Buffalo Bill Among the Sioux
OR,
THE FIGHT IN THE RAPIDS
BY
Colonel Prentiss Ingraham
Author of the celebrated “Buffalo Bill” stories, published in the
BORDER STORIES. For other titles see catalogue.
[Illustration: (Colophon)]
STREET & SMITH CORPORATION
PUBLISHERS
79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York
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| Copyright, 1906 |
| By STREET & SMITH |
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| Buffalo Bill Among the Sioux |
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(Printed in the United States of America)
All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
languages, including the Scandinavian.
CONTENTS
PAGE
IN APPRECIATION OF WILLIAM F. CODY 1
I. WILD BILL’S CLOSE CALL. 5
II. AT FORT LARNED. 11
III. AN IMPENDING ATTACK. 18
IV. A BATTLE WITH REDSKINS. 21
V. WHARTON IN PERIL. 27
VI. THE RENEGADE. 33
VII. A BRISK ENGAGEMENT. 41
VIII. TREED BY A GRIZZLY. 46
IX. A STRANGE STORY. 51
X. IN THE RAPIDS. 63
XI. A DARING DESIGN. 75
XII. A PRECIPICE STRUGGLE. 81
XIII. A TERRIBLE FATE. 88
XIV. IN COUNCIL. 99
XV. AT DANGER DIVIDE. 107
XVI. THE DEATH RIDERS. 113
XVII. THE PRICE OF A LIFE. 119
XVIII. A STRANGE DISCOVERY. 131
XIX. EVIL HEART’S SUICIDE. 141
XX. THE RESCUE OF STEVE. 149
XXI. TROOPERS ON THE TRAIL. 154
XXII. WHITE RUFFIANS. 158
XXIII. UTES AGAINST SNAKES. 162
XXIV. A PALAVER. 169
XXV. TRAPPED BY DEATH RIDERS. 178
XXVI. IN NICK’S CAVERN. 185
XXVII. A HARD TASK. 191
XXVIII. STORMING THE CAVERN. 195
XXIX. THE HAPPY RETURN. 204
XXX. BUFFALO BILL IN A WRECK. 208
XXXI. JOE CONGO’S DIPLOMACY. 219
XXXII. IMPRESSING SAVAGES. 231
XXXIII. A TERRIBLE MISTAKE. 241
XXXIV. ARRESTED FOR MURDER. 246
XXXV. A TALK FOR A LIFE. 253
XXXVI. BLACK PANTHER’S HAND. 261
XXXVII. RUNNING THE GANTLET. 267
XXXVIII. AT THE TORTURE STAKE. 274
XXXIX. AT THE ELEVENTH HOUR. 286
XL. TOO MUCH FIRE WATER. 295
XLI. BLACK PANTHER’S END. 304
IN APPRECIATION OF WILLIAM F. CODY
(BUFFALO BILL).
It is now some generations since Josh Billings, Ned Buntline, and
Colonel Prentiss Ingraham, intimate friends of Colonel William F. Cody,
used to forgather in the office of Francis S. Smith, then proprietor
of the _New York Weekly_. It was a dingy little office on Rose Street,
New York, but the breath of the great outdoors stirred there when these
old-timers got together. As a result of these conversations, Colonel
Ingraham and Ned Buntline began to write of the adventures of Buffalo
Bill for Street & Smith.
Colonel Cody was born in Scott County, Iowa, February 26, 1846. Before
he had reached his teens, his father, Isaac Cody, with his mother and
two sisters, migrated to Kansas, which at that time was little more
than a wilderness.
When the elder Cody was killed shortly afterward in the Kansas “Border
War,” young Bill assumed the difficult role of family breadwinner.
During 1860, and until the outbreak of the Civil War, Cody lived the
arduous life of a pony-express rider. Cody volunteered his services as
government scout and guide and served throughout the Civil War with
Generals McNeil and A. J. Smith. He was a distinguished member of the
Seventh Kansas Cavalry.
During the Civil War, while riding through the streets of St. Louis,
Cody rescued a frightened schoolgirl from a band of annoyers. In true
romantic style, Cody and Louisa Federci, the girl, were married March
6, 1866.
In 1867 Cody was employed to furnish a specified amount of buffalo meat
to the construction men at work on the Kansas Pacific Railroad. It was
in this period that he received the sobriquet “Buffalo Bill.”
In 1868 and for four years thereafter Colonel Cody served as scout
and guide in campaigns against the Sioux and Cheyenne Indians. It was
General Sheridan who conferred on Cody the honor of chief of scouts of
the command.
