Union Pacific, was reaching westward out of Leavenworth for Denver. It
followed the Smoky Hill Fork Trail taken by the Hee-Haw Express――the
memorable outfit of Dave’s and Billy’s and Mr. Baxter’s, and all, to
the “Pike’s Peak Country” and the “Cherry Creek diggin’s.” Yes, it
did seem strange to Dave to be riding that trail in a train of cars
drawn by a snorting steam-engine and crowded with laughing, shouting
people――travelling in an hour a distance that would have required from
the Hee-Haw Express a day, perhaps! But the Hee-Haw Express had not
been such a bad experience after all, and it had been fun as well as
work.
Gracious, how Kansas had settled! The Salt Creek Valley, people said,
was all taken up by farms. The railroad route from Leavenworth down
to the Kansas River at Lawrence certainly passed through nothing but
farms and settlements, and on up the Kansas to the Smoky Hill Fork at
Junction City all the country was farms, farms, farms, punctuated by
towns and cities.
Along the Smoky Hill Fork trail a number of new forts had been
established, protecting the way for the railroad. First beyond Fort
Riley, which Davy remembered from the time when the Hee-Haws passed it,
was Fort Harker, next would come Fort Hays, and then Fort Wallace near
Sheridan.
The train left Leavenworth early in the morning; the run to the end of
the track would take about twenty-five hours, with stops for meals.
It would appear, from the looks of the country between Lawrence and
Junction City across the river from Fort Riley, that there were no
more wild Indians and buffalo; but westward from Junction City things
suddenly changed; and when Dave awakened from a brief doze here were
the same old brown plains again, ready for the bull whacker, the stage
coach, the buffalo and the Indians.
The train was jammed with all kinds of people from St. Louis, Kansas
City, Leavenworth, Lawrence, Topeka――everybody having a good time.
In the last car were Mrs. Cody and little daughter Arta. Davy had a
glimpse of her――a handsome woman with glowing dark eyes. Buffalo Bill
had met her during the war, in St. Louis, and they had been married
two years now. She and little Arta and General Custer were the main
attraction on the whole train.
The train was a travelling arsenal. At the front end of Davy’s car
was a stand containing twenty-five breech-loading rifles and a large
chest of cartridges, with the lid opened. The conductor (who, people
said, was an old Indian fighter) wore two revolvers at his waist, and
carried his rifle from car to car. Almost every man was armed with some
sort of a gun, and all the passengers and train crew were constantly
on the lookout for “Injuns” and buffalo. As the train roared onward
further into the plains, its snorty, busy little engine sounded five
short whistles. Out from the windows down the line of coaches were
thrust heads. Men who had no gun made a rush for the stand of arms, and
grabbed rifles and cartridges.
“Buffalo! Buffalo!”
“Where? Quick!”
“There they go!”
“Where? Oh, I see them!”
“Mercy, what monsters!”
There were people aboard who actually never had seen a buffalo.
“What beards!”
“Are those really buffalo?”
“Shoot!”
“Conductor! Stop the train!”
Bang! Bangity-bang! Bang! Bang! Everybody who could get a glimpse
poked his gun out of a window and fired. Two big buffalo bulls were
racing the train; heads down, tails up, trying to cross in front of it.
The rain of bullets had not touched them. One crossed; but the other
suddenly whirled on the track and charged the engine. The cow-catcher
lifted him high――Davy had sight of his great shaggy shape turning a
somersault in the air, and funny enough he looked, too, with mane and
tail flying. He landed with a thump; people laughed so that they forgot
to shoot again until too late; and gazing back Davy was glad to witness
him scramble to his feet, shake himself, and glare after the train and
bellow defiance.
It struck Dave as rather of a shame to pepper the buffalo from the
windows of a moving train――which, he heard, sometimes did not even stop
to make use of the meat, but left the carcasses lying for the wolves.
Dusk soon settled, so that there was little more shooting. With a stop
for water and supper, on through the darkness rumbled the train. The
passengers slept in their seats――an uncomfortable way, but they did
not mind. Judging from the looks of Forts Harker and Hays, which were
merely log cabins with sod roofs, the cars were the best place.
The talk among the passengers was mainly of buffalo and of the Indians
(who had been fighting the advance of the railroad through their
hunting-grounds), and of the match between Buffalo Bill Cody and Scout
Will Comstock.
