One morning, in the spring of 1870, a band of horse-stealing Indians
raided four ranches near the mouth of Fremont Creek, on the North
Platte. After scooping up horses from these ranches they proceeded to
the Fort McPherson herd, which was grazing above the Post, and took
about forty Government animals. Among these was my favorite little
pony, Powder Face.
When the alarm was given, "Boots and Saddles" was sounded. I always
kept one of my best horses by me, and was ready for any surprise. The
horse that I saddled that day was Buckskin Joe.
As I galloped for the herd, I saw the Indians kill two of the herders.
Then, circling all the horses toward the west, they disappeared over a
range of hills. I hurried back to the camp and told the general that I
knew where to pick up the trail. Company I, commanded by a little
red-headed chap--Lieutenant Earl D. Thomas--was the first to report,
mounted, at the adjutant's office. Thomas had but lately graduated from
West Point.
His sole instructions were: "Follow Cody and be off quick." As he rode
away General Emory called after him: "I will support you with more
troops as fast as they are saddled."
The lieutenant followed me on the run to the spot where I saw the
Indians disappear. Though the redskins had an hour and a half start on
us, we followed them, on a gallop, till we could see that they had
begun to drive their horses in a circle, and then in one direction
after another, making the trail uncertain. It was getting dark, but I
succeeded in keeping on some of the tracks.
All that night the Indians endeavored, by scattering their horses, to
throw us off the trail. At three o'clock in the morning I made up my
mind that they were traveling for the headwaters of Medicine Creek, and
headed straight in that direction.
We found that they had reached the creek, but remained there only long
enough to water their horses. Then they struck off to the southwest. I
informed Lieutenant Thomas that the next water was at the Springs at
the head of Red Willow Creek, thirty-five miles away. The Indians, I
said, would stop there.
Thomas's men had not had time to bring so much as their coats with
them. At the alarm they grabbed their sidearms and carbines and
ammunition belts, and leaped into their saddles. None of us had had
anything to eat since dinner the day before. In the whole outfit there
was not a canteen in which to carry water.
I notified Thomas that he must decide whether the troop was to undergo
the terrible hardship of riding a whole day without food or water, on
the chance of overtaking the Indians and getting their rations and
supplies away from them. He replied that the only instructions he had
received from General Emory were to follow me. I said that if it were
left to me, I would follow the Indians.
"You have heard Cody," said Thomas to his men. "Now, I would like to
hear what you men think about it."
Through their first sergeant they said they had followed Cody on many a
long trail, and were willing to follow him to the end of this one. So
the order to mount was given, and the trail was taken up. Several times
that day we found the Indians had resorted to their old tactics of
going in different directions. They split the herd of horses in
bunches, and scattered them. It was very hard to trail them at good
speed.
Forty hours without food, and twelve hours without water, we halted for
a council when darkness set in.
I told Thomas that when we got within three miles of the Springs the
men could rest their horses and get a little sleep, while I pushed on
ahead to look for the Indians. This was done. When we reached the spot
I had designated the saddles were removed, so that the horses could
graze and roll. I rode on ahead.
As I had suspected I should, I found the Indians encamped at the
Springs with the stock grazing around them. As quickly as possible I
got back to the command with my news. The horses were quietly saddled
and we proceeded, seldom speaking or making any noise.
As we rode along I gave the lieutenant and first sergeant the
description of the camp and suggested that it could be best approached
just at daylight. We had but forty-one men. Ten of these, I said,
should be detailed to take charge of the herd, while the lieutenant and
I charged the camp.
The Indians were encamped on a little knoll, around which was miry
ground, making a cavalry charge difficult. The Indians numbered as many
as we did. The safest plan was to dismount some of the men, leaving
others to hold the horses, and proceed to the attack on foot. The rest
of the men were to remain with their horses, and get through, the
marshy ground mounted, if they could.
A halt was called, and this was explained to the men. It didn't take
them long to understand. We approached very cautiously till we got
within a quarter of a mile of the Indians. Then the charge was sounded.
We did not find the land as miry as we had supposed. Dashing in among
the Indians, we completely surprised them. Most of them grabbed the
guns, with which they always slept, and fled to the marsh below the
camp. Others ran for their horses. It was fortunate that we had
dismounted ten men. These were able to follow the Indians who had
escaped to marsh.
