Late that evening our wagon-train arrived. Mrs. Weichel, the wounded woman, had been carefully attended by the surgeons, and we placed her in the ambulance. Gathering up the prisoners, squaws, and papooses, we set out for the South Platte River, eight miles distant, where we went into camp.

Next morning, by order of General Carr, all the money found in the village was turned over to the adjutant. Above two thousand dollars was collected, and the entire amount was given to Mrs. Weichel.

The command now proceeded to Fort Sedgwick, from which point the particulars of our fight, which took place Sunday, July 11, 1869, was telegraphed to all parts of the country.

During our two weeks' stay at this Post, General Augur, of the Department of the Platte, made us a visit, and complimented the command highly on the gallant service it had performed. Tall Bull and his Indians had long been a terror to the border settlements. For their crushing defeat, and the killing of the chief, General Carr and the command were complimented in General Orders.

Mrs. Weichel was cared for in the Post hospital. After her recovery she married the hospital steward. Her former husband had been killed by the Indians. Our prisoners were sent to the Whetstone Agency, on the Missouri, where Spotted Tail and the friendly Sioux were then living. The captured horses and mules were distributed among the officers and soldiers.

Among the animals which I thus obtained were my Tall Bull horse and a pony which I called Powder Face. This animal figured afterward in the stories of "Ned Buntline," and became famous.

One day, while we were waiting at Fort McPherson, General Carr received a telegram announcing that the Indians had made a dash on the Union Pacific, killing several section men and running off stock of O'Fallen's Station. An expedition was going out of Fort McPherson to catch and punish the redskins if possible.

I was ordered by General Carr to accompany this expedition. That night I proceeded by rail to Fort McPherson Station, and from there rode horseback to the fort. Two companies, under command of Major Brown, had been ordered out. Next morning, as we were about to start, Major Brown said to me:

"By the way, Cody, we're going to have a character with us on this scout. It's old 'Ned Buntline,' the novelist."

At the same time I saw a stoutly built man near by who wore a blue military coat. On his breast were pinned perhaps twenty badges of secret societies and gold medals. He limped a little as he approached me, and I concluded that this must be the novelist.

"He has a good mark to shoot at on his left breast," I said to Brown, "but he looks like a soldier." I was introduced to him by his real name, which was Colonel E.Z.C. Judson.

"I was to deliver a temperance lecture tonight," said my new acquaintance, "but no lecture for me when there is a prospect of a fight. The major has offered me a horse, but I don't know how I shall stand the ride."

I assured him that he would soon feel at home in the saddle, and we set out. The command headed for the North Platte, which had been swollen by mountain rains. In crossing we had to swim our horses. Buntline was the first man across.

We reached O'Fallen's Station at eleven o'clock. In a short time I succeeded in finding an Indian trail. The party of Indians, which had come up from the south, seemed to be a small one. We followed the track of the Indians, to the North Platte, but they had a start of two days. Major Brown soon abandoned the pursuit, and returned to Fort Sedgwick. During this short scout, Buntline had plied me with questions. He was anxious to go out on the next scout with me.

By this time I had learned that my horse, Tall Bull, was a remarkably fast runner. Therefore, when Lieutenant Mason, who owned a racer, challenged me to a race, I immediately accepted. We were to run our horses a single dash of a half mile for five hundred dollars a side.

Several of the officers, as well as Rube Wood, the post-trader, offered to make side bets with me. I took them up until I had my last cent on Tall Bull.

I saw from the start that it would be easy to beat the lieutenant's horse, and kept Tall Bull in check, so that no one might know how fast he really was. I won easily, and pocketed a snug sum. Everybody was now talking horse race. Major Brown said that if Tall Bull could beat the Pawnees' fast horse, I could break his whole command.

The next day all the troops were paid off, including the Pawnees. For two or three days our Indian allies did nothing but run horses, as all the lately captured animals had to be tested to determine which was the swiftest. Finally the Pawnees offered to run their favorite against Tall Bull. They raised three hundred dollars to bet on their horse, and I covered the money. In addition I took numerous side bets. The race was a single dash of a mile. Tall Bull won without any trouble, and I was ahead on this race about seven hundred dollars.

I also got up a race for my pony, Powder Face, against a fast pony belonging to Major Lute North, of the Pawnee Scouts. I selected a small boy living at the Post for a jockey, Major North rode his own pony. The Pawnees, as usual, wanted to bet on their pony, but as I had not yet ascertained the running qualities of Powder Face I did not care to risk much on him. Had I known him as well as I did afterward I would have backed him with every cent I had. He proved to be one of the swiftest ponies I ever saw, and had evidently been kept as a racer.

The dash between the ponies was to be four hundred yards. When I led Powder Face over the course he seemed to understand what he was there for. North was on his pony; my boy was up. I had all I could do to hold the fiery little fellow back. He was so lively on his feet that I feared his young rider might not be able to stick on his back.

At last the order to start was given by the judges. I brought Powder Face up to the score, and the word "Go!" was given. So swiftly did he jump away that he left his rider sitting on the ground. Nevertheless he went through and won the race without a rider. It was an easy victory, and after that I could get no more races.

General Carr having obtained a leave of absence, Colonel Royal was given command of an expedition that was ordered to go out after the Indians. In a few days we set out for the Republican, where, we had learned, there were plenty of Indians.

At Frenchman's Fork we discovered a village, but did not surprise it, for the Indians had seen us approaching and were in retreat as we reached their camping-place.

We chased them down-stream and through the sandhills, but they made better time than we did, and the pursuit was abandoned.

While we were in the sandhills, scouting the Niobrara country, the Pawnee Indians brought into camp some very large bones, one of which the surgeon of the expedition pronounced to be the thigh bone of a human being. The Indians said the bones were those of a race of people who long ago had lived in that country. They said these people were three times the size of a man of the present day, that they were so swift and strong that they could run by the side of a buffalo, and, taking the animal in one arm, could tear off a leg and eat it as they ran.

These giants, said the Indians, denied the existence of a Great Spirit. When they heard the thunder or saw the lightning, they laughed and declared that they were greater than either. This so displeased the Great Spirit that he caused a deluge. The water rose higher and higher till it drove these proud giants from the low grounds to the hills and thence to the mountains. At last even the mountaintops were submerged and the mammoth men were drowned.

After the flood subsided, the Great Spirit came to the conclusion that he had made men too large and powerful. He therefore corrected his mistake by creating a race of the size and strength of the men of the present day. This is the reason, the Indians told us, that the man of modern times is small and not like the giants of old. The story has been handed down among the Pawnees for generations, but what is its origin no man can say.



CHAPTER VII

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 reenforcements 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.



CHAPTER VIII

Early in the month of September, 1874, word was received at Fort McPherson that General Sheridan and a party of friends were coming to the Post to have a grand hunt in the vicinity. They further proposed to explore the country from Fort McPherson to Fort Hays in Kansas. They arrived in a special car at North Platte, eighteen miles distant, on the morning of September 22.