After completing a period of service in the Nebraska legislature, Cody
joined the Fifth Cavalry in 1876, and was again appointed chief of
scouts.
Colonel Cody’s fame had reached the East long before, and a great
many New Yorkers went out to see him and join in his buffalo hunts,
including such men as August Belmont, James Gordon Bennett, Anson
Stager, and J. G. Heckscher. In entertaining these visitors at Fort
McPherson, Cody was accustomed to arrange wild-West exhibitions. In
return his friends invited him to visit New York. It was upon seeing
his first play in the metropolis that Cody conceived the idea of going
into the show business.
Assisted by Ned Buntline, novelist, and Colonel Ingraham, he started
his “Wild West” show, which later developed and expanded into “A
Congress of the Rough Riders of the World,” first presented at Omaha,
Nebraska. In time it became a familiar yearly entertainment in the
great cities of this country and Europe. Many famous personages
attended the performances, and became his warm friends, including Mr.
Gladstone, the Marquis of Lorne, King Edward, Queen Victoria, and the
Prince of Wales, now King of England.
At the outbreak of the Sioux, in 1890 and 1891, Colonel Cody served
at the head of the Nebraska National Guard. In 1895 Cody took up the
development of Wyoming Valley by introducing irrigation. Not long
afterward he became judge advocate general of the Wyoming National
Guard.
Colonel Cody (Buffalo Bill) died in Denver, Colorado, on January
10, 1917. His legacy to a grateful world was a large share in
the development of the West, and a multitude of achievements in
horsemanship, marksmanship, and endurance that will live for ages. His
life will continue to be a leading example of the manliness, courage,
and devotion to duty that belonged to a picturesque phase of American
life now passed, like the great patriot whose career it typified, into
the Great Beyond.
BUFFALO BILL AMONG THE SIOUX.
CHAPTER I.
WILD BILL’S CLOSE CALL.
One summer morning, in the sixties, when the Indians in the West and
Southwest were still giving much trouble to Uncle Sam’s settlers and
soldiers, and when the great railway lines were being pushed forward
across the continent to the Pacific coast, a scout rode across country
in Kansas from Fort Larned to another military post, about sixty miles
distant.
He was carrying the military mail and dispatches from one fort to
another, and his mission was an exceedingly dangerous one, for it was
known that the Indians in Kansas and the neighboring territory were on
the point of rising to attack the whites, if they had not already risen.
Many reports had been received from scouts familiar with the Indians
which showed that an alliance was being arranged between several of
the tribes with the object of going on the warpath in numbers strong
enough, as they imagined, to enable them to bid defiance to Uncle Sam’s
troopers, even though the latter were armed with the quick-firing
“devil guns” so much feared by the redskins.
The scout who was riding across country was, with one exception, the
most remarkable man of his class at that time in the West.
He was none other than our old friend Wild Bill, and it need hardly be
added that the exception alluded to was his great friend and comrade,
Colonel William F. Cody, better known as “Buffalo Bill,” the king of
the scouts.
As he rode along, mounted upon a magnificent mustang, Wild Bill was
a splendid, fearless figure that it would have done the heart of any
brave man good merely to look upon.
In person he was about six feet one inch in height, and, as has been
described by his friend, General George A. Custer, “straight as the
straightest of the Indian warriors whose implacable foe he was.” He had
broad shoulders, well-formed chest and limbs, and a face strikingly
handsome. His sharp, clear blue eyes were used to looking any man
straight in the face, whether that man were friend or foe. His nose was
a fine aquiline, and his mouth well shaped, with lips partly concealed
by a handsome mustache.
His hair and complexion were those of a perfect blond--fair as a Saxon
viking. He wore the former in long, flowing ringlets, which fell
carelessly over his powerfully formed shoulders. Riding his horse as
if he were part of the animal, he looked a perfect type of physical
manhood.
He had galloped for about twenty miles, when he stopped on a small hill
overlooking a valley through which a river ran.
He cast a quick glance around the landscape to see if any foes were in
sight, and his eyes immediately fell upon a band of about fifty Indians
not more than a third of a mile away.
They saw him almost at the same moment, and immediately jumped on their
horses, from which they had dismounted with the idea of watering them
in the river, and gave chase.
Wild Bill waited until they came near enough to enable him to see what
tribes they belonged to, and whether they were dressed in their war
paint. When he had satisfied his doubts on those scores, and found out
that they were really on the warpath, he hastily turned his mustang to
make a ride for life. But before he galloped off, he lifted his rifle
and shot the foremost of the Indians through the head.