When we made the charge my chief thought was to keep a lookout for my
pony, Powder Pace. Soon I saw an Indian, mounted on him, making his
escape. I rushed through the camp, shooting to the left and right, but
keeping a beeline after Powder Face and his rider. Soon another Indian
who was afoot leaped up behind Powder Face's rider. I knew that the
little animal was very swift for a short distance, but that he would be
badly handicapped by the weight of two men.
I realized that my old Buckskin Joe was tired but his staying qualities
were such that I was sure he would overtake Powder Face, carrying
double weight.
Though I was not a hundred yards behind the object of my pursuit when
the second Indian mounted I was afraid to shoot. It was not yet quite
daylight. I feared to fire lest I hit my beloved pony. For two miles I
followed through the sandhills before I dared to use my rifle.
The Indian riding at the rear had a revolver with which he kept banging
away, but I paid little attention to him. I knew a man shooting behind
with a pistol was likely to hit nothing but air. At last I took a
steady aim while old Joe was running smoothly. The bullet not only hit
the rear man, but passed through him and killed the man in front.
They both fell. I took another shot to make sure they were not playing
'possum. As they fell, Powder Face stopped and looked around, to learn
what it was all about. I called to him, and he came up to me.
Both Indians were wearing beautiful war-bonnets, of which I took
possession, as well as of their fancy trappings. Then, taking Powder
Face by the rope, I led him back to the Springs to see how the
lieutenant had made out.
The herd of horses was held and surrounded by a few soldiers. The rest
were still popping at the Indians. But most of the redskins were either
hidden among the marshes, or had got clear away to the surrounding
hills.
I found the lieutenant, and told him I thought we had accomplished all
that was possible. The orderly sounded the recall. I have never seen a
muddier set of boys than those who came out of the marsh and began
rummaging around the Indian camp. We soon discovered two or three
hundred pounds of dried meat--buffalo, deer, and antelope, also a
little coffee and sugar and an old kettle and tin cups which the
Indians had used.
All the men by this time had all the water they wanted. Each was
chewing a piece of dried meat. Pickets were posted to prevent a
surprise. Soon coffee was ready. In a short time everybody was filled
up, and I told Thomas we had better be getting out of there.
Many of the men began saddling the stolen horses, so as to rest their
own. The lieutenant was eager to remain and rest until the
reënforcements that General Emory had promised should arrive.
"Your orders were to follow me, weren't they?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Well, then, keep on following me, and you'll soon see the reason for
getting out of here."
"All right," he agreed. "I've heard the general say that in a tight
place your directions should always be followed."
With most of the men driving the captured horses we started for Fort
McPherson. I didn't take the trail that we had followed in. I knew of a
shorter route, and besides, I didn't want to meet the support that was
coming. I knew the officer in command, and was sure that if he came up
he would take all the glory of the capture away from Lieutenant Thomas.
Naturally I wanted all the credit for Thomas and myself as we were
entitled to.
The soldiers that had been sent out after us found and destroyed the
village, but we did not meet them. They discovered seven or eight dead
Indians, and there were a few more down in the marsh which they
overlooked. The major in command sent out scouts to find our trail.
Texas Jack, who was on this duty, returned and reported that he had
found it, and that we were going back to the fort by another route.
The major said: "That's another of those tricks of Cody's. He will
guide Thomas back and he will get all the glory before I can overtake
him."
We rode into Fort McPherson about six o'clock that evening. I told
Thomas to make his report immediately, which he did. General Emory
complimented him highly, and Thomas generously said that all he did was
to obey orders and follow Cody. A report was made to General Sheridan,
and the next day that officer wired Thomas his congratulations.
The next day the command that was sent out after us returned to the
fort. The major was hotter than a wounded coyote. He told the general
that it was all my fault, and that he did not propose to be treated in
any such manner by any scout, even if it were General Sheridan's pet,
Buffalo Bill. He was told by the general that the less he said about
the matter the better it would be for him. This was Lieutenant Thomas's
first raid, and he was highly elated with its success. He hoped he
would be mentioned for it in Special Orders, and sure enough, when the
Special Orders came along both he and myself, together with the little
command, received complimentary mention. This Thomas richly deserved,
for he was a brave, energetic, and dashing officer. I gave him the two
war-bonnets I had taken from the Indians I shot from the back of Powder
Face, asking that he present them to the daughters of General Augur,
who were then visiting the Post.
