
whenever I again visit Memphis I shall surely go and see Brigham if he is
still alive.
But to return to the thread of my narrative, from which I have wandered.
Having received the appointment of guide and scout, and having been
ordered to report at Fort Larned, then commanded by Captain Dangerfield
Parker, I saw it was necessary to take my family--who had remained with
me at Sheridan, after the buffalo-hunting match--to Leavenworth, and
there leave them. This I did at once, and after providing them with a
comfortable little home, I returned and reported for duty at Fort Larned.