As the brave tumbled from his horse, his comrades gave a yell of rage.
Wild Bill responded by turning in the saddle and waving his sombrero
toward them defiantly.
They fired a scattering volley, but the bullets whizzed harmlessly
around him. Riding over uneven ground, the Indians could not take
accurate aim.
The scout was riding a splendid mustang, and the gallant animal fully
understood what was expected of him. He knew that it was a ride for
life, and that he must put forth his greatest speed to save his master
from death and himself from an Indian owner--a fate terrible to any
decent horse.
He crossed a wide ravine and tore along the valley toward Fort Larned.
Reaching a ridge beyond, Wild Bill looked back for a moment and saw
that the Indians were tearing after him. They rode at great speed, and
many of them were evidently well mounted.
“Their own ponies can’t travel like that,” said the scout to himself.
“They must have done some raiding before this, and got hold of some of
the settlers’ animals. The rising we’ve been looking for has broken
out, sure. Them folks at the fort must be put on their guard, whatever
happens. I guess the whole country will be ablaze in a couple of days.”
If he had been mounted on a fresh horse, Wild Bill would have had no
doubt of the outcome of the race; but his mustang, splendid animal
though he was, had already ridden far, and showed signs of flagging.
The Indians began to gain on their quarry for a time, and then the
mustang made a spurt and shot ahead again. But the effort was too great
for him, and he could not keep up his speed for long.
When he had run about three miles farther, half a dozen of the Indians
had crept up to within two or three hundred yards, while several of the
other braves were not far behind.
Now and then they fired at him, but their rifles were of inferior
quality and their aim was bad, so that neither the scout nor his horse
was touched.
The Indians seemed to be shortening the distance from their prey at
every stride, but Wild Bill bent over in his saddle and whispered to
his mustang: “Get up, old man!”
It was the first effort he had made to urge the animal to greater
speed, and immediately he exerted himself to the very utmost, drawing
slowly away from the Indians for the next three or four miles.
But there was a limit to the mustang’s power of endurance, if not to
his will.
The Indians were nearly as well mounted as Wild Bill, and their
steeds were comparatively fresh. One of them in particular--a spotted
animal--kept gaining all the time. The others were strung out behind
in a long line for a distance of more than a mile, but they were all
riding as hard as they knew how, for they wanted to be “in at the
death.”
The brave riding the spotted horse was armed with a rifle, and as he
drew within a hundred yards he occasionally sent a bullet whizzing
unpleasantly close to Wild Bill.
The scout saw that this Indian must be stopped, or a stray shot from
his gun might do fatal harm to his mustang or himself.
Suddenly reining up his horse and wheeling him around, Wild Bill
raised his rifle to his shoulder and took a quick aim at the brave.
The Indian was not more than sixty yards off, and as Wild Bill’s rifle
cracked he reeled and fell from his saddle.
Without waiting to see whether his enemy was dead or only wounded, the
scout wheeled his horse around and fairly flew in the direction of Fort
Larned.
He would have liked to stop and take a few shots at the other Indians
as they came dashing toward him, but he realized that his first duty
was to carry a warning to the fort. He had no right to play with his
life when such a duty as that was placed upon him.
It was true that fifty Indians could do nothing against the strong body
of troops stationed at the fort, but, if they succeeded in killing him,
they would certainly not ride on for that place.
They would wait until reënforced by a much stronger party, and then
perhaps carry the fort by surprise if the garrison had not received a
timely warning.
Wild Bill realized these facts, and resolved that he must curb his
natural propensity to fight, and run away instead--a thing he always
hated to do, however great might be the number of the enemies opposed
to him.
While he was engaged in shooting their leader, the other Indians had
gained upon him, and they sent several shots whizzing after him as he
resumed his flight. Now and then he turned in the saddle and returned
their fire, shooting two of the foremost horses as they drew near him.
“Buffler Bill would shoot the blamed varmints through the head if he
was here,” muttered the scout, “but I’m not sure as how I could do that
with a snap aim at a gallop. Anyhow, I can’t run the risk, so I’ll
shoot the durned cayuses instead.”
The redskins kept up the pursuit until they were within about three
miles of the fort. One of the outposts saw them chasing the scout over
the prairie and promptly gave the alarm, for a vigilant watch was being
maintained at that critical time.
As Wild Bill rode up, several of the soldiers mounted in hot haste and
rode to his rescue. The Indians saw this, and promptly turned on their
trail to ride back as quickly as they had come.
A lieutenant, with thirty or forty men behind him, galloped in
pursuit, while Wild Bill rode into the fort to make his report to the
commandant.