Shortly after our return another expedition was organized, with the
Republican River country as its destination. It was commanded by
General Duncan, a blusterer, but a jolly old fellow. The officers who
knew him well said we would have a fine time, as he was very fond of
hunting. He was a good fighter. It was rumored that an Indian's bullet
could never hurt him. A cannon-ball, according to report, had hit him
in the head without injuring him at all, while another cannon-ball,
glancing off his skull, had instantly killed one of the toughest mules
in the army!
The Pawnee scouts, who had been mustered out of service during the
winter of 1869 and '70, were reorganized to accompany this expedition.
I was glad of this. I had become very much attached to Major North, one
of the officers, and to many of the Indians. Beside myself the only
white scout we had in the Post at this time was John Y. Nelson, whose
Indian name was Cha-Sha-Cha-Opeyse, or Red-Willow-Fill-the-Pipe. The
man was a character. He had a squaw wife and a half-breed family. He
was a good fellow, but had few equals and no superiors as a liar.
With the regimental band playing "The Girl I Left Behind Me" we started
out from the Post. A short march brought us to the head of Fox Creek,
where we camped. Next morning General Duncan sent me word that I was to
bring my rifle and shoot at a mark with him. I did not feel like
shooting at anything except myself, for the night before I had been
interviewing the sutler's store, in company with Major Brown. When I
looked for my gun, I found that I had left it behind me. I got cold
consolation from Major Brown when I informed him of my loss. Then I
told him that the general had sent for me to shoot a match with him,
and that if the old man discovered my predicament there would be
trouble.
"Well, Cody," said the major, "the best thing you can do is to make
some excuse, and then go and borrow a gun from one of the men. Tell the
general you loaned your rifle to someone for a hunt. While you are gone
I will send back to the Post for it."
I got a gun from John Nelson, and marched to the general's
headquarters, where I shot the match. It resulted in his favor.
General Duncan, who had never before commanded the Pawnee Scouts,
confused them by posting the guards in a manner that was new to them.
Furthermore, he insisted that the guards should call the hours through
the night: "Nine o'clock and all is well," etc., giving the numbers of
their posts. Few of the scouts understood English. They were greatly
troubled.
Major North explained to them that when the man on the post nearest
them called the hour, they must repeat the call as closely as they
could. It was highly amusing to hear them do this. They would try to
remember what the man on the next post had said. For example, when a
white soldier called out "Post Number One, Half-past Nine and all is
well!" the Indians would cry out "Poss Number half-pass five cents go
to h--l I don't care." So ridiculous were their efforts to repeat the
calls, that the general finally gave it up and countermanded the order.
One day, after an uneventful march, Major North and I went out on
Prairie Dog Creek in advance of the command to kill some buffaloes.
Night was approaching, and we looked about for a suitable camping-place
for the soldiers. Major North dismounted and was resting, while I rode
down to the creek to see if there was plenty of grass in the vicinity.
I found an excellent camping spot, and told North I would ride over the
hill a little way, so that the advance guard might see me. This I did,
and when the advance guard came in sight I dismounted and lay down upon
the grass to rest.
Suddenly I heard three or four shots. In a moment Major North came
dashing toward me, pursued by eight or ten Indians. I at once sprang to
the saddle and sent several shots toward the Indians, fifty or more of
whom were now in sight. Then, we turned our horses and ran.
The bullets sang after us. My whip was shot from my hand, and the
daylight was let through the crown of my hat. We were in close
quarters, when Lieutenant Valknar, with several men, came galloping to
our relief. The Indians, discovering them, whirled and fled.
As soon as Major North sighted his Pawnees he began riding in a circle,
which was the signal to them that there were hostile Indians in front.
In an instant they broke ranks pell-mell, with the major at their head,
and went after the flying warriors.
The second day that we had been following the Indians we came upon an
old squaw who had been left on the prairie to die. Her people had built
for her a little shade or lodge, and had given her some
provisions--enough to last her trip to the Happy Hunting-Grounds. This
is often done by the Indians when an enemy is in pursuit and one of
their number becomes too feeble to keep pace with the flight.
Our scout, John Nelson, recognized the squaw as a relative of his
Indian wife. From her we learned that the redskins we were pursuing
were known as the Pawnee Killer band. They had lately killed Buck's
surveying party, consisting of eight or nine men. This massacre had
occurred a few days before on Beaver Creek. We had found a number of
surveying instruments in the abandoned camp, and knew therefore that
the Indians had had a fight with white men. After driving the Indians
across the Platte we returned to Fort McPherson, bringing with us the
old squaw, who was sent to the Spotted Tail Agency.