In the party besides General Sheridan were James Gordon Bennett, of The New York Herald, Leonard Lawrence Jerome, Carroll Livingston, Major J.G. Heckscher, General Fitzhugh, General H.E. Davies, Captain M. Edward Rogers, Colonel J. Schuyler Crosby, Samuel Johnson, General Anson Stager, of the Western Union, Charles Wilson, editor of The Chicago Journal, Quartermaster-General Rucker, and Dr. Asch, of General Sheridan's staff.

They were met at the station by General Emory and Major Brown, with a cavalry company as escort and a sufficient number of vehicles to carry the distinguished visitors and their baggage.

At the Fort they found the garrison, under the command of General Carr, on parade awaiting their arrival.

A train of sixteen wagons was provided to carry the baggage supplies and forage for the hunting trip. Besides these there were three or four horse-ambulances in which the guns were carried, and in which members of the party might ride when they became weary of the saddle. I accompanied the expedition at the request of General Sheridan. He introduced me to everybody and gave me a good send-off. As it was a high-toned outfit I was to accompany, I determined to put on a little style myself. I dressed in a new suit of light buckskin, trimmed along the seams with fringe of the same material. I put on a crimson shirt, elaborately decorated on the bosom, and selected a big sombrero for my head. Then, mounting a showy horse which was a gallant stepper, I rode down to the fort, rifle in hand.

The expedition was soon under way. First in line rode General Sheridan, followed by his guests; then the orderlies. Then came the ambulances, in one of which were carried five greyhounds, brought along to course antelopes and rabbits.

With the ambulance marched a pair of Indian ponies belonging to Lieutenant Hayes, captured during an Indian fight. These were harnessed to a light wagon, which General Sheridan occasionally used. These little animals, thirteen hands high, showed more vigor and endurance than any we brought with us.

During our first night in camp the members of the party asked me hundreds of questions about buffaloes and buffalo hunting. The entire evening was spent in talk about buffaloes, together with stories of the Plains, the chase, and the war, which was then fresh in the minds of all of us. We closed the evening by christening the camp, Camp Brown, in honor of the gallant officer who was in command of the escort.

We breakfasted at four the next morning and at six we were in the saddle. Everyone was eager to see the buffaloes which I had promised would be met with during the day. After a march of five miles the advance guard which I commanded sighted six of these animals grazing about two miles away.

Acting upon my suggestion, Lawrence Jerome, Livingston, Heckscher, Fitzhugh, Rogers, and Crosby, with myself as guide, rode through a convenient canon to a point beyond the herd, and to windward of them; the rest of the party made a detour of nearly five miles, keeping behind the crest of a hill.

We charged down on the buffaloes at full gallop, and just then the other party emerged from their concealment and witnessed the exciting chase.

The buffaloes started away in a line, single file; Fitzhugh, after a lively gallop, led us all. Soon he came alongside the rear buffalo, at which he fired. The animal faltered, and with another shot Fitzhugh brought him to the ground. Crosby dashed past and leveled another of the herd, while Livingston dropped a third. Those who were not directly engaged in the hunt now came up and congratulated the buffalo killers. Fitzhugh was hailed as the winner of the Buffalo Cup. There was general sympathy for Heckscher, whose horse had fallen and rolled over him, thus putting him out of the race.

The hunt being over, the column moved forward through a prairie-dog town, several miles in extent. These animals are found throughout the Plains, living together in a sort of society. Their numberless burrows in their towns join each other and the greatest care is necessary in riding among them, since the ground is so undermined as easily to give way under the weight of a horse.

Around the entrance to each burrow earth is piled to the height of at least a foot. On these little elevations the prairie-dogs sit on their haunches, chattering to each other and observing whatever passes on the Plains.

They will permit a person to approach very closely, but when they have viewed him they dive into their holes with wonderful celerity. They are difficult to kill. If hit they usually succeed in getting underground before they can be recovered.

Rattlesnakes and little owls are found in great numbers in the prairie-dog towns, living in the same burrows. We killed and cooked a few of the prairie-dogs, and found them very palatable.

A short distance beyond the prairie-dog town we found a settlement of five white men. They Proved to be the two Clifford brothers, Arthur Ruff, Dick Seymour, and John Nelson. To the last I have already referred. Each of these men had a squaw for a wife and numerous half-breed children. They lived in tents of buffalo skins. They owned a herd of horses and a few cattle, and had cultivated a small piece of land. Their principal occupation was hunting, and they had numbers of buffalo hides, which they had tanned in the Indian fashion.

Upon reaching Pleasant Valley on Medicine Creek the party divided into two detachments, one hunting along the bank of the creek for elk and deer, the other remaining with the main body of the escort.

The elk hunters met with no success whatever, but the others found plenty of buffaloes and nearly everybody killed one before the day was done. Lawrence Jerome made an excellent shot. He was riding in an ambulance, and killed a buffalo that attempted to cross the line of march. Upon crossing the Republican River on the morning of the twenty-sixth we came upon an immense number of buffaloes scattered over the country in every direction. All had an opportunity to hunt. The wagons and troops moved slowly along toward the next camp while the hunters rode off in twos and threes. Each hunter was rewarded with abundant success.

Lawrence Jerome met with the only mishap. He was riding Buckskin Joe, which I had lent him, and, dismounting to get a steady shot, thoughtlessly let go of the bridle.

The horse decided to do a little hunting on his own account. When last seen that day he was ahead of the buffaloes, and gaining, while his late rider was left to his own reflections. Three days later Joe, saddled and bridled, turned up at Fort McPherson.

We pitched our camp for the night in a charming spot on the bank of Beaver Creek. The game was so abundant that we remained there the next day. This stopping-place was called Camp Cody, in honor of the reader's humble servant. The next day was spent in hunting jack-rabbits, coyotes, elk, antelope, and wild turkeys.

That we had a splendid dinner may be seen from the following

BILL OF FARE

Soup Buffalo Tail

Fish Broiled Cisco; Fried Dace

Entrees Salmi of Prairie Dog; Stewed Rabbit; Filet of Buffalo aux Champignons

Vegetables Sweet Potatoes, Mashed Potatoes, Green Peas

Dessert Tapioca Pudding

Wines Champagne Frappe, Champagne au Naturel, Claret, Whisky, Brandy, Ale

Coffee

I considered this a fairly good meal for a hunting party. Everybody did justice to it.

The excursionists reached Fort Hays on the morning of October second. There we pitched our tents for the last time. That same afternoon General Sheridan and his guests took the train for the East. They expressed themselves as highly pleased with the hunt, as well as with the way they had been guided and escorted.

General Davies afterward wrote the story of this hunt in a volume of sixty-eight pages, called "Ten Days on the Plains." In this chapter I have taken the liberty of condensing frequently from this volume, and in some cases have used the general's exact language. I ought to insert several lines of quotations marks, to be pretty generally distributed through the foregoing account.

