 Introductory to the Life of Honourable William F. Cody, known as Buffalo Bill, the famous hunter, scout, and guide. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Barry Eads. The Life of Honourable William F. Cody by William F. Cody. Introductory. The Life and Adventures of Honourable William F. Cody, Buffalo Bill, as told by himself, make up a narrative which reads more like romance than reality, and which in many respects will prove a valuable contribution to the records of our Western frontier history. While no literary excellence is claimed for the narrative, it has the greater merit of being truthful, and is verified in such a manner that no one can doubt its veracity. The frequent reference to such military men as General Sheridan, Carr, Merritt, Crook, Terry, Colonel Royal, and other officers under whom Mr. Cody served as scout and guide at different times and in various sections of the frontier during the numerous Indian campaigns of the last 10 or 12 years affords ample proof of his genuineness as a thoroughbred scout. There is no humbug or braggadocio about Buffalo Bill. He is known far and wide, and his reputation has been earned honestly and by hard work. By a combination of circumstances, he was educated to the life of a Plainsman from his youth up. And not the least interesting portion of his career is that of his early life, past as it was in Kansas during the eventful and troublesome times connected with the settlement of that state. Spending much time in the saddle, while a mere boy he crossed the plains many times in company with bull trains. On some of these trips he met with thrilling adventures and had several hair breath escapes from death at the hands of Indians. Then for a while he was dashing over the plains as a pony express rider. Soon afterwards, mounted on the high seat of an overland stagecoach, he was driving a six in hand team. We next hear of him cracking the bullwackers whip and commanding a wagon train through a wild and dangerous country to the far west. During the civil war he enlisted as a private and became a scout with the Union Army. Since the war he has been employed as hunter, trapper, guide, scout, and actor. As a buffalo hunter he has no superior. As a trailer of Indians he has no equal. For many years he has taken an active part in all the principal Indian campaigns on the western frontier, and as a scout and guide he has rendered in estimable services to the various expeditions which he accompanied. During his life on the plains he not only had many exciting adventures himself, but he became associated with many of the other noted plainsmen, and in his narrative he frequently refers to them and relates many interesting incidents and thrilling events connected with them. He has had a fertile field from which to produce this volume, and has frequently found it necessary to condense the facts in order to embody the most interesting events of his life. The following from a letter written by General E. A. Carr of the Fifth Calvary, now commanding Fort McPherson, speaks for itself. I first met Mr. Cody October 22, 1868 at Buffalo Station on the Kansas Pacific Railroad in Kansas. He was scout and guide for the seven companies of the Fifth Calvary, then under Colonel Royal, and of which I was ordered to take the command. From his services with my command steadily in the field for nine months, from October 1868 to July 1869, and at subsequent times I am qualified to bear testimony to his qualities and character. He was very modest and unassuming. I did not know for a long time how good a title he had to the Appalachian Buffalo Bill. I am apt to discount the claims of scouts as they will occasionally exaggerate, and when I found one who said nothing about himself, I did not think much of him, till I had proved him. He is a natural gentleman in his manners as well as in character, and has none of the roughness of the typical frontiersmen. He can take his own part when required, but I have never heard of his using a knife or a pistol or engage it in a quarrel where it could be avoided. His personal strength and activity are such that he can hardly meet a man when he cannot handle, and his temper and disposition are so good that no one has reason to quarrel with him. His ice height is better than a good field glass. He is the best trailer I ever heard of, and also the best judge of the lay of country. That is, he is able to tell what kind of country is ahead so as to know how to act. He is a perfect judge of distance, and always ready to tell correctly how many miles it is to water, or to any place, or how many miles have been marched. Mr. Cody seemed never to tire and was always ready to go, and the darkest night or the worst weather and usually volunteered, knowing what the emergency required. His trailing when following Indians or looking for stray animals or game is simply wonderful. He is a most extraordinary hunter. I could not believe that a man could be certain to shoot animal running till I had seen him do it so often. In a fight, Mr. Cody is never noisy, obstreperous, or excited. In fact, I never hardly noticed him in a fight, unless I happened to want him, or he had something to report. When he was always in the right place, and his information was always valuable and reliable. During the winter of 1868, we encountered hardships and exposure in terrific snowstorms, sleet, etc., etc. On one occasion, that winter, Mr. Cody showed his quality by quietly offering to go with some dispatches to General Sheridan across the dangerous region where another principal scout was reluctant to risk himself. On the 13th of May, 1869, he was in the fight at Elephant Rock, Kansas, and trailed the Indians till the 16th, when we got another fight out of them on Spring Creek in Nebraska and scattered them after following them 150 miles in three days. It was at Spring Creek where Cody was ahead of the command about three miles, with the advance guard of forty men, when two hundred Indians suddenly surrounded them. Our men dismounted and formed in a circle, holding their horses, firing and slowly retreating. They all to this day speak of Cody's coolness and bravery. This was the Dog Soldier Band, which captured Mrs. Alderdice and Mrs. Wetzel in Kansas. They strangled Mrs. Alderdice's baby, killed Mrs. Wetzel's husband, and took a great deal of property and stock from different persons. We got on their trail again, June 28th, and followed it nearly two hundred miles till we struck the Indians on Sunday, July 11th, 1869, at Summit Spring. The Indians, as soon as they saw us coming, killed Mrs. Alderdice with a hatchet, and shot Mrs. Wetzel, but fortunately not fatally, and she was saved. Mr. Cody has since served with me as post-guide and scout at Fort McPherson, where he frequently distinguished himself. In the summer of 1876, Cody went with me to the Black Hills region, where he killed Yellowhand. Afterwards, he was with the Bighorn and Yellowstone expedition. I consider that his services to the country and the army by trailing, finding, and fighting Indians, and thus protecting the frontier settlers, and by guiding commands over the best and most practicable routes, have been far beyond the compensation he has received. His friends of the Fifth Calvary are all glad that he is in a lucrative business and hope that he may live long and prosper. Personally, I feel under obligations to him for assistance in my campaigns, which no other man could, or would, have rendered. Of course, I wish him and his every success. EA Carr, Lieutenant Colonel, Fifth Calvary, Brevet Major General U.S. Army, Fort McPherson, Nebraska, July 3, 1878. Buffalo Bill is now an actor, and his meeting with success. He owns a large and valuable farm adjoining the town of North Platte, Nebraska, and there his family live in ease and comfort. He has also an extensive cattle ranch on the Dismal River, 65 miles north of North Platte, his partner being Major Frank North, the old commander of the celebrated Pawnee Scouts. While many events of his career are known to the public, yet the reader will find in this narrative much that will be entirely new and intensely interesting to both young and old. The Publisher End of Introduction Chapter 1 of the Life of Honorable William F. Cody This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Barry Eads. The Life of Honorable William F. Cody by William F. Cody. Chapter 1. Childhood My debut upon the world stage occurred on February 26, 1845. The scene of this first important event in my adventurous career being in Scott County and State of Iowa. My parents, Isaac and Mary Ann Cody, who were numbered among the pioneers of Iowa, gave to me the name of William Frederick. I was the fourth child in the family. Martha and Julia, my sisters, and Samuel, my brother, had preceded me, and the children who came after me were Eliza, Nellie, Mary, and Charles, born in the order named. At the time of my birth, the family resided on a farm which they called Nepsindake Place, an Indian name, and here the first six or seven years of my childhood were spent. When I was about seven years old, my father moved the family to the little town of Leclerc, located on the bank on the Mississippi, fifteen miles above the city of Davenport. Even at that early age, my adventurous spirit led me into all sorts of mischief and danger, and when I looked back upon my childhood's days I often wondered that I did not get drowned while swimming, or sailing, or my neck broken while I was stealing apples in the neighboring orchards. I well remember one day that I went sailing with two other boys, and in a few minutes we found ourselves in the middle of the Mississippi, becoming frightened at the situation we lost our presence of mind as well as our oars. We had once set up a course of pitiful yells when a man, who fortunately heard us, came to our rescue with a canoe and told us ashore. We had stolen the boat, and our trouble did not end until we had each received a merited whipping, which impressed the incident vividly upon my mind. I recollect several occasions when I was nearly eaten up by a large and savage dog, which acted as custodian of an orchard and also of a melon patch which I frequently visited. Once as I was climbing over the fence with a hat full of apples, this dog, which had started for me, caught me by the seat of the pantaloons and while I clung to the top of the fence he literally tore them from my legs, but fortunately did not touch my flesh. I got away with the appleshover by tumbling over to the opposite side of the fence with them. It was at Leclerc that I acquired my first experience as an equestrian. Somehow or other I had managed to corner a horse near a fence and had climbed upon his back. The next moment the horse got his back up and hoisted me into the air, I fell violently to the ground, striking upon my side in such a way as to severely wrench and strain my arm, from the effects of which I did not recover for some time. I had banned in the art of horsemanship for a while, and was induced after considerable persuasion to turn my attention to letters, my ABCs, which were taught me at the village school. My father at this time was running the stage line between Chicago and Davenport, no railroads then having been built west of Chicago. In 1849 he got the California fever and made up his mind to cross the Great Plains, which were then and for years afterwards called the American Desert, to the Pacific Coast. He got ready a complete outfit and started with quite a party. After proceeding a few miles all but my father and greatly to his disappointment changed their minds for some reason and abandoned the enterprise. They all returned home and soon afterwards father moved his family out to Walnut Grove Farm in Scott County. While living there I was sent to school, more for the purpose of being kept out of mischief than to learn anything. Much of my time was spent in trapping quails, which were very plentiful. I greatly enjoyed studying the habits of the little birds and in devising traps to take them in. I was most successful with the common figure four trap which I could build myself. Thus I think it was that I acquired my love for hunting. I visited the quail traps twice a day, morning and evening, and as I had now become quite a good rider I was allowed to have one of the farm horses to carry me over my route. Many a jolly ride I had and many a boyish prank was perpetrated after getting well away from and out of sight of home with the horse. There was one event which occurred in my childhood which I cannot recall without a feeling of sadness. It was the death of my brother Samuel, who was accidentally killed in his twelfth year. My father at the time, being considerable of a politician as well as a farmer, was attending a political convention, for he was well known in those days as an old line wig. He had been a member of the Iowa legislature, was a justice of the peace, and had held other offices. He was an excellent stump speaker and was often called upon to canvass the county round about for different candidates. The convention which he was attending at the time of the accident was being held at a crossroad tavern called Sherman's about a mile away. Samuel and I had gone out together on horseback for the cows. He rode a vicious mare, which mother had told him time and again not to ride, as it had an ugly disposition. We were passing the school house just as the children were being dismissed when Samuel undertook to give an exhibition of his horsemanship, he being a good rider for a boy. The mare, Betsy, became unmanageable, reared and fell backward upon him, injuring him internally. He was picked up and carried amid great excitement to the house of a neighbor. I at once set out with my horse at the top of his speed for my father, and informed him of Samuel's mishap. He took the horse and returned immediately. When I arrived at Mrs. Byrne's house, where my brother was, I found my father, mother, and sisters there, all weeping bitterly at Samuel's bedside. A physician, after examining him, pronounced his injuries to be of a fatal character, he died the next morning. My brother was a great favorite with everybody, and his death cast a gloom upon the whole neighborhood. It was a great blow to all of the family, and especially to father, who seemed to be almost heartbroken over it. Father had been greatly disappointed at the failure of his California expedition, and still desired to move to some new country. The death of Samuel no doubt increased his desire, and he determined to emigrate. Accordingly, early in the spring of 1852, he disposed of his farm, and late in March we took our departure for Kansas, which was then an unsettled territory. Our outfit consisted of one carriage, three wagons, and some fine-blooded horses. The carriage was occupied by my mother and sisters. Thus we left our Iowa home. Father