As for Will Comstock, the people said that he was a young fellow with
the figure of a mere boy and the face of a girl――but that no braver
scout ever rode the plains. However, Billy Cody seemed to have the
majority. He had been making a great record since the war. He had
driven stage for a little while on the Overland Trail; then he had
married; and soon he was scouting again for the army on the Smoky Hill
Trail. He had guided General Custer on a dangerous trip out of Fort
Harker, and had been guide and dispatch bearer out of Fort Hays, and
nobody except Wild Bill (who was a scout on this line, too) was thought
to be quite his equal.
Almost as famous as Buffalo Bill were his buffalo horse, Brigham, and
his rifle, Lucretia; against these three Billy Comstock, good as he
was, did not stand much show.
It was a jolly excursion crowd this: soldiers and civilians, city
people and country people, residents and tourists, men, women and
some children, all packed tight and bent on seeing the “big match”
advertised to take place between Buffalo Bill Cody and Will Comstock,
the other famous scout.
Early in the morning the tracks ended about twenty miles this side of
Sheridan. And here, on the open prairie, were gathered an astonishing
amount of vehicles, animals and horsemen. The spot looked like a land
opening――or a picnic. Davy recognized Billy Cody at once.
With a group of army officers, scouts in buckskin, and other horsemen,
Billy was sitting on his horse at the edge of the mass of carriages.
The train-load of excursionists fairly burst from the cars, even
climbing out through the windows, and made a rush for the vehicles.
Davy forged ahead for Billy Cody. Billy had left his horse and when
Davy saw him next he was gallantly escorting his wife and little
daughter to an army ambulance; as he came back Dave caught him.
“Hello, Billy.”
“By thunder! That name sounds familiar, Dave! Well, I’m certainly glad
to see you.”
They gripped hands. As Buffalo Bill, Billy looked older than he had
as Scout Cody, even, during the war. His face had been bronzed deeper
by hard plains riding, day and night, and on his firm chin he wore
a little goatee. His suit of Indian tanned buckskin was beaded and
fringed, and fitted him to perfection. A fine figure of a man he was,
too; every inch of him.
There was little time to exchange greetings or words. Everything was
confusion――and the day would soon pass.
“Go in and win, Billy.”
“You bet I will, Dave.”
And with that Billy strode hastily back to his horse――brushing by the
many hands held out to stay him a moment.
The match was to last from eight in the morning to four in the
afternoon if buffalo could be found. Slim and active, and as
picturesque as Buffalo Bill himself, General Custer, from horseback,
announced in a loud voice that the spectators were to follow the
hunters until the herd was sighted and then must stay behind so as not
to alarm the buffalo, until the shooting had begun. After that they
might go as near as they pleased.
Buffalo Bill and Scout Comstock led away; behind them rode the
horsemen, chiefly scouts and army officers. A large bunch of cavalry
mounts had been sent out from Fort Wallace, near Sheridan, for the
visitor officers, and Davy (who was almost an officer) was accorded the
courtesy of one. So he was well fixed. Trailing the horsemen came the
excursionists in army ambulances and old coaches and spring wagons and
even buggies――raked and scraped from far and near.
Thus they all proceeded across the rolling prairie. The scene resembled
a picnic more than ever.
Buffalo Bill, the talk said, was riding Brigham, his favorite buffalo
runner――and a scrubby looking horse Brigham was, too, for a hunter
and a racer. Billy’s gun was a heavy, long-barrelled single-shot――a
breech-loading Springfield army gun of fifty calibre.
Will Comstock was apparently much better mounted and better armed. His
horse was a strong, active, spirited black, and his gun was a Henry
repeating carbine. He himself seemed a young fellow to be chief of
scouts at Fort Wallace; his face was smooth and fair, his eyes roundly
blue, and his waist was as small as a girl’s.
Suddenly Buffalo Bill raised his hand; and at the instant a hum of
excitement welled from the crowd. There were some buffalo――there, about
a mile ahead on the right, a good-sized herd, peacefully grazing.
Away sped Buffalo Bill and Scout Comstock and two other horsemen, to
get to the windward. The two other horsemen were the referees, one to
accompany each hunter and keep tab on him.
The rest of the crowd followed slowly, so as to give the hunters plenty
of time to begin.
On and on spurred the group of four. They swerved for the buffalo herd;
and separating, as if by agreement, into pairs, dashed into the herd
that way――Buffalo Bill and his referee on the right, Scout Comstock and
his referee on the left. As soon as the first shot echoed back across
the prairie, the cry went up: “They’re in! They’re in!” and wildly
excited, straight for the field broke the eager spectators.
