Ryus' Coach Is Surrounded by Indians, Their Animosities are Turned to
Friendliness, Through Ryus' Wit and Ingenuity--"Hail the Second William
Penn."
At one time in the year of 1864 when I arrived in Fort Larned on my way
from Kansas City, Missouri, to Santa Fe, New Mexico, there was a great
scare, and a commanding officer, Colonel Ford, told me that they
expected a raid on them most any time from Indians.
In July of that year the Cheyennes, Kiowas, Arapahoes and some Comanche
and Hickory Apaches were camped a mile north of Fort Larned. The
commanding officer of the fort told me he could only let me have about
thirty soldiers for an escort. I told him that if we should have trouble
with the Indians thirty soldiers would be just as good as a thousand,
and that I had rather take my chances with thirty soldiers than more.
We left Fort Larned a little before noon and arrived at Big Coon Creek,
twenty-two miles from Fort Larned, where we stopped for supper at about
four o'clock in the afternoon. A lieutenant of my escort in charge of
the soldiers put out a guard. While we were eating supper the guards
shot off their guns and came rushing into camp with news that a thousand
or more Indians were hidden along the banks of Coon Creek. The
lieutenant placed double guard and came out to me and gravely suggested
that we go back to Fort Larned and get more soldiers before attempting
to cross farther into the Great Divide.
I told the lieutenant to take his soldiers and go back to Fort Larned
and I would go on. He asked me why I did not go alone in the first
place. I told him that I needed him NOW, and he asked me how that was, I
told him that if he would take his soldiers and go back to Fort Larned
the Indians would follow him and let me alone. He said he would go with
me. We finished our dinner and I went to the soldiers' wagons and got
two big armfuls of bread, about sixty pounds of bacon and a large bucket
of coffee. I took them down to our camp, spread a newspaper upon the
ground, laid the bacon, bread and coffee on the spread, placed a handful
of matches near the bread, then went to our own mess and took several
cans of coffee and bread from it, left them one of our buckets and an
extra coffee pot that I carried with me, and got a large camp kettle
from the soldiers and left it for the Indians. Then I gathered a few
more buffalo chips and placed on the fire to keep it from going out, and
my plan was complete.
I told the lieutenant to take his soldiers and drive on over the hill
just out of sight and to stop there. I sent one of my coaches ahead and
all of my passengers got into that coach. I told my driver to go up to
the top of the hill and stop the mules there, but to keep in sight of
me. I had my coach driven up the road about 100 yards, and on looking up
the creek I saw one Indian in war paint and feathers looking around the
bluff at me. That was the only one of their band I could see, so I got
up on top of my coach and motioned for him to come to me.
[Illustration: "Billy of the Stage Coach," Treating with the Indians.]
Two Indians came up to within 100 feet of me, stopped and looked all
around. (Indians are very cautious that they do not get caught in a
trap). They rode up closer, looking intently at me all the time and
talking to each other. I motioned with both hands while I was standing
on top of the coach to come and I made them understand that I was
friendly. They answered by Indian signs, then gave a big yell,--an
Indian whoop--that liked to have froze the blood in the veins of the
passengers. They gave this whoop three times, and in an instant, it
seemed to me, five or six hundred Indians came down and formed in a line
about the coach on top of which I stood. I bowed to them and pointed to
the supper I had prepared for them. "They came, they saw, and were
conquered." They bowed to me in their Indian language and signs
expressing their gratitude for this hospitality. One old Indian came
forward, laid his bow and arrow and spears upon the ground (the Indian
sign of peace) and motioned for me to come and eat with them. I motioned
to them that I must go on, so they said good-bye. When I got to the top
of the hill I had my coach brought to a standstill. I slapped my hands
together and again motioned them good-bye. All at once these Indians
raised their hands and bade me good-bye, saluting me. These Indians were
fierce looking creatures in their war-paint and with their spears, which
they do not carry unless they expect trouble. That was the last time I
saw those Indians on that trip.
We had no other excitement on our way to Fort Lyons, unless the
encounter with the buffalo herds could be so called. A large herd of
buffalo were grazing on the plains and was not an unusual sight for the
drivers and me. However, when we came in sight of them one passenger
cried out, "Stop the coach, stop the coach; see, there are a thousand
buffalo standing belly deep in the lake." "Oh," I said, "you do not see
any water--that isn't a lake." "What?" one said, "do our eyes really
deceive us out here on these infernal plains? If it is not water and a
lake those buffalo are standing in, what in the name of sense is it?" I
told them that what they saw was nothing more than merely buffalo at a
distance on the plain; that what they saw that resembled water was
simply an optical illusion, called the "mirage." Webster describes the
word as follows: "An optical illusion arising from an unequal refraction
in the lower strata of the atmosphere and causing remote objects to be
seen double, as if reflected in a mirror, or to appear as if suspended
in the air. It is frequently seen in the deserts, presenting the
appearance of water. The Fata Morgana and Looming are species of
mirage." The mirage is one of the most beautiful scenes I ever beheld
and can only be seen on the plains or in deserts in its complete beauty.
It has to be seen to be appreciated. It makes a buffalo look like it had
two tails. Everything looks double.
We had not much sooner spied the buffalo than they spied us and they
started on the run across the road ahead of us. We were compelled to
wait a half an hour until they had crossed the road. We passed ox trains
every day or so going to and from New Mexico. In a few days we were in
Fort Lyon, where we separated from the passengers, and we drivers would
take the incoming coach and its passengers and drive back along the
Long Route.