had a brother, Elijah Cody, living at Weston, Platt County, Missouri. He was the leading merchant of the place. As the town was located near the Kansas line, Father determined to visit him, and thither our journey was directed. Our route lay across Iowa and Missouri, and the trip proved of interest to all of us, and especially to me. There was something new to be seen at nearly every turn of the road. At night the family generally put up at hotels or crossroad taverns along the way. One day, as we were proceeding on our way, we were met by a horseman who wanted to sell his horse or trade him for another. He said the horse had been captured wild in California, that he was a runner and eraser, that he had been sold by his different owners on account of his great desire to run away when taking part in a race. The stranger seemed to be very frank in his statements, and appeared to be very anxious to get rid of the animal. And as we were going to Kansas, where there would be plenty of room for the horse to run, as far as he pleased, Father concluded to make a trade for him. So an exchange of animals was easily and satisfactorily affected. The new horse being a small gray, we named him Little Gray. An opportunity of testing the racing qualities of this horse was soon afforded. One day we drove into a small Missouri town or hamlet which lay on our route, where the farmers from the surrounding country were congregated for the purpose of having a holiday, the principal amusement being horse racing. Father had no trouble in arranging a race for Little Gray, and selected one of his teamsters to ride him. The Missourians matched their fastest horse against him, and were confident of cleaning out the immigrant, as they called Father. They were a hard-looking crowd. They wore their pantalons in their boots. Their hair was long, bushy, and untrimmed. Their faces had evidently never made the equitants of a razor. They seemed determined to win the race by fair means or foul. They did a great deal of swearing, and swaggered about in rather a ruffianly style. All these incidents attracted my attention, everything being new to me, and became fairly impressed upon my memory. My father, being unaccustomed to the ways of such ruff people, acted very cautiously, and as they were all very anxious to bet on their own horse, he could not be induced to wager a very large sum on Little Gray as he was afraid of foul play. Well, now, stranger, exclaimed one of the crowd, what kind of critter have you got, anyhow, as how you're afraid to back him up very heavy? I'll bet five to one again the emigrant's gray, said another. I'm betting the same way. I'll go your $500, again, a hundred, that the gray nag gets left behind. Do I hear any man who wants to come again me on them your terms? Shout is still another. Hi, your boys, give the stranger a chance. Don't scare him out of his boots, said a man who evidently was afraid that my father might back out. Father had but little to say, however, and would not venture more than $50 on the result of the race. Gentlemen, I am only racing my horse for sport, said he, and I'm only betting enough to make it interesting. I have never seen Little Gray run, and therefore don't know what he can do. At the same time, he was confident that his horse would come in the winner, as he had chosen an excellent rider for him. Finally, all the preliminaries of the contest were arranged, the judges were chosen, and the money was deposited in the hands of a stakeholder. The race was to be a single dash of a mile. The horses were brought side by side and mounted by their riders. At the signal, one, two, three, go, off they started like a flash. The Missouri horse took the lead for the first quarter of a mile. At the half-mile, however, he began to weaken. The Missourians shouted themselves horse and urging their horse, but all to no avail. The Little Gray passed him and continued to leave him farther and farther behind, easily winning the race. The affair created a great deal of enthusiasm, but the race was conducted with honor and fairness, which was quite an agreeable surprise to my father, who soon found the Missourians to be at heart very clever men, thus showing that outside appearances are sometimes very deceptive. They nearly all came up and congratulated him on his success, asked him why he had not bet more money on the race, and wanted to buy Little Gray. Gentlemen said he, when I drove up here and arranged for this race, I felt confident that my horse would win it. I was among entire strangers, and therefore I only bet a small amount. I was afraid that you would cheat me in some way or other. I see now that I was mistaken as I have found you to be honorable men. Wow! You could have broke me, said the man who wanted to bet the five hundred dollars to one hundred, for that there naggy yarn looks no more like a runner nor I do. During our stay in the place they treated us very kindly, and continued to try to purchase Little Gray. My father, however, remained firm in his determination not to part with him. The next place of interest which we reached, after resuming our journey, was within twenty miles of Weston. We had been stopping at farmhouses along the road, and could not get anything to eat in the shape of bread except cornbread, of which all had become heartily tired. As we were driving along, we saw in the distance a large and handsome brick residence. Father said they probably have white bread there. We drove up to the house and learned that it was owned and occupied by Mrs. Burns, mother of a well-known lawyer of that name, who is now living in Leavenworth. She was a wealthy lady, and gave us to understand in a pleasant way that she did not entertain travelers. My father, in the course of the conversation with her, said, Do you know Elijah Cody? Indeed I do, said she. He frequently visits us, and we visit him. We are the best of friends. He is the brother of mine, said father. Is it possible? she exclaimed. Why you must remain here all night. If your family come into the house at once, you must not go another step today. The kind invitation was accepted, and we remained there overnight. As father had predicted, we found plenty of white bread at this house, and it proved quite a luxurious treat. My curiosity was considerably aroused by the many negroes which I saw about their premises, as I had scarcely ever seen any colored people, the few being on the steamboats as they passed up and down the Mississippi River. The next day, my father and mother drove over to Weston in a carriage, and returned with my uncle Elijah. We then all proceeded to his house, and as Kansas was not yet open for settlement as a territory, we remained there a few days while father crossed over into Kansas on a prospecting tour. He visited the Kickapoo agency, five miles above Weston, on the Kansas side of the Missouri River. He became acquainted with the agent, and made arrangements to establish himself there as an Indian trader. He then returned to Weston, and located the family on one of Elijah Cody's farms, three miles from town, where we were to remain until Kansas should be thrown open for settlement. After completing these arrangements, he established a trading post at Salt Creek Valley, in Kansas, four miles from the Kickapoo agency. One day, after he had been absent some little time, he came home and said that he had bought two ponies for me, and the next morning he would take me over into Kansas. This was pleasant news, as I had been very anxious to go there with him, and the fact that I was now the owner of two ponies made me feel very proud. That night I could not sleep a wink. In the morning I was up long before the sun, and after an early breakfast, father and I started out on our trip. Crossing the Missouri River at the Rialto Ferry, we landed in Kansas and passed along to Fort Leavenworth, four miles distant. CHAPTER II General Harney was in command at Fort Leavenworth at the time of our visit, and a regiment of cavalry was stationed there. They were having a dressed parade when we rode up, and as this was the first time that I had ever seen any soldiers I thought it was a grand sight. I shall never forget it, especially the maneuvers on horseback. After witnessing the parade we resumed our journey. On the way to my father's trading camp we had to cross over a high hill known as Salt Creek Hill, from the top of which we looked down upon the most beautiful valley I have ever seen. It was about 12 miles long and 5 miles wide. The different tributaries of Salt Creek came down from the range of hills at the southwest. At the foot of the valley, another small river, Plum Creek, also flowed. The bluffs, fringed with trees, clad in their full foliage, added greatly to the picturesqueness of the scene. While this beautiful valley greatly interested me, yet the most novel sight of an entirely different character which meant my enraptured gaze was the vast number of white-covered wagons, or prairie schooners, which were encamped along the different streams. I asked my father what they were and where they were going. He explained to me that they were immigrant wagons bound for Utah and California. At that time, the Mormon and California trails ran through this valley, which was always selected as a camping place. There were at least 1,000 wagons in the valley, and their white covers lent a pleasing contrast to the green grass. The cattle were quietly grazing near the wagons, while the immigrants were either resting or attended to camp duties. A large number of the wagons, as I learned from my father, belonged to Majors in Russell, the great government freighters. They had several trains there, each consisting of 25 wagons, heavily loaded with government supplies. They were all camped and corralled in a circle. While we were viewing this scene, a long wagon train came pulling up the hill, bound out from Fort Leavenworth to some distant frontier post. The cattle were wild, and the men were whipping them fearfully, the loud reports of the bullwhips sounding like gunshots. They were doubling up, and some of the wagons were being drawn by fifteen yolks of oxen. I remember asking my father a great many questions, and he explained to me all about the freighting business across the Great Plains, and told me about the different government posts. Pointing over to the army of wagons camped below us, he showed me which were the Mormons and which were the Californians, and said that we must steer clear of the former as the cholera was raging among them. Five hundred had died that spring, 1853, and the graveyard was daily increasing its dimensions. The unfortunate people had been overtaken by the dreadful disease, and had been compelled to halt on their journey until it abated. While we were looking at the Mormons, they were holding a funeral service over the remains of some other number who had died. Their old cemetery is yet indicated by various landmarks, which, however, with the few remaining headboards, are fast disappearing. We passed on through this valley of death, as it might then have been very appropriately called, and after riding for some time, my father pointed out a large hill and showed me his camp, which afterwards became our home. There was another trading post nearby, which was conducted by Mr. M. P. Rivley, who had a store built, partly frame and partly of logs. We stopped at this establishment for a while and found perhaps a hundred men, women, and children gathered there, engaged in trading and gossiping. The men had huge pistols and knives in their belts. Their pantaloons were tucked in their boots, and they wore large, broad-rimmed hats. To me, they appeared like a lot of cutthroat pirates who had come ashore for a lark. It was the first time I had ever seen men carrying pistols and knives, and they looked like a very dangerous crowd. Some were buying articles of merchandise. Others were talking about the cholera, the various camps, and matters of interest, while others were drinking whiskey freely and becoming intoxicated. It was a busy and an exciting scene, and Rivley appeared to be doing a rushing trade. At some little distance from the store, I noticed a small party of dark-skinned and rather fantastically dressed people, whom I ascertained were Indians, and as I had never before seen a real-life Indian, I was much interested in them. I went over and endeavored to talk to them, but our conversation was very limited. That evening we reached our camp, which was located two miles west of Rivley's. The first thing I did was to hunt out my ponies, and from my father's description of them I had no difficulty in finding them. They were lairied in the grass, and I immediately ran up to them, supposing them to be gentle animals. I was greatly mistaken, however, as they snorted and jumped away from me, and would not allow me to come near them. My father, who was standing not far distant, informed me that the ponies were not yet broken. I was somewhat disappointed at this, and thereupon he and one of his men caught one of the animals and bridled her, then putting me on her back, led her around, greatly to my delight. I kept petting her so much that she soon allowed me to approach her. She was a beautiful bay, and I named her Dali. The other pony was a sorrel, and I called him Prince. In the evening some Indians visited the camp, which has yet consisted only of tents, though some logs had been cut preparatory to building houses, and exchanged their first for clothing, sugar, and tobacco. Father had not learned their language, and therefore communicated with them by means of signs. We had our supper by the campfire, and that night was the first time I ever camped out and slept upon the ground. The day had been an eventful one to me, for all the incidents were full of excitement and romance to my youthful mind. And I think no apology is needed for mentioning so many of the little circumstances, which so greatly interested me in my childhood's days, and which no doubt had a great influence in shaping my course in after-years. My love of hunting and scouting, and life on the plains generally, was the result of my early surroundings. The next morning Father visited the Kikapu agency, taking me along. He rode a horse, and putting me on my pony, Dolly, led the animal all the way. He seemed anxious to break me in, as well as the pony. And I greatly enjoyed this, my first day's ride on a Kansas prairie. At the Kikapu village I saw hundreds of Indians, some of whom were living in lodges, but the majority occupied log cabins. The agent resided in a double-hued log house, only the apartments of which was used as a school for the Indians. The agency store was opposite this structure. All the buildings were whitewashed and looked neat and clean. The Kikapus were very friendly Indians, and we spent much of our time among them, looking about and studying their