After the departure of General Sheridan's party we returned to Fort McPherson, and found General Carr about to start on a twenty days' scout. His object was more to take some friends on a hunt than to look for Indians. His guests were a couple of Englishmen and Mr. McCarthy of New York, the latter a relative of General Emory. The command consisted of three companies of the Fifth Cavalry, one company of Pawnee Scouts, and twenty-five wagons. Of course I was called to accompany the expedition.

One day, after we had been out for some little time, I arranged with Major North to play a joke on Mr. McCarthy. I took him out on a hunt about eight miles from the camp, informing Major North about what time we should reach there. He had agreed that he would appear in the vicinity with his Indians, who were to throw their blankets around them and come dashing down upon us, firing and whooping in the true Indian style.

This program was faithfully carried out. I had been talking about Indians to McCarthy, and he had become considerably excited, when just as we turned a bend in the creek we saw a band of them not half a mile away. They instantly started after us on the gallop, yelling and shooting.

"McCarthy," said I, "shall we run or fight?"

He did not wait to reply. Wheeling his horse, he started at full speed down the creek. He lost his gun and dropped his hat, but never once did he look back to see if he were pursued. I tried to stop him by shouting that the Indians were Pawnees and our friends. He did not hear me, but kept straight on, never stopping his horse till he reached the camp.

I knew he would tell General Carr that the Indians had jumped him, and that the general would at once start out with troops. So as soon as the Pawnees rode up, I told them to remain there while I rode after my friend.

When I had reached camp, he had given the alarm, and the general had ordered out two companies of cavalry to go in pursuit of the Indians.

I told the general the Indians were only Pawnees, and that a joke had been put up on McCarthy. I neglected to tell him who had put up the joke. He was fond of a joke himself, and did not get very angry. I had picked up McCarthy's hat, which I returned to him. It was some time before it was discovered who was at the bottom of the affair.

It was while I was stationed at Fort McPherson, where Brevet-Major-General W.H. Emory was in command, that I acted as guide for Lord Flynn, an English nobleman who had come over for a hunt on the Plains. I had been recommended to him by General Sheridan.

Flynn had served in India with the British army. He was a fine sportsman and a splendid shot, and secured many heads and skins while he was with me. Money meant little to him. He insisted on paying all the bills, spending his money lavishly on both officers and men when he was at the Post.

Once, when we ran out of liquid refreshments while on the hunt, we rode thirty miles to a saloon, only to find it closed. Lord Flynn inquired the price of the place, found it to be $500 and bought it. When we left, after having had all we needed to drink, he gave it—house, bar, stock, and all—to George Dillard, who had come along with the party as a sort of official bartender.

Sir George Watts-Garland also made a hunt with us. He was an excellent hunter and a thorough gentleman, but he lacked the personality that made Lord Flynn one of the most popular visitors who ever came to the Post.

Early in January, 1872, General Forsythe and Dr. Asch, of General Sheridan's staff, came to Fort McPherson to make preparations for a grand buffalo hunt to be conducted for the Grand Duke Alexis. General Sheridan was desirous of giving the Russian nobleman the hunt of his life. He wanted everything ready when the Grand Duke arrived, so that he need lose no time at the Post.

By way of giving their distinguished guest a real taste of the Plains, the two officers asked me to visit the camp of the Sioux chief, Spotted Tail, and ask him to bring a hundred of his warriors to the spot on Red Willow Creek, which, at my suggestion, had been selected as the Grand Duke's camp.

Spotted Tail had permission from the Government to hunt buffalo, a privilege that could not be granted to Indians indiscriminately, as it involved the right to carry and use firearms. You couldn't always be sure just what kind of game an Indian might select when you gave him a rifle. It might be buffalo, or it might be a white man. But Spotted Tail was safe and sane. Hence the trust that was reposed in him.

Forsythe and Asch, after accompanying me to the site I had found for the camp, returned to the Post, while I set out to confer with Mr. Spotted Tail. The weather was very cold, and the journey was by no means a delightful one. I was obliged to camp out with only my saddle-blankets to protect me from the weather, and only my vigilance to protect me from the Indians. Spotted Tail himself was friendly, but some of his young men were decidedly hostile. My activities as a scout had made me many enemies among the Sioux, and it is not their nature easily to forget old grudges.

At the close of the first day I made camp on a tributary of Frenchman's Fork, and built a little fire. The night was bitter cold, and I was so busy keeping warm that I got very little sleep. The next afternoon I began to notice fresh horse tracks and the carcasses of recently killed buffaloes. I knew that I was nearing an Indian camp. It was not policy to ride boldly in among the Indians, as some of them might be inclined to shoot me first and discover later that I was a friend of Spotted Tail. So I hid my horse in a low ravine and crawled up a hill, from whose summit I obtained a good view of the country.

When night fell, I rode into camp unobserved. As I entered the camp I wrapped my blanket, Indian fashion, about my head, so that the redskins would not at once recognize me as a white man. Then I hunted about till I found Spotted Tail's lodge. The old chief was stretched lazily out on a pile of robes as I looked in. He knew who I was and invited me to enter.

In the lodge I found Todd Randall, an old white frontiersman, who was Spotted Tail's friend and agent, and who had lived a great many years with the Indians. Randall, who spoke the Sioux jargon perfectly, did the interpreting, and through him I readily communicated to the chief the object of my visit.

I said that the warriors and chiefs would greatly please General Sheridan if they would meet him in about ten sleeps at the old Government crossing at the Red Willow. I said that a great chief from far across the water was coming to visit them, and that he was especially anxious to meet the greatest of the Indian chiefs.

Spotted Tail replied that he would be very glad to go. He added that on the morrow he would call his men together and select from them those who were to accompany him. He told me I had acted very wisely in coming first to him, as it was known to him that some of his young men did not like me, and he knew that they had hasty tempers. He expressed himself as pleased that they had not met me outside the village, and I assured him that I was equally pleased that this was so.

The chief then called his squaw, who got me something to eat, and I passed the remainder of the night in his lodge. Having informed the old man that this was no ordinary occasion, and that he would be expected to do the job up right, I returned to the Post.

When the day set for the Grand Duke's arrival came there was a brave array at the station to meet him. Captain Hays and myself had five or six ambulances to carry his party, Captain Egan was on hand with a company of cavalry and twenty extra saddle-horses, and the whole population of the place was gathered to see the great man from Russia.

The train came in, and from it stepped General Sheridan. A fine figure of a man was towering above him. This was the visitor.

I was presented to the Grand Duke as Buffalo Bill, the man who would have charge of the hunt. I immediately ordered up the saddle-horse I had selected for the nobleman, also a fine horse for General Sheridan. Both men decided to ride for a few miles before they took seats in the ambulances.