During my absence my wife had given birth to a son. Though he was
several weeks old when I returned no name had been given him. I called
him Elmo Judson, in honor of Colonel Judson, whose pen name was "Ned
Buntline." But the officers insisted upon calling him Kit Carson Cody
and it was finally settled that this should be his name.
Shortly after my return I received orders instructing me to accompany
Professor Marsh on a fossil-hunting expedition into the rough lands of
the Big Horn Basin. The party was to consist of a number of scientists
besides Professor Marsh, together with twenty-five students from Yale,
which institution was sending out the expedition.
I was to get together thirty-five saddle-horses for the party. The
quartermaster arranged for the transportation, pack mules, etc. But
General Sheridan, under whose direction the scientists were proceeding,
always believed in my ability to select good horses from a
quartermaster's herd.
In a few days Professor Marsh and his companions arrived. The Pawnee
Scouts, then in camp, had a year before unearthed some immense fossil
bones, so it was decided that Major North, with a few of these scouts,
should also accompany the expedition. Professor Marsh had heard of this
discovery, and was eager to find some of the same kind of fossils.
Professor Marsh believed that the Basin would be among the last of the
Western lands to be settled. The mountain wall which surrounded it
would turn aside pioneers going to Montana or northern Oregon. These
would head to the east of Big Horn Mountains, while those bound for
Utah, Idaho, and California would go to the south side of the Wind
River Mountains. He was confident, however, that some day the Basin
would be settled and developed, and that in its fertile valleys would
be found the most prosperous people in the world. It was there that my
interest in the great possibilities of the West was aroused.
I never forgot what I heard around the campfire. In 1894 the Carey
Irrigation Act was passed by Congress. A million acres of land was
given to each of the arid States. I was the first man to receive a
concession of two hundred thousand acres from the Wyoming State Land
Board.
I could not get away to the Basin till late in the autumn of 1894, so I
formed a partnership with George T. Beck, who proceeded to Wyoming,
where he was found by Professor Elwood Mead, then in the service of the
State. There a site was located and the line of an irrigation canal was
surveyed.
A town was laid out along the canal, and my friends insisted upon
naming it Cody. At this time there was no railroad in the Big Horn
Basin; but shortly afterward the Burlington sent a spur out from its
main line, with Cody as its terminus. In 1896 I went out on a scout to
locate the route of a wagon road from Cody into the Yellowstone Park.
This was during Mr. McKinley's first administration.
I went to Washington, saw the President, and explained to him the
possibilities of a road of eighty miles, the only one entering the
National Park from the East. It would be, I told him, the most
wonderful scenic road in the West. Mr. Roosevelt ordered the building
of this road, which has now become the favorite automobile route into
the Park. Today the Big Horn Basin is one of the richest of American
oil lands, and the Pennsylvania of the West for coal production. Every
one of the prophecies that Professor Marsh made to us around that
campfire has come true.
In December, 1870, I was sent as a witness to Fort D.A. Russell, near
the city of Cheyenne, where a court-martial was to be held. Before
leaving home my wife had given me a list of articles she needed for the
furnishing of our house. These I promised to purchase in Cheyenne.
On arriving at Fort Russell I found many officers, also witnesses at
the court-martial, and put in most of my time with them. A postponement
of a week gave us an opportunity to "do" Cheyenne. That town furnished
abundant opportunities for entertainment, as there was every kind of
game in operation, from roulette to horse-racing. I sent for my horse,
Tall Bull, and a big race was arranged between him and a Cheyenne
favorite called Green's Colt. But before Tall Bull could arrive the
court-martial was over and the race was off. I sold the animal to
Lieutenant Mason. I met many old friends in Cheyenne, among them R.S.
Van Tassell, Tim Dier, Major Talbot, Luke Morrin, Posey Wilson, and
many others. They constituted a pretty wild bunch, and kept me so busy
that I had no time to think about Mrs. Cody's furniture.
On my return, when she asked us for it, I told her I couldn't bring it
with me on the train, and that moreover there were no stores in
Cheyenne where I could get furniture that would be good enough for her,
so I had sent to Dewey & Stone at Omaha for what she needed.
I lost no time in getting over to the club, where I wrote to Dewey &
Stone for all the articles my wife required. In a week the furniture
arrived at Fort McPherson station. I got a couple of six-mule teams and
went after it quick. When it arrived at the house and was unpacked Mrs.
Cody was greatly delighted.