habits. After a while we returned to our own camp, and just as we arrived there we saw a drove of horses. There were three or four hundred in all, approaching from the west over the California trail. They were being driven by seven or eight mounted men, wearing some burrows and dressed in buckskin, with their lariots dangling from their saddles, and they were followed by two or three packed meals or horses. They went into camp a little below us on the bank of the stream. Presently, one of the men walked out towards our camp, and my father called to me to come and see a genuine Western man. He was about six feet, two inches tall, was well built, and had a light springy and wiry step. He wore a broad brimmed California hat, and was dressed in a complete suit of buckskin, beautifully trimmed and beaded. He saluted us, and father invited him to sit down, which he did. After a few moments' conversation he turned to me and said, "'Little one, I see you are working with your ponies. They are wild yet.' I had been petting Dolly and trying to break her, when my father called to me to come and look at the Californian. "'Yes,' I replied, and one of them never has been ridden. "'Well, I'll ride him for you, and springing lightly to his feet he continued, "'Come on, where is the animal?' Accordingly, we all went to the place where Prince was larrieted. The stranger untied the rope from the picket pin, and taking a half-loop around the pony's nose he jumped on his back. In a moment he was flying over the prairie, the untamed steed rearing and pitching every once in a while in his efforts to throw his rider, but the man was not unseated. He was evidently an experienced horseman. I watched his every movement. I was unconsciously taking another lesson in the practical education which has served me so well through my life. The Californian rode the pony until it was completely mastered. Then, coming up to me, jumped to the ground, handed me the rope, and said, Here's your pony. He's all right now. I led Prince away, while father and the stranger sat down in the shade of a tent, and began talking about the latter's horsemanship, which father considered very remarkable. "'Oh, that's nothing. I was raised on horseback,' said the Californian. I ran away from home when a boy went to sea and finally landed in the Sandwich Islands, where I fell in with a circus, with which I remained two years. During that time I became a celebrated bareback rider. I then went to California, being attracted there by the gold excitement, the news of which had reached the islands. I did not go to mining, however, but went to work as a buckaroo, catching and breaking wild horses, great numbers of which were roaming through California. Last summer we caught this herd that we have brought with us across the plains, and are taking it to the States to sell. I came with the outfit, as it gave me a good opportunity to visit my relatives, who live at Cleveland, Ohio. I also had an uncle over at Weston, across the river, when I ran away, and tomorrow I am going to visit the town to see if he is there yet. I am acquainted in Weston, said father, and perhaps I can tell you about your uncle. What is his name? Elijah Cody, said the Californian. Elijah Cody, exclaimed father, in great surprise. Why, Elijah Cody is my brother. I am Isaac Cody. Who are you? My name is Horace Billings, was the reply. And you are my nephew. You are the son of my sister Sophia. Both men sprang to their feet and began shaking hands in the heartiest manner possible. The next moment father called me and said, Come here, my son. Here is someone you want to know. As I approached, he introduced us. Horace, this is my only son. We call him little Billy. And turning to me, said, Billy, my boy, this is a cousin of yours, Horace Billings, whom you have often heard me speak of. Horace Billings had never been heard of from the day he ran away from home, and his relatives had frequently wondered what had become of him. His appearance, therefore, in our camp and the guys of a Californian was somewhat of a mystery to me, and I could hardly comprehend it until I had heard his adventurous story and learned the accidental manner in which he and father had made themselves known to each other. Neither father nor myself would be satisfied until he had given us a full account of his wanderings and adventures, which were very exciting to me. Late in the afternoon, and just before the sun sank to rest, the conversation, again, turned upon horses and horsemanship. Father told Billings all about little gray, and his great fault of running away. Billings laughed and said little gray could not run away with him. After supper he went out to look at the horse, which was picketed in the grass. Surveying the animal carefully he untied the lariat and slipped a running noose over his nose. Then giving a light bound he was on his back in a second, and away went the horse and his rider, circling round and round on the prairie. Billings managed him by the rope alone, and convinced him that he was his master. When half a mile away the horse started for camp at the top of his speed. Billings stood straight up on his back and thus rode him into camp. As he passed us he jumped to the ground, allowed the horse to run to the full length of the lariat when he threw him a complete somersault. "'That's a pretty good horse,' said Billings. "'Yes, he's a California horse. He was captured there wild,' replied Father. The exhibition of horsemanship given by Billings on this occasion was really wonderful, and was the most skillful and daring feat of the kind that I ever witnessed. The remainder of the evening was spent around the camp, and Horace, who remained there, entertained us with several interesting chapters of his experiences. Next morning he walked over to his own camp, but soon returned, mounted on a beautiful horse with handsome saddle, bridle, and lariat. I thought he was a magnificent-looking man. I envied his appearance, and my ambition just then was to become as skillful a horseman as he was. He had rigged himself out in his best style in order to make a good impression on his uncle at Weston, with their father and I accompanying him on horseback. He was cordially received by Uncle Elijah, who paid him every possible attention, and gave me a handsome saddle and bridle for my pony, and in the evening, when we rode out to the farm to see my mother and sisters, I started ahead to show them my present, as well as to tell them who was coming. They were delighted to see the long-lost Horace and invited him to remain with us. When we returned to camp the next day, Horace settled up with the proprietor of the horses, having concluded to make his home with us for that summer at least. Father employed him in cutting house logs and building houses, but this work not being adapted to his taste, he soon gave it up and obtained government employment in catching United States horses. During the previous spring, the government herd had stampeded from Fort Leavenworth, and between two and three hundred of the horses were running at large over the Kansas prairies and had become quite wild. A reward of ten dollars was offered for every one of the horses that was captured and delivered to the quartermaster at Fort Leavenworth. This kind of work, of course, just suited the roaming disposition of billings, especially as it was similar to that in which he had been engaged in California. The horses had to be caught with a lasso, with which he was very expert. He borrowed little gray, who was fleeting up for the wildest of the runaways, and then he at once began his horse hunting. Everything that he did I wanted to do. He was a sort of hero in my eyes, and I wished to follow in his footsteps. At my request and with Father's consent he took me with him, and many a wild and perilous chase he led me over the prairie. I made rapid advances in the art of horsemanship, for I could have no better teacher than Horace Billings. He also taught me how to throw the lasso, which, through what was a difficult thing to learn, I finally became quite skillful in. Whenever Horace caught one of the horses which acted obscenately, and would not be led, he immediately threw him to the ground, put a saddle and bridle on him, and gave me little gray to take care of. He would then mount the captive horse and ride him into Fort Leavenworth. I spent two months with Horace in this way, until at last no more of the horses were to be found. By this time I had become a remarkably good rider for a youth, and had brought both of my ponies under easy control. Horace returned to assist Father in hauling logs, which were being used in building a dwelling for the family who had moved over from Missouri. One day a team did not work to suit him, and he gave the horses a cruel beating. This greatly displeased Father, who took him to task for it. Horace's anger flew up in a moment. Throwing down their lines he hurried to the house and began packing up his traps. That same day he hired out to a Mormon train, and bidding us all good-bye, started for Salt Lake, driving six yolks of oxen. End of Chapter 2 Chapter 3 of the Life of Honorable William F. Cody This sleeve of ox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Barry Eads. The Life of Honorable William F. Cody by William F. Cody Chapter 3 Boy Days in Kansas During the summer of 1853 we lived in our little log house, and Father continued to trade with the Indians, who became very friendly. Hardly a day passed without a social visit from them. I spent a great deal of time with the Indian boys, who taught me how to shoot with the bow and arrow, at which I became quite expert. I also took part in all their sports, and learned to talk the Kekapu language to some extent. Father desired to express his friendship for these Indians, and accordingly arranged a grand barbecue for them. He invited them all to be present on a certain day, which they were. He then presented them with two fat bees to be killed and cooked in the various Indian styles. Mother made several large boilers full of coffee, which she gave to them, together with sugar and bread. There were about 200 Indians in attendance at the feast, and they all enjoyed and appreciated it. In the evening they had one of their grand fantastic war dances, which greatly amused me, it being the first sight of the kind I had ever witnessed. My uncle Elijah, and quite a large number of gentlemen and ladies, came over from Weston to attend the entertainment. The Indians returned to their homes well satisfied. My uncle at that time owned a trading post at Silver Lake in the Pottawatomie country on the Kansas River, and he arranged an excursion to that place. Among the party were several ladies from Weston, and father, mother, and myself. Mr. McMeekin, my uncle's superintendent, who had come to Weston for supplies, conducted the party to the post. The trip across the prairies was a delightful one, and we remained at the post several days. Father and one or two of the men went on to Fort Riley to view the country, and upon their return, my uncle entertained the Pottawatomie Indians with a barbecue similar to the one given by father to the kikapus. During the latter part of the summer, father filled a hay contract at Fort Leavenworth. I passed much of my time among the campers and spent days and days in riding over the country with Mr. William Russell, who was engaged in the freighting business and who seemed to take a considerable interest in me. In this way, I became acquainted with many wagon masters, hunters, and teamsters, and learned a great deal about the business of handling cattle and meals. It was an excellent school for me, and I acquired a great deal of practical knowledge, which afterwards I found to be of invaluable service, for it was not long before I became employed by majors in Russell, remaining with them in different capacities for several years. The winter of 1853-54 was spent by father at our little prairie home in cutting house logs and fence rails, which he intended to use on his farm as soon as the bill for the opening of the territory for settlement should pass. This bill, which was called the Enabling Act of Kansas Territory, was passed in April 1854, and father immediately preempted the claim on which we were living. The summer of that year was an exciting period in the history of the new territory. Thousands and thousands of people seeking new homes flocked thither, a large number of the immigrants coming over from adjoining states. The Missourians, some of them, would come laden with bottles of whiskey, and after drinking a liquor, would drive the bottles into the ground to mark their land claims, not waiting to put up any buildings. The Missourians, mostly, were pro-slavery men and held enthusiastic meetings at which they expressed their desire that Kansas should be a slave state and did not hesitate to declare the determination to make it so. Ridley's store was the headquarters for these men, and there they held their meetings. At first they thought father would coincide with them on account of his brother Elijah being a Missourian, but in this they were greatly mistaken. At one of their gatherings, when there were about 100 of the reckless men present, my father, who happened also to be there, was called upon for a speech. After considerable urging, he mounted the box and began speaking as nearly as I can recollect as follows. Gentlemen and fellow citizens, you have called upon me for a speech, and I have accepted your invitation rather against my will, as my views may not accord with the sentiments of the rest of this assembly. My remarks at this time will be brief and to the point. The question before us today is, shall the territory of Kansas be a free or a slave state? The question of slavery in itself is a broad one, and one which I do not care at this time and place to discuss at length. I apprehend that your motive in calling upon me is to have me express my sentiments in regard to the introduction of slavery into Kansas. I shall gratify your wishes in that respect. I was one of the pioneers of the state of Iowa and aided in its settlement when it was a territory and helped to organize it as a state. Gentlemen, I voted that it should be a white state, that Negroes, whether free or slave, should never be allowed to locate within its limits, and gentlemen, I say to you now, and I say it boldly, that I propose to exert all my power in making Kansas the same kind of a state as Iowa. I believe in letting slavery remain as it now exists, and I shall always oppose its further extension. These are my sentiments, gentlemen, and let me tell you. He never finished this sentence or his speech. His expressions were anything but acceptable to the rough-looking crowd, whose ire had been gradually rising to fever heat, and at this point they hooted and hissed him and shouted, you black abolitionist