When the whole party was mounted they started south, Texas Jack acting as guide until such time as I could overtake them. The Grand Duke was very much interested in the whole proceeding, particularly in the Indians. It was noticed that he cast frequent and admiring glances at a handsome red-skinned maiden who accompanied old Spotted Tail's daughter. When we made camp my titled guest plied me with questions about buffaloes and how to kill them. He wanted to know whether a gun or a pistol was the proper weapon and whether I would be sure to supply him with a horse that was trained in buffalo hunting.

I told him that I would give him Buckskin Joe, the best buffalo horse in the country, and that all he would need to do would be to mount the animal and fire away every time he saw a buffalo.

At nine o'clock in the morning we were all galloping over the prairies in search of big game. I waited till everyone was ready, and then led the party over a little knoll that hid the herd from view. In a few minutes we were among the buffaloes.

Alexis first chose to use his pistol. He sent six shots in rapid succession after one bull, at a distance of only twenty feet, but he fired wildly, and did no damage whatever. I rode up to his side, and, his pistol having been emptied, gave him mine. He seized it and fired six more shots, but not a buffalo fell.

I saw that he was pretty sure to come home empty-handed if he continued this sort of pistol practice. So I gave him my old "Lucretia" and told him to urge his horse close to the buffaloes, and not to shoot till I gave him the word. At the same time I gave Buckskin Joe a cut with my whip which sent him at a furious gallop to within ten feet of one of the biggest bulls in the herd.

"Now is your time," I shouted to Alexis. He fired, and down went the buffalo. Then, to my amazement, he dropped his gun, waved his hat in the air, and began talking to members of his suite in his native tongue, which I of course was totally unable to understand. Old Buckskin Joe was standing behind the horse that I was riding, apparently quite as much astonished as I was at this singular conduct of a man he had accepted in good faith as a buffalo hunter.

There was no more hunting for the Grand Duke just then. The pride of his achievement had paralyzed any further activity as a Nimrod in him. Presently General Sheridan came riding up, and the ambulances were gathered round. Soon corks were popping and champagne was flowing in honor of the Grand Duke Alexis and his first buffalo.

Many of the newspapers which printed accounts of the hunt said that I had shot the buffalo for the Grand Duke. Others asserted that I held the buffalo while the Grand Duke shot him. But the facts are just as I have related them.

It was evident to all of us that there could be little more sport for that day. At the request of General Sheridan I guided the Russians back to camp. Several of the others in the party decided to indulge in a little hunt on their own account, and presently we saw them galloping madly over the prairie in all directions, with terrified buffaloes flying before them.

As we were crossing a stream on our way back to camp we ran into a small band that had been frightened by some of these hunters. They came sweeping across our path, not more than thirty feet away, and as they passed Alexis raised his pistol and fired generally into the herd. A buffalo cow fell.

It was either an extraordinary shot or a "scratch," probably the latter. The Duke was as much astonished as any of us at the result, but we gave him three rousing cheers, and when the ambulance came up we had a second round of champagne in honor of the prowess of our distinguished fellow hunter. I began to hope that he would keep right on killing buffaloes all the afternoon, for it was apparent that every time he dropped an animal a basket of champagne was to be opened. And in those days on the Plains champagne was not a drink that could be indulged in very often.

I took care of the hides and heads of the buffaloes the Grand Duke had shot, as he wanted them all preserved as souvenirs of his hunt, which he was now enjoying immensely. I also cut the choice meat from the cow that he had killed and brought it into camp. At supper he had the pleasure of dining on buffalo meat which he himself had provided.

Eight buffaloes were killed by Alexis during the three days we remained in camp. He spent most of his time in the saddle, and soon became really accomplished. After he had satisfied himself as to his own ability as a buffalo killer he expressed a desire to see how the Indians hunted them. He had never seen bows and arrows used in the pursuit of game. Spotted Tail, who had joined the hunt according to his promise, picked out some of his best hunters, and when Alexis joined them directed them to surround a herd. They were armed with bows and arrows and lances.

I told the Grand Duke to follow one particularly skillful brave whose name was Two Lance, who had a reputation for being able to drive an arrow clear through the body of a bull. The Indian proved equal to his fame. He hauled alongside of an animal, and, bending his powerful bow, let fly an arrow, which passed directly through the bulky carcass of a galloping brute, who fell dead instantly. The arrow, at the Grand Duke's request, was given to him as a souvenir which he doubtless often exhibited as proof of his story when some of his European friends proved a little bit skeptical of his yarns of the Western Plains.

When the visitor had had enough of buffalo hunting, orders were given to return to the railroad. The conveyance provided for Alexis and General Sheridan was an old-fashioned Irish dogcart, drawn by four spirited cavalry horses. The driver was old Bill Reed, an overland-stage driver, and our wagon-master. The Grand Duke vastly admired the manner in which he handled the reins.

On the way over, General Sheridan told his guest that I too was a stage-driver, and Alexis expressed a desire to see me drive.

"Cody," called the general, "come back here and exchange places with Reed. The Grand Duke wants you to drive for a while."

In a few minutes I had the reins, and we were racing across the prairie. We jogged along steadily enough, despite a pretty rapid pace, and this did not suit General Sheridan at all.

"Shake 'em up a little, Bill," he told me as we were approaching Medicine Creek. "Show us some old-time stage-driving."

I gave the horses a sounding crack with the whip, and they jumped into their work with a real interest. The load was light and their pace increased with every second.

Soon they were fairly flying over the ground, and I had all I could do to maintain any control over them. At last we reached a steep hill, or divide, the further side of which sloped down to the creek. There was no brake on the wagon, and the four horses were not in the least inclined to hold back, appearing to be wholly unconcerned as to what might happen.

It was impossible to restrain them. My work was cut out for me in keeping them on the track. So I let them set their own pace down the hill. The wagon bounded and rebounded from the bumps in the road, and my two distinguished passengers had to keep very busy holding their seats.

However, when they saw that the horses were being kept in the road they assumed an appearance of enjoying themselves. I was unable to slacken the pace of the horses until they dashed into the camp where we were to obtain a relay. There I succeeded in checking them.



The Grand Duke and the general said they had got a lot of enjoyment out of the ride, but I noticed that thereafter they were perfectly willing to travel at an easier pace.

When we arrived at North Platte, the Grand Duke invited me into his car, and there, over a few bottles of champagne, we went over all the details of the hunt. He said the trip was one which he would never forget and professed himself as wholly unable to thank me for my part in it.

As I was leaving the car one of his suite approached me, and, extending a big roll of greenbacks, begged me to accept it as a slight token of the Grand Duke's appreciation of my services.

I told him I could take nothing for what I had done. He then handed me a small jewel box, which I slipped into my pocket without examining, and asked if I would not also accept the magnificent fur overcoat which Alexis had worn on the hunt.

I had frequently admired this coat, which was made of many fine Russian furs. I was glad to receive it as a remembrance from one of the most agreeable men I had ever guided on a hunting expedition.

