 Frontier Fighters, Frontier Fighters, thrill-packed episodes in the lives of those stalwart sons and daughters of Western destiny. No name is more exalted in history than John M. Boseman, who charted a new and shorter lifeline for those early pioneers from the Middle West to the gold fields of Montana. To this route he gave his name, and so the famous Boseman Trail came into being. All along the route were forts, sturdy custodians of the destinies of farmers, trappers or miners. Two of the most important forts in the chain along the Boseman Trail were forts Phil Carney and Fort Laramie. As our story opens, the hero who steps into our drama is not John Boseman, but John Portigy Phillips. The scene is Fort Phil Carney, the time December 21st, 1866. A messenger has just brought the horrible news that an expedition of 81 men set out against the greatest menace to emigrants along the Boseman Trail has been wiped out. Red class, the Sioux warriors, 3,000 of them in half an hour, wipe this out. Come into my quarters. I don't want to alarm the women and children. They're dead. Dead. I tell you, massacre. Come here, man. Get hold of yourself. Sorry, sir. For those bloodthirsty savages, those red devils led us into a trap, and suddenly from out of nowhere they came yelling and shooting. Lieutenant Grumman was killed, so Captain Peterman asked me to bring... Ride for reinforcements? No, sir. He knew they were done for. He had me ride and warn you that Red Cloud and his warriors plant in the march on the Fort. We've only got 119 left now, and that includes civilian employees. No, poor Captain Peterman. I'll officially note your report, Corporal. Yes, sir. God rest the souls of those brave men and their Captain. Now get some rest, Corporal. By sundown, Fort Phil Carney must be ready for Red Cloud's attack. The winds that ushered in the wild ride of the messenger warning the Fort brought snow. The thermometer continued to fall. A terrible blizzard swept down from the Big Horn Mountains, bringing huge drifts of blinding snow which swirled and piled high above the log stockade. The snowfall was so heavy that it was necessary to keep a force of men shoveling it away as it formed against the walls of the Fort. If it piled too high, the Indians might climb the log barricade. Every light in the Fort was kept burning. Hourly, the situation at the Fort became more desperate. Colonel Carrington summoned John Portigy Phillips, a frontiersman, and the employee of the quartermaster. John, you've been on this frontier years longer than I have. What do you think Red Cloud and his warriors will do? Well, Colonel, now that the thermometer hit 25 degrees below zero, I reckon he'll hold off 24 hours or so. Perhaps 48 hours, three days at the most. Colonel Carrington, how many miles do you reckon it is to Fort Laramie? Oh, I'd say roughly between 220 and 236 miles. Around 236 is right. Well, help from that source is out of the question. No man can survive a ride with the thermometer 25 below zero. Before he was a mile out, the Redskins would get him. Thank you, Phillips. I'm going to talk to Mrs. Grumman, Colonel. I hear her husband was killed in massacre. When I come back, I might have planned you be interested in. I ain't much on talking, but everybody here like your husband. Thank you, John. He was brave soldier and gentleman. I kind of figure it was too bad he had to go instead of me. Don't say that. No one knows when his time will come. Lieutenant Grumman had to go that way. He was sure powerful kind to me. You've been too. I was born in Portugal. They call me Portuguese Phillip. Didn't make him treat me less than a man. You have the respect and the affection of every man, woman and child in this sport. Well, I ain't never done much to show my appreciation, but faith has just shoved an opportunity my way. Maybe in half hour I'll be on my way to... John, you can't mean that you... Well, if Colonel Carrington give me leave, in half hour I'll be on my way to get help from Fort Laramie. John, the cards are all stacked against you on a proposition like this. You haven't even one chance in a million. But if Indian attacked the fort, you can't hold out where I'm gone or anyway. Besides, I don't think I'm going to lose. It's a brave, reckless thing you're suggesting, Phillips. But I can't let you ride to certain death. Colonel, it ain't just lives in this fort. If Red Cloud wipes out this post here, every station for 500 miles will fall to him. And it's the forts that keep the Boseman Trail open the year round. And the trail keeps the west open. There's