shut up, get down from that box, kill him, shoot him, and so on. Father, however, maintained his position on the dry goods box, notwithstanding the excitement and numerous invitations to step down until a hot-headed pro-slaveryman who was in the employ of my uncle Elijah crowded up and said, get off that box, you black abolitionist, or I'll pull you off. Father paid but little attention to him and attempted to resume his speech, intending doubtless to explain his position and endeavor somewhat to pacify the anger crowd. But the fellow jumped up on the box and pulling out a huge bowie knife, stabbed Father twice, who reeled and felled to the ground. The man sprang after him and would have ended his life then and there, had not some of the better men in the crowd interfered in time to prevent him from carrying out his murderous intention. The excitement was intense, and another assault would probably have been made on my father had not rivally hurriedly carried him to his home. There was no doctor within any reasonable distance, and Father at once requested that he be conveyed in the carriage to his brother Elijah's house in Weston. My mother and a driver accordingly went there with him, where his wounds were dressed. He remained in Weston several weeks before he was able to stir about again, but he never fully recovered from his wounds, which eventually proved the cause of his death. My uncle, of course, at once discharged the Ruffian from his employ. The man afterwards became a noted desperado and was quite conspicuous in the Kansas War. My father's indiscreet speech at Rivleys brought upon our family all of the misfortunes and difficulties which from that time on befell us. As soon as he was able to attend to his business again, the Missourians began to harass him in every possible way and kept it up with hardly a moment's cessation. Kickapoo City, as it was called, a small town that had sprung into existence seven miles up the river from Fort Leavenworth, became the hotbed of the pro-slavery doctrine and the headquarters of its advocates. Here was really the beginning of the Kansas Troubles. My father, who had shed the first blood in the cause of the freedom of Kansas, was notified upon his return to his trading post to leave the territory, and he was threatened with death by hanging or shooting if he dared to remain. One night a body of armed men, mounted on horses, rode up to our house and surrounded it. Knowing what they had come for and seeing that there would be but little chance for him to encounter with them, father determined to make his escape by a little stratagem. Hastily disguising himself in mother's bonnet and shawl, he boldly walked out of the house and proceeded towards the cornfield. The darkness proved a great protection as the horsemen, between whom he passed, were unable to detect him in his disguise, supposing him to be a woman. They neither halted him nor followed him and he passed safely on into the cornfield where he concealed himself. The horsemen soon dismounted and inquired for father. Mother very truthfully told him that he was away. They were not satisfied with her statement, however, and they at once made a thorough search of the house. They raved and swore when they could not find him and threatened him with death whenever they should catch him. I am sure if they had captured him that night, they would have killed him. They carried off nearly everything of value in the house and about the premises. Then going to the pasture, they drove off all the horses, my pony prince, afterwards succeeding and breaking away from them and came back home. Father lay secreted in the cornfield for three days as there were men in the vicinity who were watching for him all the time. He finally made his escape and reached Fort Leavenworth in safety wither the pro-slavery men did not dare to follow him. While he was staying at Fort Leavenworth, he heard that Jim Lane, Captain Cleveland and Captain Chandler were on their way from Indiana to Kansas with a body of free-state men between two and 300 strong. They were to cross the Missouri River near Donovan between Leavenworth and Nebraska City, their destination being Lawrence. Father determined to join them and took passage on a steamboat which was going up the river. Having reached the place of crossing, he made himself known to the leaders of the party by whom he was most cordially received. The pro-slavery men, hearing of the approach of the free-state party, resolved to drive them out of the territory. The two parties met at Hickory Point where a severe battle was fought, several being killed. The victory resulted in favor of the free-state men who passed on to Lawrence without much further opposition. My father finally left them and seen that he could no longer live at home, went to Grasshopper Falls, 35 miles west of Leavenworth. There he began the erection of a sawmill. While he was thus engaged, we learned from one of our hired workmen at home that the pro-slavery men had laid another plan to kill him and were on their way to Grasshopper Falls to carry out their intention. Mother at once started me off on prints to warn Father of the coming danger. When I had gone about seven miles, I suddenly came upon a party of men who were camped at the crossing of Stranger Creek. As I passed along, I heard one of them who recognized me say, that's the son of the old abolitionist we are after, and the next moment I was commanded to halt. Instead of stopping, I instantly started my pony on a run, and on looking back, I saw that I was being pursued by three or four of the party who had mounted their horses, no doubt supposing that they could easily capture me. It was very fortunate that I had heard the remark about my being the son of the abolitionist, for then I knew in an instant that they were on route to Grasshopper Falls to murder my father. I at once saw the importance of my escaping and warning Father in time. It was a matter of life and death to him, so I urged Prince to his utmost speed, feeling that upon him and myself depended a human life, a life that was dearer to me than that of any other man in the world. I led my pursuers a lively chase for four or five miles. Finally, when they saw they could not catch me, they returned to their camp. I kept straight on to Grasshopper Falls, arriving there in ample time to inform him of the approach of his old enemies. That same night, Father and I rode to Lawrence, which had become the headquarters of the Free State men. There he met Jim Lane and several other leading characters who were then organizing what was known as the Lekompton legislature. Father was elected as a member of that body and took an active part in organizing the first legislature of Kansas, under Governor Reader, who by the way, was a Free State man and a great friend of fathers. About this time, agents were being sent to the east to induce immigrants to locate in Kansas, and Father was sent as one of these agents to Ohio. After the legislature had been organized at Lawrence, he departed for Ohio and was absent several months. A few days after he had gone, I started for home by the way of Fort Leavenworth, accompanied by two men who were going to the fort on business. As we were crossing a stream called Little Stranger, we were fired upon by some unknown party, and one of my companions, whose name has escaped my memory, was killed. The other man of myself put spurs to our horses and made a dash for our lives. We succeeded in making our escape, though a farewell shot or two was sent after us. At Fort Leavenworth, I parted company with my companion and reached home without any further adventure. My mother and sisters, who had not heard of my father or myself since I had been sent to warn him of his danger, had become very anxious and uneasy about us, and were uncertain as to whether we were dead or alive. I received a warm welcome home, and as I entered the house, mother seemed to read from the expression of my continence that father was safe. Of course, the very first question she asked was as to his whereabouts, and in reply I handed her a long letter from him which explained everything. Mother blessed me again and again for having saved his life. While father was absent in Ohio, we were almost daily visited by some of the pro-slaverymen, who helped themselves to anything they saw fit, and frequently compelled my mother and sisters to cook for them, and to otherwise submit to a great deal of bad treatment. Hardly a day passed without some of them inquiring where the old man was, saying they would kill him on site. Thus we passed the summer of 1854, remaining at our home notwithstanding the unpleasant surroundings, as mother had made up her mind not to be driven out of the country. My uncle and other friends advised her to leave Kansas and move to Missouri, because they did not consider our lives safe, as we lived so near the headquarters of the pro-slaverymen who had sworn vengeance upon father. Nothing, however, could persuade mother to change her determination. She said that the pro-slaverymen had taken everything except the land and the little home, and she proposed to remain there as long as she lived. Happened what might? Our only friends in Salt Creek Valley were two families, one named Lawrence, the other Hathaway, and the peaceable Indians who occasionally visited us. My uncle, living in Missouri and being somewhat in fear of the pro-slaverymen, could not assist us much, beyond expressing his sympathy and sending us provisions. In the winter of 1854-55, father returned from Ohio, but as soon as his old enemies learned that he was with us, they again compelled him to leave. He proceeded to Lawrence, and there spent the winter in attending the Locompton legislature. The remainder of the year he passed mostly at Grasshopper Falls, where he completed his sawmill. He occasionally visited home under cover of the night and in the most secret manner, virtually carrying his life in his hands. In the spring of this year, 1855, a pro-slavery party came to our house to search for father, not finding him they departed, taking with them my pony, Prince. I shall never forget the man who stole that pony. He afterwards rose from the low level of a horse-thief to the high dignity of a justice of the peace, and I think still lives at Kickapoo. The loss of my favorite pony nearly broke my heart and bankrupted me in business, as I had nothing to ride. One day soon afterwards I met my old friend, Mr. Russell, to whom I related all my troubles and his generous heart was touched by my story. Billy, my boy, said he, cheer up and come to Leavenworth, and I'll employ you. I'll give you twenty-five dollars a month to herd cattle. I accepted the offer, and heartily thanking him hurried home to obtain mother's consent. She refused to let me go, and all my pleading was in vain. Young as I was, being then only in my tenth year, my ideas and knowledge of the world however being far in advance of my age, I determined to run away from home. Mr. Russell's offer of twenty-five dollars a month was a temptation which I could not resist. The remuneration for my services seemed very large to me, and I accordingly stole away and walked to Leavenworth. Mr. Badger, one of Mr. Russell's superintendents, immediately sent me out, mounted on a little gray mule to herd cattle. I worked at this for two months and then came into Leavenworth. I had not been home during all this time, but mother had learned from Mr. Russell where I was, and she no longer felt uneasy as he had advised her to let me remain in his employ. He assured her that I was all right, and said that when the herd came in he would allow me to make a visit home. Upon my arrival in Leavenworth with the herd of cattle, Mr. Russell instructed his bookkeeper, Mr. Byers, to pay me my wages, amounting to fifty dollars. Byers gave me the sum all in half-dollar pieces. I put the bright silver coins into a sack, which I tied to my mule and started home, thinking myself a millionaire. This money I gave to mother, who had already forgiven me for running away. This began my service for the firm of Russell and Majors, afterwards Russell, Majors, and Waddle, with whom I spent seven years of my life in different capacities, such as Cavillard Driver, Wagon Master, Pony Express Rider, and Driver. I continued to work for Mr. Russell during the rest of the summer of 1855, and in the winter of 1855-56 I attended school. Father who still continued to secretly visit home was anxious to have his children receive as much of an education as possible under the adverse circumstances surrounding us, and he employed a teacher, Miss Jenny Lyons, to come to our house and teach. My mother was well educated, more so than my father, and it used to worry her a great deal because her children could not receive better educational advantages. However, the little school at home got along exceedingly well, and we all made rapid advances in our studies, as Miss Lyons was an excellent teacher. She afterwards married a gentleman named Hook, who became the first mayor of Cheyenne, where she now lives. The Kansas Troubles reached their highest pitch in the spring of 1856, and our family continued to be harassed as much as ever by our old enemies. I cannot now recollect one half of the serious difficulties that we had to encounter, but I very distinctly remember one incident well worth relating. I came home one night on a visit from Leavenworth, being accompanied by a fellow herder, a young man. During the night we heard a noise outside of the house, and soon the dogs began barking loudly. We looked out to ascertain the cause of the disturbance, and saw that the house was surrounded by a party of men. Mother had become accustomed to such occurrences, and on this occasion she seemed to be master of the situation from the start. Opening a window she coolly sang out in a firm tone of voice. Who are you? What do you want here? We are after that old, abolition husband of yours, was the answer from one of the crowd. He is not in this house, and has not been here for a long time, said my mother. That's a lie. We know he is in the house, and we are bound to have him, said the spokesman of the party. I afterwards learned that he had mistaken the herder who had ridden home with me, for my father, for whom they had been watching. My husband is not at home, emphatically repeated my heroic mother, for if there ever was a heroine she certainly was one. But the house is full of our men, continued she, and I shall give you just two minutes to get out of the yard. If you are not out by the end of that time I shall order them to fire on you. She withdrew from the window for a few moments, and hurly instructed the herder to call aloud certain names, any that he might think of, just as if the house was full of men to whom he was giving orders. He followed her directions to the very letter. He