After leaving us Alexis telegraphed to the most famous of New York jewelers and had made for me a wonderful set of sleeve-links and a scarf-pin, studded with diamonds and rubies, each piece in the form of a buffalo head, as large as a silver half-dollar.

Reporters who accompanied the expedition telegraphed the story of this order to their New York newspapers. When later I arrived in New York, after this present had been given me, some of the papers said that Buffalo Bill had come to New York to buy a shirt on which to wear the jewelry given him by the Grand Duke Alexis.

Shortly after this, General Ord, who had accompanied the hunting party, rode over with me to Fort McPherson. On the way he asked me how I would like to have a commission in the regular army. General Sheridan, he said, had suggested that I ought to have a commission, and the matter could be arranged if I desired it.

I thanked the general, and asked him to thank General Sheridan. But though a commission was a tempting prize, I preferred to remain in the position I was holding. He said that if at any time I felt that I wanted a commission, I only needed to ask for it, and it would be given to me.

All I looked forward to was the life of the Plains. It was enough for me to be in the saddle, trusting each day to find some new adventure. Army life would mean a great deal of routine, and routine was something I could not endure.

So, giving up forever any hope of wearing an officer's shoulder-straps, I was about to turn back to the prairies to see what new opportunities for excitement offered, when a strange new call came to me.

General J.J. Reynolds, who had just arrived at Fort McPherson with the Third Cavalry, called me into the office one day and told me that he had a letter, railroad tickets, and five hundred dollars for me. Furthermore he informed me that a thirty days' leave of absence was awaiting me whenever I wanted to take it.

All this was the doing of the "Millionaires' Hunting Party," headed by James Gordon Bennett and the Jeromes, which I had guided the year before.

I was, in short, invited to visit my former charges in New York, and provided by them with money and mileage, and leisure for the trip.



CHAPTER IX

Of course going to New York was a very serious business, and not to be undertaken lightly. The first thing I needed was clothes, and at my direction the Post tailor constructed what I thought was the handsomest suit in the world. Then I proceeded to buy a necktie, so that I could wear the present which had come in the little box from the Grand Duke—a handsome scarf-pin. The Grand Ducal overcoat and a new Stetson, added to the wardrobe I already possessed, completed my outfit. Almost everything I had was on my back, but just the same I borrowed a little trunk of my sister, so as to impress New York with the fact that I had as many clothes as any visitor from the West.

At the last minute I decided to take along my buckskin suit. Something told me that some of the people I had met in New York might want to know just how a scout looked in his business clothes. Mrs. Cody was much astonished because I did not ask for my brace of pistols, which had accompanied me everywhere I had gone up to that time.

She had great confidence in these weapons, which more than once had saved my life. She wanted to know what in the world I would do without them if I met any bad men in New York. I told her that I supposed there were policemen in New York whose business it was to take care of such people. Anyway, I was going to chance it.

On my arrival at Omaha I was met by a number of friends who had heard of my expected descent on New York. They drove me at once to the United States Court, where my old friend, Judge Dundee, was on the bench. The minute I entered the courtroom the judge rapped loudly with his gavel and said:

"This court is adjourned while Cody is in town." He joined the party, and we moved on to the Paxton Hotel, where a banquet was arranged in my honor.

I left for Chicago the next day. On arriving there, I was met at the depot by Colonel M.V. Sheridan, brother of General Philip Sheridan, my old friend and fellow townsman. "Mike" Sheridan, with his brother, the general, was living in a beautiful house on Michigan Avenue. There I met a number of the old officers with whom I had served on the Plains.

I was still wearing the wonderful overcoat that had been given me by the Grand Duke Alexis, and it was a source of continuous admiration among the officers, who pronounced it the most magnificent garment of its kind in America.

The splendor of the general's Michigan Avenue mansion was new to me; never before had I seen such vast rooms and such wonderful furnishings. It was necessary to show me how the gas was turned on and off, and how the water flowed in the bathroom. I moved around the place in a daze until "Mike," taking pity on me, escorted me to a barroom, where I was more at home. As we were partaking of a cocktail, a number of reporters from the Chicago papers came in. They had been told of my visit and plied me with questions. In the papers the next morning I found that I had had adventures that up to that time I had never heard of. The next evening I had my first adventure in high society, and it proved more terrifying to me than any Indian fight I had ever taken part in. Finding I had no proper raiment for a big ball, which was to be given in my honor, "Mike" Sheridan took me to the clothing department of Marshall Field's, where I was fitted with an evening suit.

The general's valet assisted me into these garments that evening. My long brown hair still flowed down over my shoulders and I was determined to go to the barber's and have it sheared before I made a public appearance, but General Sheridan would not hear of this. He insisted that I crown my long locks with a plug hat, but here I was adamant. I would go to the party in my Stetson or I would not go to the party at all.

The ball was held at the Riverside Hotel, which was then one of the fashionable hostelries of Chicago. When I was escorted in, I was told to give the colored boy my hat and coat—to this I violently objected. I prized the coat beyond all my earthly possessions and intended to take no chances with it. I was finally persuaded that the boy was a responsible employee of the hotel and reluctantly gave him the garment. Then I suffered myself to be led into the ballroom. Here I met a bevy of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. Fearing every minute that I would burst my new and tight evening clothes, I bowed to them all around—but very stiffly. To the general's request that I join in the next dance I entered a firm refusal. I knew no dances but square dances, so they got up an old-fashioned quadrille for me and I managed somehow to go through it. As soon as it was over, I hurriedly escorted my fair partner to her seat, then I quickly made my way to the barroom. The man behind the bar appreciated my plight. He stowed me away in a corner behind the icebox and in that corner I remained for the rest of the evening.

Several times the general and his friends came down to "moisten up," and each time I heard them wondering aloud what had become of me. When the music stopped and the party broke up I emerged from my hiding-place. The next morning I reported to the general and explained to him that I was going back to the sagebrush. If New York were like Chicago, I wanted to be excused. But he insisted that I continue my trip.

At eleven o'clock the next morning he thrust me into a Pullman car, which was in charge of Mr. Angel, an official of the Pullman Car Company, and was taking a private party to the East.

Two of my millionaire hunting companions, J.B. Heckscher and Colonel Schuyler Crosby, met me at the station and drove me to the Union Club. That night I was told to put on my evening clothes and accompany them to a theater. Heckscher was very much disturbed when he saw the Chicago clawhammer that had been purchased for me.

"It will do for tonight," he said, "but tomorrow I'll send you to my tailor and have him make you some clothes fit for a gentleman to wear."

We saw Edwin Booth in a Shakespearean play. I was told that all my wealthy hunting friends would join me at breakfast the next morning. I was up at seven o'clock and waiting for them. The hours dragged slowly by and no guests arrived. I was nearly famished, but did not dare eat until the company should be assembled. About eleven o'clock, when I was practically starved, Mr. Heckscher turned up. I asked him what time they usually had breakfast in New York and he said about half-past twelve or any time therafter up to three.