The wagons jounced and bounded, the horses and mules snorted,
women screamed, men shouted――and better equipped than those other
excursionists, on horseback amidst his army friends Davy forged to the
front.
When they arrived the contest was well under way. Scout Comstock had
ridden almost out of sight, pelting along and shooting into the rear
of his bunch. He had left a trail of dead buffalo, as if he had made
every shot count. Buffalo Bill, however, was right here, working by a
different system. Evidently he had hastened to the head of his bunch
first, and turned them――until now he had them all actually running in
a small circle. He was riding around the outside at an easy lope on
Brigham, and steadily firing, oftentimes without raising his gun from
across the saddle horn.
Brigham’s bridle lines were hanging loose. He needed no guiding. He
knew just what was to be done. He loped to the side of a buffalo and
stayed there a moment until the gun went “Bang!” Then, even before the
buffalo had fallen, he loped on to another, put his master in good
position, and at the report of the rifle continued to the next!
“A wonderful horse! A wonderful horse!” ejaculated General Brown. “Why,
teach that horse to shoot and he wouldn’t need a rider. Bill could sit
and look on!”
“He nurses the buffalo together and all Bill has to do is to load and
fire. He scarcely needs to aim,” said another officer.
Presently Buffalo Bill had shot down every buffalo in the bunch; there
were thirty-eight, dead as doornails. When Bill Comstock returned, his
horse blown, from chasing his bunch as far as he could, his referee
reported twenty-three as that count.
The horses were rested until another herd appeared. Out of this
Buffalo Bill killed eighteen with the help of old Brigham, and Billy
Comstock killed fourteen. So at noon the score stood: Buffalo Bill (and
Brigham), fifty-six; Billy Comstock only thirty-seven.
Luncheon was spread out on the prairie by the excursionists and
everybody ate. The opinion was that Buffalo Bill had won; Billy
Comstock never could catch up――not even if they traded horses!
After luncheon Buffalo Bill suddenly stood, and, going to Brigham,
quickly stripped him of saddle and bridle.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” announced Billy, “in order to give my friend
Comstock a chance I’m going to finish my hunt without saddle and
bridle――and even then I’ll wager I’ll down more buffalo than he will.”
“Oh, Mr. Cody! Please don’t!” begged one of the women excursionists,
who had been nervous all along. “You’ll certainly be hurt.”
Buffalo Bill smiled and shook his head.
“There’s not the slightest cause for alarm,” he said. “I’ve ridden this
way many a time. Old Brigham knows as well as I what’s to be done――and
sometimes a great deal better.”
Riding thus without saddle and bridle, out of the next herd Buffalo
Bill, so cleverly guided by Brigham, easily killed thirteen more
buffaloes. The last he drove with a rush straight toward the
spectators, and laughed as he downed it almost at their feet. Slipping
from his bareback seat, he doffed his hat and bowed.
“You see?” he bade.
Scout Comstock came in with a count of only nine.
“I’m done,” he said frankly. “How many in all, Bill?”
“Sixty-nine.”
“Forty-six here.” And he shrugged his slender shoulders. “Well, Bill,
you’re a wonder. There’s not another man on the plains could have done
it. Ladies and gentlemen,” he called, “three cheers for Buffalo Bill
Cody, the boy ‘extra,’ the kid express rider, the champion buffalo
hunter, and the best man that ever rode the plains.”
* * * * *
The excursion train returned that night, and Davy returned with it. But
Buffalo Bill stayed out on the plains, scouting for the army against
the Indians. Davy kept track of him, for the name of “Buffalo Bill,”
dispatch bearer and guide, was constantly in the papers. When in June,
1869, Davy graduated from the Military Academy, and soon was assigned
to the Fifth Cavalry in Nebraska, Buffalo Bill had been appointed by
General Phil Sheridan as chief of scouts to serve with it.
This spring the Union Pacific Railway had met the Central Pacific
Railway in Utah and the tracks joined. The Overland Trail had been
spanned at last by iron rails; but there was still much work to be done
to make the plains safe for the settler, his home, his church and his
school-house; and helping to do it, Dave and Buffalo Bill often rode
together, man and man.
* * * * *
Transcriber’s Notes:
――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
――Except for the frontispiece and portrait, illustrations have been
moved to follow the text that they illustrate.
――Printer’s, punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently
corrected.
――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
――Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.