could not have done it any better had he rehearsed the act a dozen times. The party outside heard him, as it was intended they should, and they supposed that my mother really had quite a force at her command. While this little by-play was being enacted she stepped to the open window again and said, John Green, you and your friends had better go away, or the men will surely fire on you. At this point the herder, myself and my sisters commenced stamping on the floor an imitation of a squad of soldiers, and the herder issued his orders in a loud voice to his imaginary troops, who were apparently approaching the window preparatory to firing a volley at the enemy. This little strategy improved eminently successful. The cowardly villains began retreating, and then my mother fired an old gun into the air which greatly accelerated their speed, causing them to break and run. They soon disappeared from view in the darkness. The next morning we accidentally discovered that they had intended to blow up the house. Upon going into the cellar, which had been left open on one side, we found two kegs of powder together with a fuse secreted there. It only required a lighted match to have sent us into eternity. My mother's presence of mind, which had never yet deserted her in any trying situation, had saved our lives. Shortly after this affair I came home again on a visit and found Father there sick with fever, and confined to his bed. One day my old enemy rode up to the house on my pony prince, which he had stolen from me. What is your business here today? asked Mother. I am looking for the old man, he replied. I am going to search the house, and if I find him I am going to kill him. Here you girls, said he addressing my sisters, get me some dinner, and get it quick too, for I am as hungry as a wolf. Very well. Pray be seated, and we will get you something to eat, said one of my sisters, without exhibiting the least sign of fear. He sat down, and while they were preparing a dinner for him, he took out a big knife and sharpened it on a wet stone, repeating his threat of searching the house and killing my father. I had witnessed the whole proceeding and heard the threats, and I determined that the man should never go upstairs where father was lying in bed unable to rise. Taking a double-barreled pistol, which I had recently bought, I went to the head of the stairs, cocked the weapon, and waited for the ruffian to come up, determined that the moment he set foot on the steps I would kill him. I was relieved, however, from the stern necessity, as he did not make his appearance. The brute was considerably intoxicated when he came to the house, and the longer he sat still the more his brain became muddled with liquor and he actually forgot what he had come there for. After he had eaten his dinner he mounted his horse and rode off, and it was a fortunate thing for him that he did. Father soon recovered and returned to Grasshopper Falls, while I resumed my cattle herding. CHAPTER IV. OF THE LIFE OF HONORBLE WILLIAM F. CODY. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Barry Eads. THE LIFE OF HONORBLE WILLIAM F. CODY BY WILLIAM F. CODY. Youthful Experiences. In July 1856, the people living in the vicinity of our home, feeling the necessity of more extensive educational facilities for their children than they had yet had, started a subscription school in a little log cabin on the bank of the creek, which for a while proved quite a success. Mother being very anxious to have me attend this school, I acceded to her off-repeated wishes and returning home, I became a pupil of the institution. I made considerable progress in my studies, such as they were, and was getting along very well in every other respect, until I became involved in my first love affair. Like all schoolboys, I had a sweetheart with whom I was dead in love in a juvenile way. Her name was Mary Hyatt. Of course, I had a rival, Stephen Goble, a boy about three years my senior, the bully of the school. He was terribly jealous and sought in every way to revenge himself upon me for having won the childish affections of sweet little Mary. The boys of the school used to build playhouses or arbors among the trees and bushes for their sweethearts. I had built a playhouse for Mary when Steve, as we called him, leveled it to the ground. We immediately had a very lively fight in which I got badly beaten. The teacher heard of our quarrel and whipped us both. This made matters worse than ever as I had received two thrashings to Steve's one. I smothered my angry feelings as much as possible under the humiliating circumstances, and during the afternoon recess built another playhouse, thinking that Goble would not dare to destroy a second one. But I was mistaken, for he pushed the whole structure over at the first opportunity. I came up to him just as he finished the job and said, Steve Goble, the next time you do that, I'll hurt you. And I meant it too, but he laughed and called me names. At recess next morning, I began the construction of still another playhouse, and when I had it about two-thirds finished, Steve slightly sneaked up to the spot and tipped the whole thing over. I jumped for him with the quickness of a cat, and clutching him by the throat for a moment, I had the advantage of him. But he was too strong for me, and soon had me on the ground and was beating me severely. While away from home I had some way come into possession of a very small pocket dagger, which I had carried about with me in its sheath, using it in place of a knife. During the struggle, this fell from my pocket and my hand by accident rested upon it as it lay upon the ground. Exasperated beyond measure at Steve's persistence in destroying my playhouses, and smarting under his blows, I forgot myself for the moment, grasped the dagger, and unthinkingly thrust it into Steve's thigh. Had it been larger, it would probably have injured him severely. As it was, it made a small wound, sufficient to cause the blood to flow freely, and Steve to cry out in a fright. I am killed, oh, I am killed! The school children all rushed to the spot and were terrified at the scene. What's the matter, asked one. Bill Cote has killed Steve Goble, replied another. The uproar reached the teacher's ear, and I now saw him approaching, with vengeance in his eye and a big club in his hand. I knew that he was coming to interview me. I was dreadfully frightened at what I had done, and undecided whether to run away or to remain and take the consequences. But the sight of that flagstaff in the school teacher's hand was too much for me. I no longer hesitated, but started off like a deer. The teacher followed in hot pursuit, but soon became convinced that he could not catch me and gave up the chase. I kept on running until I reached one of Russell, Major, and Waddle's freight trains, which I had noticed going over the hill for the West. Fortunately for me, I knew the wagon master, John Willis, and as soon as I recovered my breath, I told him what had happened. Served him right, Billy, said he, and what's more, we'll go over and clean out the teacher. Oh, no, don't do that, said I, for I was afraid that I might fall into the hands of the wounded boy's friends, who I knew would soon be looking for me. Well, Billy, come along with me. I am bound for Fort Kearney. Their trip will take me forty days. I want you for a Cavillard driver. All rider replied, but I must go home and tell mother about it, and get some clothes. Well then, tonight, after we make our camp, I'll go back with you. The Afray broke up the school for the rest of the day, as the excitement was too much for the children. Later in the afternoon, after the train had moved on some considerable distance, I saw Steve's father, his brother Frank, and one of the neighbors rapidly approaching. Mr. Willis, there comes old Goebel, with Frank and somebody else, and they are after me. What am I going to do, I asked. Let him come, said he. They can't take you if I've got anything to say about it, and I rather think I have. Get into one of the wagons. Keep quiet and lay low. I'll manage this little job. Don't you fret a bit about it. I obeyed his orders and felt much easier. Old Goebel, Frank, and the neighbors soon came up and inquired for me. He's around here somewhere, said Mr. Willis. We want him, said Goebel. He stabbed my son a little while ago, and I want to arrest him. Well, you can't get him. That settles it, so you needn't waste any of your time around here, said Willis. Goebel continued to talk for a few minutes, but getting no greater satisfaction, the trio returned home. When night came, Willis accompanied me on horseback to my home. Mother, who had anxiously searched for me everywhere, being afraid that something had befallen me at the hands of the Goebels, was delighted to see me, notwithstanding the difficulty in which I had become involved. I had once told her that at present I was afraid to remain at home, and had accordingly made up my mind to absent myself for a few weeks or months, at least until the excitement should die out. Mr. Willis said to her that he would take me to Fort Kearney with him, and see that I was properly cared for, and would bring me back safely in 40 days. Mother at first seriously ejected to my going on this trip, fearing I would fall into the hands of Indians. Her fears, however, were soon overcome, and she concluded to let me go. She fixed me up a big bundle of clothing and gave me a quilt. Kissing her and my sisters upon farewell, I started off on my first trip across the plains, and with a light heart too, notwithstanding my trouble of a few hours before. The trip proved a most enjoyable one to me, although no incidents worthy of note occurred on the way. On my return from Fort Kearney, I was paid off the same as the rest of the employees. The remainder of the summer and fall, I spent in herding cattle and working for Russell Majors in Waddle. I finally ventured home, not without some fear, however, of the Goebel family, and was delighted to learn that during my absence, my mother had had an interview with Mr. Goebel and having settled the difficulty with him, the two families had become friends again, and I may state, incidentally, that they ever after remained so. I have since often met Stephen Goebel, and we have had many a laugh together over our love affair and the affray at the schoolhouse. Mary Hyatt, the innocent cause of the whole difficulty, is now married and living in Chicago, thus ended my first love scrape. In the winter of 1856-57, my father, in company with a man named J. C. Bowles, went to Cleveland, Ohio, and organized a colony of about 30 families, whom they brought to Kansas and located on the grasshopper. Several of these families still reside there. It was during this winter that father, after his return from Cleveland, caught a severe cold. This in connection with the wound he had received at Rivleys, from which he had never entirely recovered, affected him seriously, and in April, 1857, he died at home from kidney disease. This sad event left my mother and the family in poor circumstances, and I determined to follow the planes for a livelihood for them and myself. I had no difficulty in obtaining work under my old employers, and in May, 1857, I started for Salt Lake City with a herd of beef cattle, in charge of Frank and Bill McCarthy for General Albert Sidney Johnson's army, which was then being sent across the planes to fight the Mormons. Nothing occurred to interrupt our journey until we reached Plum Creek, on the South Platte River, 35 miles west of Old Fort Kearney. We had made a morning drive and had camped for dinner. The wagon masters and a majority of the men had gone to sleep under the mess wagons. The cattle were being guarded by three men, and the cook was preparing dinner. No one had any idea that Indians were anywhere near us. The first warning we had that they were infesting that part of the country was the firing of shots and the whoops and yells from a party of them, who, catching a snapping, gave us a most unwelcome surprise. All the men jumped to their feet and seized their guns. They saw with astonishment the cattle running in every direction. They having been stampeded by the Indians, who had shot and killed the three men who were on day-herd duty, and the Red Devils were now charging down upon the rest of us. I then thought of my mother's fears of my falling into the hands of the Indians, and I had about made up my mind that such was to be my fate. But when I saw how coolly and determinedly the McCarthy brothers were conducting themselves and giving orders to the little band, I became convinced that we would stand the Indians off, as the saying is. Our men were all well-armed with coat revolvers and Mississippi Yeagers, which last carried a bullet and two buck shots. The McCarthy boys, at the proper moment, gave orders to fire upon the advancing enemy. The volley checked them, although they returned the compliment and shot one of our party through the leg. Frank McCarthy then sang out, boys, make a break for the sloth yonder, and we can then have the bank for a breastwork. We made a run for the sloth, which was only a short distance off, and succeeding and safely reaching it, bringing with us the wounded man. The bank proved to be a very effective breastwork, affording us good protection. We had been there but a short time when Frank McCarthy, seeing that the longer we were corralled, the worse it would be for us, said, well, boys, we'll try to make our way back to Fort Kearney by waiting in the river and keeping the bank for a breastwork. We all agreed that this was the best plan and we accordingly proceeded down the river several miles in this way, managing to keep the Indians at a safe distance with our guns until a sloth made a junction with the main Platte River. From there down, we found the river at times quite deep, and in order to carry the wounded man along with us, we constructed a raft of poles for his accommodation, and in this way he was transported. Occasionally, the water would be too deep for us to wade and we were obliged to put our weapons on the raft and swim. The Indians followed us pretty close and were continually watching for an opportunity to get a good range and give us a raking fire. Covering ourselves by keeping well under the bank, we pushed ahead as rapidly as possible and made pretty good progress, the night finding us still on the way and our enemies still on our track. I being the youngest and smallest of the party became somewhat tired and without noticing it, I had fallen behind the others for some little distance. It was about 10 o'clock and we were keeping very quiet and hugging close to the bank. When I happened to look up to the moonlit sky and saw the plumed head of an Indian peeping over the bank, instead of hurrying ahead, alarming the men in a quiet way, I instantly aimed my gun