At one, the gentlemen all made their appearance and were somewhat astonished at the amount of breakfast I stowed away, until they were told that I had been fasting since seven o'clock that morning.

During my visit to New York, I was taken by Mr. James Gordon Bennett to Niblo's Garden, where I saw "The Black Crook." We witnessed the performance from a private box and my breath was fairly taken away when the curtain went up on the fifth act. Needless to say, that was the first time I had ever witnessed a musical show and I thought it the most wonderful spectacle I had ever gazed upon.

The remainder of my visit in New York was spent in a series of dinners and theater parties. I was entertained in the house of each gentleman who had been with me on the hunt. I had the time of my life.

After I had had about all the high life I could stand for the time being I set out for Westchester, Pa., to find the only relative I knew in the East. My mother was born in Germantown. Her sister had married one Henry R. Guss, of Westchester.

I found on reaching Westchester that my relative was one of its most important citizens, having the Civil War title of general. I found his home with no trouble, and he was very delighted to see me. An old lady, who was a member of his household, he introduced to me as my grandmother. His first wife, my Aunt Eliza, was dead, and he had married a second time. He also introduced me to his son, Captain George Guss, who had been in the army with him during the Civil War.

It was not until we had talked of old family connections for an hour or more that they discovered that I was Buffalo Bill; then they simply flooded me with questions.

To make sure that I would return for a second visit, the young people of the family accompanied me back to New York. I was due for a dinner that evening, so I gave them a card to Mr. Palmer, of Niblo's Garden, and they all went to see "The Black Crook."

When I reached the club I was given a telegram from General Sheridan telling me to hasten to Chicago. He wanted me to hurry on to Fort McPherson and guide the Third Cavalry, under General Reynolds, on a military expedition. The Indians had been committing serious devastations and it was necessary to suppress them summarily. At the dinner, which was given by Mr. Bennett, I told my New York friends that I would have to leave for the West the next day. When the party broke up I went directly to the Albemarle Hotel and told my cousins that we would have to start early the next morning for Westchester. There I would remain twenty-four hours.

When we reached Westchester, my uncle informed me that they had arranged a fox hunt for the next morning, and that all the people in the town and vicinity would be present. They wanted to see a real scout and plainsman in the saddle.

Early next morning many ladies and gentlemen, splendidly mounted, appeared in front of my uncle's residence. At that time Westchester possessed the best pack of fox hounds in America. Captain Trainer, master of the hounds, provided me with a spirited horse which had on a little sheepskin saddle of a kind on which I had never ridden. I was familiar neither with the horse, the saddle, the hounds, nor fox-hunting, and was extremely nervous. I would have backed out if I could, but I couldn't, so I mounted the horse and we all started on the chase.

We galloped easily along for perhaps a mile and I was beginning to think fox-hunting a very tame sport indeed when suddenly the hounds started off on a trail, all barking at once. The master of the hounds and several of the other riders struck off across country on the trail, taking fences and stone walls at full gallop.

I noticed that my uncle and several elderly gentlemen stuck to the road and kept at a more moderate gait. The eyes of the spectators were all on me. I don't know what they expected me to do, but at any rate they were disappointed. To their manifest disgust I stayed with the people on the road.

Shortly we came to a tavern and I went in and nerved myself with a stiff drink, also I had a bottle filled with liquid courage, which I took along with me. Just by way of making a second fiasco impossible I took three more drinks while I was in the bar, then I galloped away and soon overtook the hunters.

The first trail of the hounds had proved false. Two miles further on they struck a true trail and away they went at full cry. I had now got used to the saddle and the gait of my horse. I also had prepared myself in the tavern for any course of action that might offer.

The M.F.H. began taking stone walls and hedges and I took every one that he did. Across the country we went and nothing stopped or daunted me until the quarry was brought to earth. I was in at the death and was given the honor of keeping the brush.

At two o'clock that afternoon I took my departure for the West. Mr. Frank Thompson, of the Pennsylvania Railroad, who had ridden my famous buffalo horse, Buckskin Joe, on the great hunt, sent me to Chicago in his own private car.

At the station in Chicago I was met with orders from General Sheridan to continue straight ahead to Fort McPherson as quickly as possible. The expedition was waiting for me.

At Omaha a party of my friends took me off the train and entertained me until the departure of the next train. They had heard of my evening clothes and insisted on my arraying myself therein for their benefit. My trunk was taken to the Paxton Hotel and I put on the clawhammer and all that went with it. About fifty of my Omaha friends accompanied me to the train; in my silk hat and evening dress I was an imposing spectacle. But I expected to change into my Plains clothes as soon as I got into the car. However, these plans were sadly upset. Both my friends and I had forgotten my trunk, which in the hour of my greatest need was still reposing in a room in the Paxton Hotel, while in clothes fit only for a banquet I was speeding over the Plains to a possible Indian fight.

At Fort McPherson, my old friend, "Buffalo Chips," was waiting for me. He had been left behind by General Reynolds to tell me to overtake the command as soon as possible. He had brought out old Buckskin Joe for me to ride.

The expedition was already well on its way north into the Loup country and had camped at Pawnee Springs, about eight miles from McPherson Station, the night before.

Poor old Buffalo Chips almost fell dead when he saw how I was dressed. The hat especially filled him with amazement and rage, but there was nothing else to do. I had to go as I was or go not at all.

The champagne with which my Omaha friends had filled my stateroom I gave to the boys at the station. I did not have to urge them to accept it. They laughed a good deal at my stovepipe hat and evening dress, but because of the champagne they let me off without as much guying as I would otherwise have received.

Jumping on our horses, we struck out on the trail of the soldiers. It was about one o'clock when we overtook them. As we neared the rear guard, I pulled off my overcoat and strapped it behind my saddle. I also put my hair up under my stovepipe hat and galloped past the command, to all appearances fresh from a New York ballroom.

"Look at the dude! Look at the dude!" they shouted as I rode among them. Paying no attention to them, I galloped up and overtook General Reynolds. Saluting him, I said:

"General, I have come to report for duty."

"Who in thunder are you?" he demanded, looking at me without a sign of recognition in his eye.

"Why, general," I said, "I am to be your guide on this expedition."

He looked at me a second time, and a grin spread over his face.

"Can it be possible that you are Cody?" he asked. I told him that I was Cody.

"Let down your hair," he commanded. I took off my hat, and my hair fell over my shoulders. A loud yell went up from both officers and enlisted men, as the word went up and down the line that the dude they had been bedeviling was none other than Buffalo Bill.

Texas Jack and the scouts who were ahead had heard the noise and came galloping back.

"Welcome back, old chief!" shouted Jack, and the scouts gathered around me, shaking my hand and congratulating me on my safe return from the dangers and the perils of the East.