logic in that. If you only had one chance in a thousand... If chances, Colonel, are mine to take, I'm all packed and ready to go. I can make Laramie even in this weather and little over three days. This is midnight of the 21st. I should be at Fort Laramie by Christmas night. All right, John, go. And God bless you. Thanks, Colonel. I'm traveling mighty life, just enough feed for myself and your horse. And now, now, don't say no, Colonel. I've got to have that mare of yours. All right, John, anything in the fort shows. Now, how are you going to keep the wind out? Well, I got buffalo skin overcoat, buffalo boots, gauntlets and cut. By the time you get your dispatches ripped, I'd be ready to leave by the Sally Port gate. Phillips, we never meet again on this earth. I'll know you went to a hero's grave. Colonel Carrington. At midnight on the eventful day of December 21st, John Phillips started out on his ride. Every person who witnessed his departure into the storm whispered God's speed to the man who was attempting to outright death over a snow-filled trail 236 miles long. By day, he hid in the thickets, and when darkness fell over the Boseman Trail, John Phillips galloped away into the direction of Fort Laramie. December 22nd passed into December 23rd. The cold became more intense. The biscuits, John Phillips' only food, became fewer. The horse, more winded, but on they rode, on and on. The day of the 24th of December saw horse and messenger again in hiding. But nightfall found a brave man and a brave horse riding into the darkness. On the morning of the 25th, Christmas Day, the telegraph operator at horseshoe station, Rollins, Wyoming, saw a bearded man riding a spent, stumbling horse at his heels, a band of Indians. Open up that gate there. Get your guns, men. A messenger with red skin to the deer. Lying through the Fort Reno or Laramie. Lying's all down. Got something important to put on them when the good wires get hot again? Yeah. 81 men of garrison at Fort Gilcarny, Massacre. You've been riding all this way from Fort Carny? Yeah. Men help this man down from his horse. Get him some food and get his horse a bag of oats. No. No. Can't stop to eat. Just put some more biscuit into my pockets and slip that feed bag on my horse's nose. I was just traveling at night, but got to make better time. Thanks, all of you. Well, if I have luck, I'll get the Fort Laramie by midnight. On through the bitter cold of that historic Christmas day, rode the messenger and his faithful horse. A few hours and they were riding past Fort Reno. Night again. Eight o'clock. Icicles trail the beard of John Phillips and his coat was covered inches thick with snow. The mare began to whinny with pain, but her stout heart and unnerving sense of duty drove her on hours past her strength. Nine o'clock. Ten o'clock. The mare stiffened. On, girl. On. No, no, you can't stop now. On. Oh, don't let me down, girl. You're the Cornel's horse, ain't you? Come on, come on, girl. Show some of that sponk and fire. Just one hour more. One hour and we beat Fort Laramie. Come on, come on. We got to make Fort Laramie, girl. We got to. Bless you, girl. You understand. At last hour, the Fort Laramie was an eternity. But, eleven o'clock, just when a brilliant Christmas party was at its height, into the officer's clubhouse where all the dances were held, staggered a swaying gigantic figure swathed in a buffalo skin overcoat with buffalo boots, gauntlet and cap. I'm courier from Fort Philp Carney. I'm porting this patch for commanding officer. Take care of my horse. Fort Carney. Why, that's 236 miles away. Three guns at a wonder it didn't kill him. His horse, sir, is dead. He's pretty close to death himself. Let's get him to a bed. Corporal, run to the surgeon. Yes. Send reinforcements. Two companies, cavalry and four companies. Infantry well armed. Women and children at mercy of 3,000 blood thirsty soon. 81 killed. 81 killed. We'll avenge those 81. Let's get the march for Fort Philp Carney. If we save that fort, it will be because this man got through. He deserves a medal for his heroism. He may never get that, Captain, but he will have the everlasting gratitude of those people at Fort Philp Carney and the respect and admiration of every soldier in the West guarding the Boseman Trail. Thanks to the daring, the courage, the invincible will of one man and his brave horse, Fort Philp Carney was saved and the Boseman Trail kept open to those pioneers of the late 60s and the early 70s. And so, John Portigy Phillips joins the great parade of deathless frontier fighters.