at the head and fired. The report rang out sharp and loud in the night air and was immediately followed by an Indian whoop and the next moment about six feet of dead Indian came tumbling into the river. I was not only overcome with astonishment but was badly scared as I could hardly realize what I had done. I expected to see the whole force of Indians come down upon us. While I was standing, must be wildered, the men who had heard the shot and the war whoop and had seen the Indian take a tumble came rushing back. Who fired that shot? cried Frank McCarthy. I did, replied I rather proudly, as my confidence returned and I saw the men coming up. Yes, and little Billy has killed an Indian stone dead. Two dead to skin, said one of the men who had approached nearer than the rest and had almost stumbled upon the corpse. From that time forward, I became a hero and an Indian killer. This was, of course, the first Indian I had ever shot and as I was not then more than 11 years of age, my exploit created quite a sensation. The other Indians, upon learning what had happened to their advance guard, set up a terrible hauling and fired several volleys at us but without doing any injury as we were so well protected by the bank. We resumed our journey down the river and traveled all night long. Just before daylight, Frank McCarthy crawled out over the bank and discovered that we were only five miles from Fort Kearney, which post we reached safely in about two hours. Shortly after Reveley, bringing the wounded man with us, it was indeed a relief to us all to feel that once more we were safe. Frank McCarthy immediately reported to the commanding officer and informed him of all that had happened. The commandant at once ordered a company of cavalry and one of infantry to proceed to Plunk Creek on a forced march, taking a howitzer with them to endeavor to recapture the cattle from the Indians. The firm of Russell Majors and Waddle had a division agent at Kearney and this agent mounted us on mules so that we could accompany the troops. On reaching the place where the Indians had surprised us, we found the bodies of the three men whom they had killed and scalped and literally cut into pieces. We of course buried the remains. We caught but a few of the cattle, the most of them having been driven off and stampeded with the buffaloes. There being numerous immense herds of the latter in that section of the country at the time. The Indians trail was discovered running south towards the Republican River and the troops followed it to the head of Plunk Creek and there abandoned it, returning to Fort Kearney without having seen a single red skin. The company's agent, seeing that there was no further use for us in that vicinity as we had lost our cattle and mules, sent us back to Fort Leavenworth. The company, it is proper to state, did not have to stand the loss of the expedition as the government held itself responsible for such depredations by the Indians. On the day that I got into Leavenworth, sometime in July, I was interviewed for the first time in my life by a newspaper reporter. And the next morning, I found my name in print as the youngest Indian slayer on the plains. I am candid enough to admit that I felt very much elated over this notoriety. Again and again, I read with eager interest the long and sensational account of our adventure. My exploit was related in a very graphic manner and for a long time afterwards, I was considerable of a hero. The reporter who had thus set me up as I then thought on the highest pinnacle of fame was John Hutchinson, and I felt very grateful to him. He now lives in Wichita, Kansas. End of chapter four. Chapter five of The Life of Honorable William F. Cody. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Barry Eads. The Life of Honorable William F. Cody by William F. Cody. Chapter five, In Business. In the summer of 1857, Russell, Majors in Wattle, were sending a great many trains across the plains to Salt Lake with supplies for General Johnston's Army. Men were in great demand, and the company was paying teamsters forty dollars per month in gold. An old and reliable wagon master named Louis Simpson, who had taken a great fancy to me, and who, by the way, was one of the best wagon masters that ever ran a bull train, was loading a train for the company, and was about to start out with it for Salt Lake. He asked me to go along as an extra hand. The high wages that were being paid were a great inducement to me, and the position of an extra hand was a pleasant one. All that I would have to do would be to take the place of any man who became sick, and drive his wagon until he recovered. I would have my own mule to ride, and to a certain extent, I would be a minor boss. My mother was very much opposed to my taking this long trip, as I would be absent nearly a year, and there was a possibility that something might arise to prevent me from ever coming back, as we could not often tell how the Mormon difficulty would terminate. Then again, owing to the Indians, a journey over the plains in those days was a perilous undertaking. She said that as I had recently returned from the plains, and had a narrow escape from death at the hands of the Indians, she did not want me to risk my life a second time. I told her that inasmuch as I had determined to follow the plains for an occupation, nothing could now stop me from going on this trip, and if it became necessary, I would run away. Seeing that it was impossible to keep me at home, she reluctantly gave her consent, but not until she had called upon Mr. Russell and Mr. Simpson in regard to the matter, and had obtained from the latter gentleman his promise that I should be well taken care of if we had to winter in the mountains. She did not like the appearance of Simpson, and upon inquiry she learned to her dismay that he was a desperate character, and that on nearly every trip he had made across the plains he had killed someone. Such a man, she thought, was not a fit master or companion for her son, and she was very anxious to have me go with some other wagon master, but I still insisted upon remaining with Simpson. Madam, I can assure you that Lou Simpson is one of the most reliable wagon masters on the plains, said Mr. Russell, and he has taken a great fancy to Billy. If your boy is bound to go, he can go with no better man. No one will dare to impose on him while he is with Lou Simpson, whom I will instruct to take good care of the boy. Upon reaching Fort Laramie, Billy can, if he wishes, exchange places with some fresh man coming back on a returning train, and thus come home without making the whole trip. This seemed to satisfy Mother, and she then had a long talk with Simpson himself, imploring him not to forget his promise to take good care of her precious boy. He promised everything that she asked. Thus, after much trouble, I became one of the members of Simpson's train. Before taking our departure, I arranged with Russell, Majors, and Waddle that when my pay should fall due, it should be paid over to Mother. As a matter of interest to the general reader, it may be well in this connection to give a brief description of a freight train. The wagons used in those days by Russell, Majors, and Waddle were known as the J. Murphy wagons, made at St. Louis, especially for the plains business. They were very large and were strongly built, being capable of carrying 7,000 pounds of freight each. The wagon boxes were very commodious, being as large as the rooms of an ordinary house, and were covered with two heavy canvas sheets to protect the merchandise from rain. These wagons were generally sent out from Leavenworth, each loaded with 6,000 pounds of freight, and each drawn by several yolks of auction in charge of one driver. A train consisted of 25 wagons, all in charge of one man who was known as the wagon master. The second man in command was the assistant wagon master, then came the extra hand, next the night herder, and lastly, the Cavalier driver, whose duty it was to drive the lame and loose cow. There were 31 men all told in a train. The men did their own cooking, being divided into masses of seven. One man cooked, another brought wood and water, another stood guard, and so on, each having some duty to perform while getting meals. All were heavily armed with Colts pistols and Mississippi Yeagers, and everyone always had his weapons handy so as to be prepared for any emergency. The wagon master, in the language of the planes, was called the bull wagon boss. The teamsters were known as bullwhackers, and the whole train was denominated a bull outfit. Everything at that time was called an outfit. The men of the planes were always full of drool humor and exciting stories of their own experiences, and many an hour I spent in listening to the recitals of thrilling adventures and hare-breath escapes. Russell Majors and Wattle had in their employ 250 trains, composed of 6,250 wagons, 75,000 oxen, and about 8,000 men, their business reaching to all the government frontier posts in the North and West, to which they transported supplies, and they also carried freight as far south as New Mexico. The trail to Salt Lake ran through Kansas to the Northwest, crossing the Big Blue River, then over the Big and Little Sandy, coming into Nebraska near the Big Sandy. The next stream of any importance was the Little Blue, along which the trail ran for 60 miles, then crossed a range of sand hills and struck the Platte River 10 miles below Old Fort Kearney. Thence the course lay up the South Platte to the Old Ash Hollow Crossing, thence 18 miles across to the North Platte near the mouth of the Blue Water, where General Harney had his great battle in 1855 with the Sioux and Cheyenne Indians. From this point, the North Platte was followed, passing Courthouse Rock, Chimney Rock, and Scots Bluffs, and then on to Fort Laramie, where the Laramie River was crossed. Still following the North Platte for some considerable distance, the trail crossed this river at Old Richards Bridge and followed it up to the celebrated Red Buttes, crossing the Willow Creek to the Sweetwater, passing the Great Independence Rock and the Devil's Gate, up to the three crossings of the Sweetwater, thence past the cold springs, where three feet under the sod on the hottest day of summer, ice can be found. Thence to the hot springs and the Rocky Ridge, and through the Rocky Mountains and Echo Canyon, and thence on to the Great Salt Lake Valley. We had started our trip with everything in good shape, following the above-described trail. During the first week or two out, I became well acquainted with most of the train men and with one in particular, who became a lifelong and intimate friend of mine. His real name was James B. Hickock. He afterwards became famous as Wild Bill, the Scout of the Plains, the why he was so called I never could ascertain, and from this time forward, I shall refer to him by his popular nickname. He was 10 years my senior, a tall, handsome, magnificently built and powerful young fellow who could outrun, outjump, and outfight any man in the train. He was generally admitted to be the best man physically in the employ of Russell, Majors, and Waddle, and of his bravery there was not a doubt. General Custer in his Life on the Plains thus speaks of Wild Bill. Quote, among the white Scouts were numbered some of the most noted of their class. The most prominent man among them was Wild Bill, whose highly varied career was made the subject of an illustrated sketch and one of the popular monthly periodicals a few years ago. Wild Bill was a strange character, just the one which a novelist might gloat over. He was a plainsman in every sense of the word, yet unlike any other of his class. In person, he was about six feet and one inch in height, straight as the straightest of the warriors whose implacable foe he was. He had broad shoulders, well-formed chest and limbs, and a face strikingly handsome. A sharp clear blue eye, which stared you straight in the face when in conversation, a finely shaped nose inclined to be aquiline, a well-turned mouth with lips only partially concealed by handsome mustache. His hair and complexion were those of the perfect blonde. The former was worn in uncut ringlets, falling carelessly over his powerfully formed shoulders. Add to this figure a costume blending the immaculate neatness of the dandy with the extravagant taste and style of the frontiersman, and you have Wild Bill. Whether on foot or on horseback, he was one of the most perfect types of physical manhood I ever saw. Of his courage, there could be no question. It had been brought to the test on too many occasions to admit of a doubt. His skill and use of the pistol and rifle was unerring. While his deportment was exactly the opposite of what might be expected from a man of his surroundings, it was entirely free from all bluster or bravado. He seldom spoke himself unless requested to do so. His conversations, strange to say, never bordered either on the vulgar or blasphemous. His influence among the frontiersman was unbounded, his word was law, and many are the personal quarrels and disturbances which he has checked among his comrades by his simple announcement that this has gone far enough. If need be followed by the ominous warning that one persisted in or renewed, the quarreler must settle it with me. Wild Bill was anything but a quarrelsome man, yet no one but him could enumerate the many conflicts in which he had been engaged and which had almost always resulted in the death of his adversary. I have a personal knowledge of at least half a dozen men whom he had at various times killed, one of these being at the time a member of my command. Others had been severely wounded, yet he always escaped unhurt. On the plains every man openly carries his belt with its invariable appendages, knife, and revolver, often two of the latter. Wild Bill always carried two handsome, ivory-haveled revolvers of the large size. He was never seen without them. Yet in all of the many affairs of this kind in which Wild Bill has performed a part and which have come to my knowledge, there was not a single instance in which the verdict of 12 fair-minded men would not have been pronounced in his favor. End quote. Such is the fateful picture of Wild Bill as drawn by General Custer, who was a close observer and student of personal character and under whom Wild Bill served as a scout. The circumstances under which I first made his acquaintance and learned to know him well and to appreciate his manly character and kind-heartedness were these. One of the teenagers in Lou Simpson's train was a surly overbearing fellow and took particular delight in bullying and tyrannizing over me. And one day while we were at dinner he asked me to do something for him. I did not start at once and he gave me a slap in the face with the back of his hand, knocking me off an ox-joke on which