The general asked me how far it was to the Loup Fork. I said it was about eight miles and offered to proceed there ahead of the command and select a good sheltered camp. This I did. The adjutant accompanying the detachment helped me and laid out the camping spot, and when the command pulled in they disposed themselves for the night in a beautiful grove of timber where there was plenty of firewood and good grass for the horses and mules. Soon the tents were up and big fires were crackling all around.

I accepted with thanks General Reynolds's invitation to mess with him on the trip. After dinner, before a big log fire, which was being built in front of the general's tent, the officers came up to meet me. Among those to whom I was introduced were Colonel Anthony Mills, Major Curtiss, Major Alexander Moore, Captain Jerry Russell, Lieutenant Charles Thompson, Quartermaster Lieutenant Johnson, Adjutant Captain Minehold, and Lieutenant Lawson. After this reception, I went down to visit the scouts in camp. There the boys dug me up all kinds of clothes, and clothes of the Western kind I very sadly needed.

White had brought along an old buckskin suit. When I had got this on and an old Stetson on my head, and had my favorite pair of guns strapped to me and my dear old "Lucretia Borgia" was within reach, I felt that Buffalo Bill was himself again.

The general informed me that evening that Indians had been reported on the Dismal River. At breakfast the next morning he said that a large war party had been committing devastations up and down the flat. His scouts had discovered their trail going north and had informed him that they would probably make camp on the Dismal. There they were sure to be joined by other Indians. He asked my opinion as to what had best be done.

I told him it was about twenty-five miles from the present tent to the Dismal River. I said I had better go on, taking White with me, and try to locate them.

"I've heard of this man White," said the general. "They tell me that he is your shadow and he follows you every place you go." I said that this was true and that I had all I could do to keep him from following me to New York. "It would break his heart," I said, "if I were to leave him behind now." I added that Texas Jack knew the country thoroughly and that he could guide the command to a point on the Dismal River where I could meet them that night. The general said:

"I have been fighting the Apaches in Arizona, but I find these Sioux are an entirely different crowd. I know little about them and I will follow your suggestions. You start now and I will have the command following you in an hour and a half."

I told White to get our horses at once and also to tell Texas Jack to report to me. When the latter reported I told him the general wanted him to guide the command to the course of the Dismal. When he got there, if he didn't hear from me in the meantime, he was to select a good camp.

White and I set out, riding carefully and looking for the trail. We had traveled about ten miles when I found it. The Indians were headed toward the Dismal. Presently another trail joined the first one, and then we had to begin extremely careful scouting.

I didn't follow the Indian trail, but bordered the left and struck the river about five miles above the Fork. There we turned down-stream. Soon on the opposite side we saw a party of Indians surrounding a herd of elk. I didn't approach them closely, neither did I follow down the stream any further. We kept parallel with the course of the river, and soon stopped at the foot of a high sandhill. From here I knew I could get a view of the whole country.

I told White to remain there until I came back, and, jumping off old Joe, I cautiously climbed the hill.

From behind a big soapweed—a plant sometimes called Spanish Dagger—I got a view of the Dismal River, for several miles. I immediately discovered smoke arising from a bunch of timber about three miles below me. Grazing around the timber were several hundred head of horses. Here I knew the Indian camp to be located.

I slipped down the hill, and, running to old Joe, mounted, telling White at the same time that I had located the camp. Then we began circling the sandhill until we got two or three miles away, keeping out of sight of the Indians all the time. When we felt we were safe we made a straight sweep to meet the command. I found the scouts first and told Texas Jack to hold up the soldiers, keeping them out of sight until he heard from me.

I went on until I met General Reynolds at the head of the column. He baited the troop on my approach; taking him to one side, I told him what I had discovered. He said:

"As you know the country and the location of the Indian camp, tell me how you would proceed."

I suggested that he leave one company as an escort for the wagon-train and let them follow slowly. I would leave one guide to show them the way. Then I would take the rest of the cavalry and push on as rapidly as possible to within a few miles of the camp. That done, I would divide the command, sending one portion across the river to the right, five miles below the Indians, and another one to bear left toward the village. Still another detachment was to be kept in readiness to move straight for the camp. This, however, was not to be done until the flanking column had time to get around and across the river.

It was then two o'clock. By four o'clock the flanking columns would be in their proper positions to move on and the charge could begin. I said I would go with the right-hand column and send Texas Jack with the left-hand column. I would leave White with the main detachment. I impressed on the general the necessity of keeping in the ravine of the sandhills so as to be out of sight of the Indians.

I said that, notwithstanding all the caution that we could take, we were likely to run into a party of hunters, who would immediately inform the camp of our presence. In case of discovery, I said, it would be necessary to make our charge at once.

General Reynolds called his officers together and gave them my suggestions as their instructions. In a very few minutes everything was moving. I accompanied Colonel Mills. His column had crossed the Dismal and was about two miles to the north of it when I saw a party of Indians chasing elk.

I knew that sooner or later—probably sooner—these Indians would see me. I told Colonel Mills he had better send the scout back to General Reynolds and make all haste to charge the village. We had no way of sending word to Major Curtiss, who led the other flanking column, and we had to trust to luck that he would hear the firing when it started.

Colonel Mills kept his troops on the lowest ground I could pick out, but we made our way steadily toward the village.

Inside of half an hour we heard firing up the river from where we were. Colonel Mills at once ordered his troops to charge. Luckily it collided with the Indians' herd of horses, which were surrounded, thus depriving most of the braves of their mounts.

Men were left to guard the animals, and, taking the rest of the company, we charged the village, reaching it a little after the arrival of General Reynolds. The attack was not as much a surprise as we had hoped for. Some of the Indian hunters had spied the soldiers and notified the camp, but General Reynolds, coming from the south, had driven all the Indians on foot and all the squaws and children toward the sandhills on the north. Mills came pretty near finding more Indians than he was looking for. Their force largely outnumbered ours when we collided, but Major Curtiss came charging down from the north just at this instant. His arrival was such a complete surprise that the Indians gave up and began waving the white flag. Then all firing ceased.

On rounding them up we found that we had captured about two hundred and fifty warriors, women, and children, most of whom were from the Spotted Tail Agency.

The general had the Indians instantly disarmed. Most of their tepees were up and they were ordered to go into them and remain there. We placed a sufficient guard around the whole camp so that none could escape. On the arrival of the wagon-train, for which a scout had been sent, the command went into camp.

Taking me aside, General Reynolds said:

"I want you to send one of your fastest men back to Fort McPherson. I am sending dispatches to General Ord, asking for instructions."

I selected White to make this trip, and he was ready for duty in five minutes.

We were then sixty-five miles from Fort McPherson Station. I told White that the matter was urgent and that he must get to that telegraph office as soon as possible. At ten o'clock the next morning he rode into our camp with a telegram to General Reynolds. The general was ordered to disarm all the Indians and send them under guard of a company of cavalry to the Spotted Tail Agency.