About this time General Emory was very much annoyed by petty offenses
in the vicinity of the Post by civilians over whom he had no
jurisdiction. There was no justice of the peace near the Post, and he
wanted some kind of an officer with authority to attend to these
troublesome persons. One day he told me that I would make an excellent
justice.
"You compliment me too highly, General," I replied. "I don't know any
more about law than a Government mule knows about bookkeeping." "That
doesn't make any difference," he said. "I know you will make a good
squire. You accompany Mr. Woodin and Mr. Snell to North Platte in my
private ambulance. They will go on your bond, and you will be appointed
a justice of the peace."
A number of officers from the Post went to North Platte for this
occasion. After I was duly sworn in, there was a celebration. I arrived
home at three o'clock in the morning, Mrs. Cody still being in
ignorance of my newly acquired honor. I was awakened by hearing her
arguing with a man at the door who was asking for the squire. She was
assuring him that no squire was on the premises.
"Doesn't Buffalo Bill live here?" asked the man.
"Yes," admitted Mrs. Cody, "but what has that got to do with it?"
By this time I had dressed, and I went to the door. I informed my wife,
to her amazement, that I was really a squire, and turned to the visitor
to learn his business.
He was a poor man, he said, on his way to Colorado. The night before a
large bunch of horses was being driven past his camp, and one of his
two animals was driven off with the herd. Mounting the other, he
followed and demanded the horse, but the boss of the herd refused to
give it up. He wanted a writ of replevin.
I asked Mrs. Cody if she could write a writ of replevin and she said
she had never heard of such a thing. I hadn't either.
I asked the man in, and Mrs. Cody got breakfast for us. He refused the
drink I set out for him. I felt that I needed a good deal of bracing in
this writ of replevin business, so I drank his as well as mine.
Then I buckled on my revolver, took down my old Lucretia rifle, and,
patting her gently, said: "You will have to be constable for me today."
To my wife and children, who were anxiously watching these proceedings,
I said:
"Don't be alarmed. I am a judge now, and I am going into action. Come
on, my friend," I said to the stranger, "get on your horse."
"Why," he protested, "you have no papers to serve on the man, and you
have no constable."
"Don't worry," I said. "I'll soon show you that I am the whole court."
I mounted Joe, and we galloped along about ten miles when we overtook
the herd of horses. I found the boss, riding a big gray horse ahead of
the herd. I ordered him to round up the herd.
"By what authority!" he demanded. "Are you a constable?"
I said I was not only a constable, but the whole court, and one of his
men at the same time whispered to him: "Be careful, that is Buffalo
Bill!" At this time, as well as for years past, I had been chief United
States detective for the army as well as scout and guide. I felt that
with the offices of justice and constable added to these titles I had
all the power necessary to take one horse.
The herd boss evidently thought so, too. After asking if my name were
Cody, and being told that it was, he said:
"Well, there is no need of having a fuss over one horse."
"No," said I, "a horse doesn't mean much to you, but it amounts to a
good deal to this poor immigrant."
"Well," said the herd boss, "how do you propose to settle it?"
"I am going to take you and your whole outfit to Fort McPherson. There
I am going to try you and give you the limit--six months and a
five-hundred-dollar fine."
"I can't afford to go back to the Fort," he pleaded, "let's settle it
right here. What will you take to call it off?"
"One hundred and fifty dollars," I said, "and quick!"
Reaching down into his pocket, he pulled out a wallet filled with bills
and counted out a hundred and fifty dollars. By this time the man who
had lost the horse had caught his animal in the herd. He was standing,
holding it, near by.
"Partner," I said to him, "take your horse and go back home."
"Now, boss," I said to the other man, "let me give you a little advice.
Be careful when a stranger gets into your herd and the owner overtakes
you and demands it. You may run into more trouble than I have given
you, for you ought to know by this time that horse-stealing is a
hanging offense."
He said: "I didn't care a blank about your being justice of the peace
and constable combined, but when I found out you were Buffalo Bill it
was time to lay down my hand."
"All right, old fellow," I said, "good-by."
As he rode off he called: "It was worth a hundred and fifty dollars
just to get a good look at you," and the other men agreed.
By the time I got back to the fort, guard-mount was over, and a number
of officers were in the club. When they learned how I had disposed of
my first case, they told the general, who was very much pleased.
"I want it noised about among the outside civilians how you handle your
court," he said. The story soon became known all over the surrounding
country. Even the ladies of the Post heard of it, and told my wife and
sisters, to whom I had never mentioned it. They looked upon it as a
great joke.