I was sitting and sending me sprawling on the ground. Jumping to my feet I picked up a camp-calf full of boiling coffee which was setting on the fire and threw it at him. I hit him in the face and the hot coffee gave him a severe scalding. He sprang for me with the veracity of a tiger and would undoubtedly have torn me to pieces had it not been for the timely interference of my newfound friend, Wild Bill, who knocked the man down. As soon as he recovered himself he demanded of Wild Bill what business it was of his that he should put in his oar. It's my business to protect that boy or anybody else from being unmercifully abused, kicked, and cuffed and I'll whip any man who tries it on," said Wild Bill. And if you ever again lay a hand on that boy, little Billy there, I'll give you such a pounding that you won't get over it for a month of Sundays. From that time forward, Wild Bill was my protector and intimate friend and the friendship thus began continued until his death. Nothing transpired on the trip to delay or give us any trouble whatever until the train struck the South Platte River. One day we camped on the same ground where the Indians had surprised the cattle herd in charge of the McCarthy brothers. It was with difficulty that we discovered any traces of anybody ever having camped there before, the only landmark being the single grave, now covered with grass in which we had buried the three men who had been killed. The country was alive with buffaloes. Bast herds of these monarchs of the plains were roaming all around us and we laid over one day for a grand hunt. Besides killing quite a number of buffaloes and having a day of rare sport, we captured 10 or 12 head of cattle, they being a portion of the herd which had been stampeded by the Indians two months before. The next day we pulled out of camp and the train was strung out to a considerable length along the road which ran near the foot of the sandhills two miles from the river. Between the road and the river, we saw a large herd of buffaloes grazing quietly, they having been down to the stream for a drink. Just at this time, we observed a party of returning Californians coming from the west. They too noticed the buffalo herd and in another moment, they were dashing down upon them, urging their steeds to the greatest speed. The buffalo herds stampeded at once and broke for the hills. So hotly were they pursued by the hunters that about 500 of them rushed through our train, Pelmel, frightening both men and oxen. Some of the wagons were turned clear round and many of the terrified oxen attempted to run to the hills with the heavy wagons attached to them. Others turned around so short that they broke the wagon tongues off. Nearly all the teams got entangled in their gearing and became wild and unruly so that the perplexed drivers were unable to manage them. The buffaloes, the cattle and the drivers were soon running in every direction and the excitement upset nearly everybody and everything. Many of the cattle broke their yolks and stampeded. One big buffalo bulk became entangled in one of the heavy wagon chains and it is a fact that in his desperate efforts to free himself, he not only actually snapped a strong chain in two but broke the ox joke to which it was attached and the last scene of him he was running towards the hills with it hanging from his horns. A dozen other equally remarkable incidents happened during the short time that the frantic buffaloes were playing havoc with our train and when they had got through and left us, our outfit was very badly crippled and scattered. This caused us to go into camp and spend a day in replacing the broken tongues and repairing other damages and gathering up our scattered ox teams. The next day we rolled out of camp and proceeded on our way towards the setting sun. Everything ran along smoothly with us from that point until we came within about 18 miles of Green River and the Rocky Mountains where we camped at noon. At this place we had to drive our cattle about a mile and a half to a creek to order them. Simpson, his assistant George Woods and myself, accompanied by the usual number of guards drove the cattle over to the creek and while on our way back to camp we suddenly observed a party of 20 horsemen rapidly approaching us. We were not yet in view of our wagons as a rise of brown intervened and therefore we could not signal the train men in case of any unexpected danger befalling us. We had no suspicion, however, that we were about to be trapped as the strangers were white men. When they had come up to us, one of the party who evidently was the leader rode out in front and said, "'How are you, Mr. Simpson?' "'You've got the best of me, sir,' said Simpson, who did not know him. "'Well, I rather think I have,' coolly replied the stranger, whose words conveyed a double meaning as we soon learned. We had all come to a halt by this time and the strange horsemen had surrounded us. They were all armed with doubled-barreled shotguns, rifles, and revolvers. We also were armed with revolvers, but we had had no idea of danger and these men, much to our surprise, had got the drop on us and had covered us with their weapons so that we were completely at their mercy. The whole movement of corralling us was done so quietly and quickly that it was accomplished before we knew it. "'I'll trouble you for your six-shooters, gentlemen,' now said the leader. "'I'll give them to you in a way you don't want,' replied Simpson. The next moment three guns were leveled at Simpson. "'If you make a move, you're a dead man,' said the leader. Simpson saw that he was taken at a great disadvantage and, thinking it advisable, not to risk the lives of the party by any rash act on his part, he said, "'I see now that you have the best of me, but who are you anyhow?' "'I am Joe Smith,' was the reply. "'What, the leader of the Danites?' asked Simpson. "'You are correct,' said Smith, for he it was. "'Yes, said Simpson. I know you now. You are a spying scoundrel.'" Simpson had good reason for calling him this and applying to him a much more appropriate epithet. For only a short time before this, Joe Smith had visited our train in the disguise of a teamster and had remained with us two days. He suddenly disappeared, no one knowing where he had gone or why he had come among us. But it was all explained to us now that he had returned with his Mormon Danites. After they had disarmed us, Simpson asked, "'Well, Smith, what are you going to do with us?' "'Ride back with us, and I'll soon show you,' said Smith. We had no idea of the surprise which awaited us. As we came upon the top of the ridge, from which we could view our camp, we were astonished to see the remainder of the train men disarmed and stationed in a group and surrounded by another squad of Danites, while other Mormons were searching our wagons for such articles as they wanted. "'How was this?' inquired Simpson. "'How did you surprise my camp without a struggle? "'I can't understand it.' "'Easily enough,' said Smith, "'your men were all asleep under the wagons "'except the cooks, who saw us coming "'and took us for returning Californians or immigrants, "'and paid no attention to us "'until we rode up and surrounded your train. "'With our arms covering the men, we woke them up "'and told them that all they had to do "'was to walk out and drop their pistols, "'which they saw was the best thing they could do "'under circumstances over which they had no control, "'and you can just bet they did it. "'And what do you propose to do with us now?' asked Simpson. "'I intend to burn your train,' said he. "'You are loaded with supplies and ammunition "'for Sidney Johnson, "'and as I have no way to convey the stuff "'to my own people, "'I'll see that it does not reach the United States troops. "'Are you going to turn us adrift here?' asked Simpson, "'who was anxious to learn what was to become of himself "'and his men? "'No, I am hardly as bad as that. "'I'll give you enough provisions to last you "'until you can reach Fort Bridger,' replied Smith. "'And as soon as your cooks can get the stuff "'out of the wagons, you can start. "'On foot?' was the laconic inquiry of Simpson. "'Yes, sir,' was the equally short reply. "'Smith, that's too rough on us men. "'Put yourself in our place "'and see how you would like it,' said Simpson. "'You can well afford to give us at least one wagon "'and six yolks of oxen "'to convey us and our clothing and provisions to Fort Bridger. "'You're a brute if you don't do this.' "'Well,' said Smith, "'after consulting a minute or two with some of his company, "'I'll do that much for you.' "'The cattle and the wagon were brought up "'according to his orders, "'and the clothing and provisions were loaded on.' "'Now you can go,' said Smith, "'after everything had been arranged. "'Joe Smith, I think you were a mean coward "'to set us afloat in a hostile country "'without giving us our arms,' said Simpson, "'who had once before asked for the weapons "'and had his request denied. "'Smith, after further consultation with his comrades, "'said, "'Simpson, you are too brave a man "'to be turned adrift here without any means of defense. "'You shall have your revolvers and guns.' "'Our weapons were accordingly handed over to Simpson, "'and we at once started for Fort Bridger, "'knowing that it would be useless "'to attempt the recapture of our train. "'When we had traveled about two miles, "'we saw the smoke arising from our old camp. "'The Mormons, after taking what goods they wanted "'and could carry off, had set fire to the wagons, "'many of which were loaded with bacon, lard, "'hard-tech and other provisions, "'which made a very hot, fierce fire "'and the smoke to roll up in dense clouds. "'Some of the wagons were loaded with ammunition, "'and it was not long before loud explosions "'followed in rapid succession. "'We waited and witnessed the burning of the train "'and then pushed on to Fort Bridger. "'Arriving at this post, "'we learned that two other trains "'had been captured and destroyed in the same way "'by the Mormons. "'This made seventy-five wagonloads, "'or four hundred fifty thousand pounds of supplies, "'multiprovisions, "'which never reached General Johnson's command, "'to which they had been consigned. "'End of Chapter Five.' Chapter Six of the Life of Honourable William F. Cody. "'This Leaver-Vox recording is in the public domain. "'Recording by Barry Eads. "'The Life of Honourable William F. Cody "'by William F. Cody. "'Chapter Six. "'Hard Times.' "'As it was getting very late in the fall, "'we were compelled to winter at Fort Bridger, "'and a long tedious winter it was. "'There were a great many troops there "'and about four hundred of Russell, "'Majors and Waddles employees. "'These men were all organized into militia companies, "'which were officers by the wagon masters. "'Some lived in tents, others in cabins. "'It was known that our supplies "'would run short during the winter, "'and so all the men at the post "'were put on three-quarters rations to begin with. "'Before long, they were reduced to one-half rations, "'and finally to one-quarter rations. "'We were forced to kill our poor worn-out cattle for beef. "'They were actually so poor "'that we had to prop them up to shoot them down. "'At last we fell back on the mules, "'which were killed and served up in good style. "'Many a poor, unsuspecting government mule "'passed in his chips that winter "'in order to keep the soldiers and bull-whackers "'from starvation. "'It was really a serious state of affairs. "'The wood for the post was obtained from the mountains, "'but having no longer any cattle or mules to transport it, "'the men were obliged to hull it themselves. "'Long lariots were tied to the wagons, "'and twenty men manning each, "'they were pulled to and from the mountains. "'Notwithstanding all these hardships, "'the men seemed to be contented and to enjoy themselves. "'The winter finally passed away, "'and early in the spring, as soon as we could travel, "'the civil employees of the government "'and the teamsters and freighters "'started for the Missouri River, "'the Johnson expedition having been abandoned. "'On the way down we stopped at Fort Laramie, "'and there met a supply train bound westward. "'Of course, we all had a square meal once more, "'consisting of hardtack, bacon, coffee, and beans. "'I can honestly say that I thought it was the best meal "'I had ever eaten. "'At least I relished it more than any other, "'and I think the rest of the party did the same.' "'Unleaving Fort Laramie, "'Simpson was made brigade wagon master "'and was put in charge of two large trains, "'with about 400 extra men "'who were bound for Fort Leavenworth. "'When we came to Ash Hollow, "'instead of taking the usual trail "'over to the South Platte, "'Simpson concluded to follow the North Platte down "'to its junction with the South Platte. "'The two trains were traveling about 15 miles apart. "'When one morning, while Simpson was with the rear train, "'he told his assistant wagon master, George Woods, "'and myself, to saddle up our mules, "'as he wanted us to go with him "'and overtake the head train. "'We started off at about 11 o'clock "'and had ridden about seven miles when, "'while we were on a big plateau, back of Cedar Bluffs, "'we suddenly discovered a band of Indians "'coming out of the head of a ravine, half a mile distant, "'and charging down upon us at full speed. "'I thought that our end had come this time, sure. "'Simpson, however, took in the situation in a moment, "'and knowing that it would be impossible to escape "'by running our plate-out mules, "'he adopted a bolder and much better plan. "'He jumped from his own mule "'and told us to dismount also. "'He then shot the three animals, "'and as they fell to the ground, "'he cut their throats to stop their kicking. "'He then jerked them into the shape of a triangle "'and ordered us inside of the barricade. "'All of this was but the work of a few moments, "'yet it was not done any too soon, "'for the Indians had got within 300 yards of us "'and were still advancing "'and uttering their demonical yells and war-woops. "'There were 40 of the Redskins and only three of us. "'We were each armed with the Mississippi Yeager "'and two Colts revolvers. "'Get ready for them with your guns, "'and when they come within 50 yards, "'aim low, blaze away, and bring down your man. "'Such was the quick command of Simpson. "'The words had hardly escaped from his mouth "'when the three Yeagers almost simultaneously "'belch forth their contents. "'We then seized our revolvers "'and opened a lively fire on the enemy at short range, "'which checked their advance. "'Then we looked over our little barricade "'to ascertain what effect our fire had produced "'and were much gratified at seeing three dead Indians "'and one horse lying on the ground. "'Only two or three of the Indians, it seemed, "'had