General Reynolds was very much delighted with the success of the expedition. On his arrival at the Fort he received congratulations from General Ord and from General Sheridan. General Sheridan asked in his telegram if Cody had gone along. The general wired back that Cody had gone along and also wrote a letter telling General Sheridan how he had reported in evening dress.

Of course the papers were soon full of this raid. Al Sorenson of the Omaha Bee, who had seen my evening clothes and silk hat in Omaha, wrote an extremely graphic story of my arrival on the Plains. I soon found that the officers and men in the Third Cavalry knew all about the incident.

During the spring of '72, the Indians were rather quiet. We did a little scouting, however, just to keep watch on them. One day, in the fall of that year, I returned from a scouting expedition, and as I passed the store there were a lot of men crowded in front of it. All of them saluted me with "How do you do, Honorable!" I rode straight to the general's private office. He also stood at attention and said:

"Good morning, Honorable."

"What does all this 'Honorable' mean, General?" I demanded. He said: "Of course, you have been off on a scout and you have not heard, but while you were gone you were nominated and elected to represent the twenty-sixth district of Nebraska in the Legislature." I said:

"That is highly complimentary, and I appreciate it, but I am no politician and I shall have to tender my resignation," and tender it I did.

My refusal to serve as a lawmaker was unqualified. I knew nothing about politics. I believe that I made a fairly good justice of the peace, but that was because of no familiarity with the written law. I merely applied the principles of fair-dealing to my cases and did as I would have been done by. The Golden Rule was the only statute I applied.

I inquired how to free myself formally from the new honors that had been thrust upon me, and soon another man was serving in my stead—and quite welcome he was to the pay and credit that might have been mine.

I returned back to the Plains for employment, but there was nothing to do. The Indians, for a wonder, were quiet. There was little stirring in the military posts. I could have continued to serve in one of them if I had chosen, and the way was still open to study for a commission as an officer. But army life without excitement was not interesting for me, and when Ned Buntline offered me a chance to come East and try my fortunes as an actor I accepted.

I accepted with misgivings, naturally. Hunting Indians across a stage differed from following them across the Plains. I knew the wild western Indian and his ways. I was totally unacquainted with the tame stage Indian, and the thought of a great gaping audience looking at me across the footlights made me shudder.

But when my old "pards," Wild Bill and Texas Jack, consented to try their luck with me in the new enterprise I felt better. Together we made the trip to New York, and played for a time in the hodgepodge drama written for us by Ned Buntline himself.

Before any of us would consent to be roped and tied by Thespis we insisted on a proviso that we be freed whenever duty called us to the Plains.

The first season was fairly prosperous, and so was the second. The third year I organized a "show" of my own, with real Indians in it—the first, I believe, who ever performed on a stage. I made money and began to get accustomed to the new life, but in 1876 the call for which I had been listening came.

The Sioux War was just breaking out. I closed the show earlier than usual and returned to the West. Colonel Mills had written me several times to say that General Crook wanted me to accompany his command. When I left Chicago I had expected to catch up with Crook at the Powder River, but I learned en route that my old command, the gallant Fifth Cavalry, was on its way from Arizona to join him, and that General Carr, my former commander, was at its head.

Carr wanted me as his guide and chief of scouts, and had written to army headquarters in Chicago to learn where I could be reached.

As soon as this news came to me I gave up the idea of overtaking Crook. I hastened to Cheyenne, where the Fifth Cavalry had already arrived, and was met at the depot there by Lieutenant Charles King, adjutant of the regiment, who had been sent by General Carr from Fort D.A. Russell. In later years, as General Charles King, this officer became a widely popular author, and wrote some of the best novels and stories of Indian life that I have ever read.

As I accompanied the lieutenant back to the fort, we passed soldiers who recognized me and shouted greetings. When we entered the Post a great shout of "Here's Buffalo Bill!" arose from the men on the parade ground. It was like old times, and I felt a thrill of happiness to be back among my friends, and bound for one of the regular old-time campaigns. The following morning the command pulled out for Fort Laramie. We found General Sheridan there ahead of us, and mighty glad was I to see that brave and able commander once more. Sheridan was accompanied by General Frye and General Forsythe, and all were en route for the Red Cloud Agency, near the center of the Sioux trouble, which was then reaching really alarming proportions. The command was to remain at Laramie for a few days; so, at General Sheridan's request, I accompanied him on his journey. We were able to accomplish little in the way of peace overtures.

The Indians had lately committed many serious depredations along the Black Hills trail. Gold had been discovered there in many new places, and the miners, many of them tenderfoots, and unused to the ways of the red man, had come into frequent conflict with their new neighbors. Massacres, some of them very flagrant, had resulted and most of the treaties our Government had made with the Indians had been ruthlessly broken.

On my return from the agency, the Fifth Cavalry was sent out to scout the country between there and the Black Hills. We operated along the south fork of the Cheyenne and about the foot of the Black Hills for two weeks, and had several small engagements with roving bands of Indians during that time.

All these bands were ugly and belligerent, and it was plain from the spirit they showed that there had been a general understanding among all the redskins thereabout that the time had come to drive the white man from the country.

Brevet-General Wesley Merritt, who had lately received his promotion to the colonelcy of the Fifth Cavalry, now took command of the regiment. I regretted that the command had been taken from General Carr. I was fond of him personally, and it was under him that the regiment made its fine reputation as a fighting organization. I soon became well acquainted with General Merritt, however, and found him to be a brave man and an excellent officer.

The regiment did continuous and hard scouting. We soon believed we had driven all the hostile Indians out of that part of the country. In fact, we were starting back to Fort Laramie, regarding the business at hand as finished, when a scout arrived at our camp and reported the massacre of General Custer and his whole force on the Little Big Horn.

This massacre occurred June 25, 1876, and its details are known, or ought to be known, by every schoolboy. Custer was a brave, dashing, headlong soldier, whose only fault was recklessness.

He had been warned many times never to expose a small command to a superior force of Indians, and never to underestimate the ability and generalship of the Sioux. He had unbounded confidence, however, in himself and his men, and I believe that not until he was struck down did he ever doubt that he would be able to cut his way out of the wall of warriors about him and turn defeat into a glorious and conspicuous victory.

The news of the massacre, which was the most terrible that ever overtook a command of our soldiers, was a profound shock to all of us. We knew at once that we would all have work to do, and settled grimly into the preparations for it.

Colonel Stanton, who was with the Fifth Cavalry on this scout, had been sent to the Red Cloud Agency two days before. That night a message came from him that eight hundred warriors had left the agency to join Sitting Bull on the Little Big Horn. Notwithstanding instructions to proceed immediately by way of Fort Fetterman to join Crook, General Merritt took the responsibility of endeavoring to intercept the Cheyennes and thereby performed a very important service.

For this job the general selected five hundred men and horses. In two hours we were making a forced march back to War Bonnet Creek. Our intention was to reach the Indian trail running to the north across this watercourse before the Cheyennes could get there. We arrived the next night.