firearms. "'It must be remembered that in those days "'every Indian did not own a needle-gun "'or a Winchester rifle, as they now do. "'Their principal weapons were their bows and arrows. "'Seen that they cannot take our little fortification "'or drive us from it, "'they circled around us several times, "'shooting their arrows at us. "'One of the arrows struck George Wood "'in the left shoulder, "'inflicting only a slight wound, however, "'and several lodged in the bodies of the dead mules. "'Otherwise, they did us no harm. "'The Indians finally galloped off to a safe distance, "'where our bullets could not reach them "'and seemed to be holding a council. "'This was a lucky move for us, "'for it gave us an opportunity to reload our guns and pistols "'and prepare for the next charge of the enemy. "'During the brief cessation of hostilities, "'Simpson extracted the arrow from Wood's shoulder "'and put an immense quid of tobacco on the wound. "'Wood was then ready for business again. "'The Indians did not give us a very long rest, "'for with another desperate charge, "'as if to ride over us, "'they came dashing towards the mule barricade. "'We gave them a hot reception "'from our Yeagers and revolvers. "'They could not stand or understand "'the rapidly repeating fire of the revolvers, "'and we again checked them. "'They circled around us once more "'and gave us a few parting shots as they rode off, "'leaving behind them another dead Indian and a horse. "'For two hours afterwards, "'they did not seem to be doing anything "'but holding a council. "'We made good use of this time "'by digging up the ground inside the barricade "'with our knives and throwing the loose earth "'around and over the mules, "'and we soon had a very respectable fortification. "'We were not troubled any more that day, "'but during the night the cunning rascals "'tried to burn us out by setting fire to the prairie. "'The buffalo grass was so short "'that the fire did not trouble us much, "'but the smoke concealed the Indians from our view, "'and they thought that they could approach close to us "'without being seen. "'We were aware of this and kept a sharp lookout, "'being prepared all the time to receive them. "'They finally abandoned the idea of surprising us. "'Next morning, bright and early, "'they gave us one more grand charge, "'and again we stood them off. "'They then rode away half a mile or so "'and formed a circle around us. "'Each man dismounted and sat down "'as if to wait and starve us out. "'They had evidently seen the advanced train "'pass on the morning of the previous day "'and believed that we belonged to that outfit "'and were trying to overtake it. "'They had no idea that another train "'was on its way after us. "'Our hopes of escape from this unpleasant "'and perilous situation "'now depended upon the arrival of the rear train. "'And when we saw that the Indians "'were going to besiege us instead of renewing their attacks, "'we felt rather confident of receiving timely assistance. "'We had expected that the train would be along "'late in the afternoon of the previous day "'and as the morning wore away, "'we were somewhat anxious and uneasy at its non-arrival. "'At last, about ten o'clock, "'we began to hear in the distance "'the loud and sharp reports of the big bullwhips "'which were handled with great dexterity "'by the teamsters and cracked like rifle shots. "'These were as welcome sounds to us "'as were the notes of the bagpipes "'to the besieged garrison at Lochmow. "'When the reinforcements were coming up "'and the pipers were heard playing, "'the cambels are coming. "'In a few moments, we saw the lead or head wagon "'coming slowly over the ridge, "'which had concealed the train from our view "'and soon the whole outfit made its appearance. "'The Indians observed the approaching train "'and assembling in a group, "'they held a short consultation. "'They then charged upon us once more for the last time "'and as they turned and dashed away over the prairie, "'we sent our farewell shots rattling after them. "'The teamsters, seeing the Indians and hearing the shots, "'came rushing forward to our assistance, "'but by the time they reached us, "'the redskins had almost disappeared from view. "'The teamsters eagerly asked us 100 questions "'concerning our fight, admired our fort "'and praised our pluck. "'Simpsons' remarkable presence of mind "'in planning the defense "'was the general topic of conversation "'among all the men. "'When the teams came up, "'we obtained some water and bandages "'with which to dress Woods's wound, "'which had become quite inflamed and painful, "'and we then put him into one of the wagons. "'Simpsons and myself obtained a remount, "'baig goodbye to our dead mules, "'which had served us so well, "'and after collecting the ornaments "'and other plunder from the dead Indians, "'we left their bodies and bones "'to bleach on the prairie. "'The train moved on again "'and we had no other adventures, "'except several exciting buffalo hunts "'on the South Plat near Plum Creek. "'We arrived at Fort Leavenworth "'about the middle of July, 1858, "'when I immediately visited home. "'I found mother in very poor health "'as she was suffering from asthma. "'My oldest sister Martha had, "'during my absence, been married to John Crane "'and was living at Leavenworth. "'During the winter at Fort Bridger, "'I had frequently talked with Wild Bill "'about my family, "'and as I had become greatly attached to him, "'I asked him to come "'and make a visit to our house, "'which he promised to do. "'So one day, shortly after our return from Fort Bridger, "'he accompanied me home from Leavenworth. "'My mother and sisters, "'who had heard so much about him from me, "'were delighted to see him "'and he spent several weeks at our place. "'They did everything possible "'to repay him for his kindness to me. "'Ever afterwards, when he was at or near Leavenworth, "'Wild Bill came out to our house to see the family, "'whether I was at home or not, "'and he always received a most cordial reception. "'His mother and sisters lived in Illinois "'and used to call our house his home "'as he did not have one of his own. "'I had been home only about a month "'after returning from Fort Bridger "'when I again started out with another train, "'going this time as assistant wagon master "'under Buck Boomer. "'We went safely through to Fort Laramie, "'which was our destination, "'and from there we were ordered "'to take a load of supplies "'to a new post called Fort Wallach, "'which was being established at Cheyenne Pass. "'We made this trip and got back to Fort Laramie "'about November 1st. "'I then quit the employ of Russell, Majors, and Wattle, "'and joined a party of trappers "'who were sent out by the post trader, Mr. Ward, "'to trap on the streams of the Chugwater and Laramie "'for beaver, otter, and other fur animals "'and also to poison wolves for their pelts. "'We were out about two months, "'but as the expedition did not prove very profitable "'and was rather dangerous on account of the Indians, "'we abandoned the enterprise "'and came into Fort Laramie in the latter part of December. "'Being anxious to return to the Missouri River, "'I joined with two others, "'name Scott and Charlie, "'who were also desirous of going east on a visit. "'Bought three ponies and a pack mule, "'and we started out together. "'We made rapid progress on our journey, "'and nothing worthy of note happened until one afternoon, "'along the banks of the Little Blue River, "'we spied a band of Indians "'hunting on the opposite side of the stream "'three miles away. "'We did not escape their notice, "'and they gave us a lively chase for two hours, "'but they could find no good crossing, "'and as evening came on, "'we finally got away from them. "'We traveled until late in the night, "'whereupon discovering a low, deep ravine, "'which we thought would make a comfortable "'and safe camping-place, we stopped for a rest. "'In searching for a good place to make our beds, "'I found a hole, "'and I called to my companions "'that I had found a fine place for a nest. "'One of the party was to stand guard "'while the others slept. "'Scott took the first watch, "'while Charlie and I made a bed in the hole. "'While clearing out the place, we felt something rough, "'but as it was dark, we could not make out what it was. "'At any rate, we concluded that it was bones "'or sticks of wood. "'We thought perhaps it might be the bones "'of some animal which had fallen in there and died. "'These bones, for such they really proved to be, "'we pushed one side and then laid down. "'But Charlie, being an inveterate smoker, "'could not resist the temptation of indulging "'in a smoke before going to sleep. "'He sat up and struck a match to light his old pipe. "'Our subterranean bedchamber was thus illuminated "'for a moment or two. "'I sprang to my feet in an instant, "'for a ghastly and horrifying sight was revealed to us. "'Eight or ten human skeletons lay scattered upon the ground. "'The light of the match died out, "'but we had seen enough to convince us "'that we were in a large grave, "'into which perhaps some unfortunate immigrants "'who had been killed by the Indians had been thrown, "'or perhaps seeking refuge there, "'they had been corralled and then killed on the spot. "'If such was the case, "'they had met the fate of thousands of others, "'whose friends have never heard of them "'since they left their eastern homes "'to seek their fortunes in the far west. "'However, we did not care to investigate "'this mystery any further, "'but we hustled out of that chamber of death "'and informed Scott of our discovery. "'Most of the Plainsmen are very superstitious "'and we were no exception to the general rule. "'We surely thought that this incident was an evil omen "'and that we would be killed if we remained there any longer. "'Let us dig out of here quicker "'than we can say Jack Robinson,' said Scott, "'and we began to dig out at once. "'We saddled our animals "'and hurriedly pushed forward through the darkness, "'traveling several miles before we again went into camp. "'Next morning it was snowing fiercely, "'but we proceeded as best we could, "'and that night we succeeded in reaching Oak Grove Ranch, "'which had been built during the summer. "'We here obtained comfortable accommodations "'and plenty to eat and drink, especially the latter. "'Scott and Charlie were great lovers "'and consumers of Tanglefoot, "'and they soon got gloriously drunk, "'keeping it up for three days, "'during which time they gambled with the ranchmen "'who got away with all their money, "'but little they cared for that, "'as they had their spree. "'They finally sobered up and resumed our journey, "'urging our jaded animals as much as they could stand "'until we struck Marysville on the big blue. "'From this place to Leavenworth, "'we secured first-rate accommodations along the road, "'as the country had been pretty well settled. "'It was in February 1859 that I got home. "'As there was now a good school in a neighborhood "'taught by Mr. Davini, my mother wished me to attend it, "'and I did so for two months and a half, "'the longest period of schooling "'that I ever received at any one time in my life. "'As soon as the spring came "'and the grass began growing, "'I became uneasy and discontented, "'and again longed for the free and open life of the plains. "'The Pike's Peak Gold Excitement was then at its height, "'and everybody was rushing to the new gold diggings. "'I caught the gold fever myself "'and joined a party bound for the new town of Aurora "'on Cherry Creek, afterwards called Denver, "'in honor of the then Governor of Kansas. "'On arriving at Aurora, "'we pushed on to the gold streams in the mountains, "'passing up through Golden Gate and over Guy Hill, "'and thence on to Blackhawk. "'We've prospected for two months, "'but as none of us knew anything about mining, "'we met with very poor success, "'and finally concluded that prospecting for gold "'was not our forte. "'We accordingly abandoned the enterprise "'and turned our faces eastward once more. "'When we struck the Platte River, "'the happy thought of constructing a small raft, "'which would float us clear to the Missouri "'and thence down to Leavenworth, entered our heads, "'and we accordingly carried out the plan. "'Upon the completion of the raft, "'we stocked it with provisions "'and set sail down the stream. "'It was a light craft and a jolly crew, "'and all was smooth sailing for four or five days. "'When we got near old Julesburg, "'we met with a serious mishap. "'Our raft ran into an eddy "'and quick as lightning went to pieces, "'throwing us all into the stream, "'which was so deep that we had to swim ashore. "'We lost everything we had, "'which greatly discouraged us, "'and we thereupon abandoned the idea "'of rafting it any further. "'We then walked over to Julesburg, "'which was only a few miles distant. "'This ranch, which became a somewhat famous spot, "'had been established by old Jules, a Frenchman, "'who was afterwards killed by the notorious Alf Slade. "'The Great Pony Express, "'about which so much had been said and written, "'was at that time just being started. "'The line was being stocked with horses "'and put into good running condition. "'At Julesburg, I met Mr. George Christman, "'the leading wagon master of Russell, Majors, and Walo, "'who had always been a good friend to me. "'He had bought out old Jules "'and was then the owner of Julesburg Ranch "'and the agent of the Pony Express line. "'He hired me at once as a Pony Express rider. "'But as I was so young, "'he thought I would not be able to stand "'the fierce riding which was required of the messengers. "'He knew, however, that I had been raised in the cell, "'that I felt more at home there than any other place. "'And as he saw that I was confident "'that I could stand the racket "'and could ride as far and endure it as well "'as some of the older riders, "'he gave me a short route of 45 miles, "'with the station's 15 miles apart "'and three changes of forces. "'I was required to make 15 miles an hour, "'including the changes of forces. "'I was fortunate in getting well-broken animals "'and being so light, "'I easily made my 45 miles on time "'on my first trip out and ever afterwards. "'I wrote to Mother and told her how well "'I liked the exciting life of a Pony Express rider. "'She replied and begged of me to give it up "'as it would surely kill me. "'She was right about this, "'as 15 miles an hour on horseback would, "'in short time, shake any man all to pieces. "'And there were but very few, if any, "'riders who could stand it for any great length of time. "'Nevertheless, I stuck to it for two months, "'and then, upon receiving a letter, "'informing me that my mother was very sick, "'I gave it up and went back to the old home "'in Salt Creek Valley." End of Chapter 6.