Buffalo Land

GENTLE ZEPHYRS—"GOING OFF WITHOUT A DRAWBACK.

Suddenly there was a clatter of poles, and two canvass clouds flew out of sight like balloons. The living skeleton found himself on a distant ridge, with the wind whistling among his ribs, while the monkey performed somersaults which would have astonished the original Cynocephalus. The pig meanwhile found refuge behind the organ, which the hurricane, with a better ear for music than man, refused to turn.

"Mademoiselle Zavenowski, the beautiful leading equestrienne of the world," just preparing to jump through a hoop, went through her own with a whirl, and stood upon the plains feeding the hungry storm with her charms. The graceful young rider, lately perforating hearts with the kisses she flung at them, in a trice had become a maiden of fifty, noticeably the worse for wear.

An eye-witness, in describing the scene to us, said the circus went off without a single drawback. It was as if a ton of gunpowder had been fired under the ring. Just as the clown was rubbing his leg, as the result of calling the sensitive ring-master a fool (a sham suffering, though for truth's sake), there was a sharp crack, and the establishment dissolved. High in air went hats and bonnets, like fragments shot out of a volcano. The spirits of zephyr-land carried off uncounted hundreds of tiles, both military and civil, and we desire to place it upon record that should a future missionary, in some remote northern tribe, find traditions of a time when the sky rained hats, they may all be accounted for on purely scientific grounds.

Much property was lost, but no lives. The immediate results were a bankrupt showman and a run on liniments and sticking-plaster.

Our first hunt was to be on the Saline, which comes down from the west about fifteen miles north of Hays City.

Before starting, we carefully overhauled our entire outfit. For a long, busy day nothing was thought of save the cleaning of guns, the oiling of straps, and the examination of saddles, with sundry additions to wardrobe and larder. Shamus became a mighty man among grocery-keepers, and could scarcely have been more popular had he been an Indian supply agent. The inventory which he gave us of his purchases comprised twelve cans of condensed milk, with coffee, tea, and sugar, in proportion; several pounds each of butter, bacon, and crackers; a few loaves of bread, two sacks of flour, some pickles, and a sufficient number of tin-plates, cups, and spoons. To these he subsequently added a half-dozen hams and something like fifty yards of Bologna sausage, which he told us were for use when we should tire of fresh meat. Sachem entered protest, declaring that sausage and ham, in a country full of game, reflected upon us.

"LOOKED LIKE THE END OF A TAIL."

THE RARE OLD PLAINSMAN OF THE NOVELS.

Of course, we found use for every item of the above, and especially for the Bologna. If one can feel satisfied in his own mind as to what portion of the brute creation is entering into him, a half-yard of Bologna, tied to the saddle, stays the stomach wonderfully on an all day's ride. It is so handy to reach it, while trotting along, and with one's hunting-knife cut off a few inches for immediate consumption. Semi-Colon, however, who was a youth of delicate stomach, sickened on his ration one day, because he found something in it which, he said, looked like the end of a tail. It is a debatable question, to my mind, whether Satan, among his many ways of entering into man, does not occasionally do so in the folds of Bologna sausage. Certain it is that, after such repast, one often feels like Old Nick, and woe be to the man at any time who is at all dyspeptic. All the forces of one's gastric juices may then prove insufficient to wage successful battle with the evil genius which rends him.

Our outfit, as regards transportation, consisted of the animals heretofore mentioned, and two teams which we hired at Hays, for the baggage and commissary supplies.

The evening before our departure we rode over to the fort and called upon General Sheridan. "Little Phil" had pitched his camp on the bank of Big Creek, a short distance below the fort, preferring a soldier's life in the tent to the more comfortable officer's quarters. This we thought eminently characteristic of the man. He is an accumulation of tremendous energy in small compass, a sort of embodied nitro-glycerine, but dangerous only to his enemies. Famous principally as a cavalry leader, because Providence flung him into the saddle and started him off at a gallop, had his destiny been infantry, he would have led it to victory on the run. And now, officer after officer having got sadly tangled in the Indian web, which was weaving its strong threads over so fair a portion of our land, Sheridan was sent forward to cut his way through it.

The camp was a pretty picture with its line of white tents, the timber along the creek for a background, and the solemn, apparently illimitable plains stretching away to the horizon in front. Taken altogether, it looked more like the comfortable nooning spot of a cavalry scout than the quarters of a famous General. Our chieftain stood in front of the center tent, with a few staff-officers lounging near by, his short, thick-set figure and firm head giving us somehow the idea of a small, sinewy lion.

We found the General thoroughly conversant with the difficult task to which he had been called. "Place the Indians on reservations," he said, "under their own chiefs, with an honest white superintendency. Let the civil law reign on the reservation, military law away from it, every Indian found by the troops off from his proper limits to be treated as an outlaw." It seemed to me that in a few brief sentences this mapped out a successful Indian policy, part of which indeed has since been adopted, and the remainder may yet be.

When speaking of late savageries on the plains the eyes of "Little Phil" glittered wickedly. In one case, on Spillman's Creek, a band of Cheyennes had thrust a rusty sword into the body of a woman with child, piercing alike mother and offspring, and, giving it a fiendish twist, left the weapon in her body, the poor woman being found by our soldiers yet living.

"I believe it possible," said Sheridan, "at once and forever to stop these terrible crimes." As he spoke, however, we saw what he apparently did not, a long string of red tape, of which one end was pinned to his official coat-tail, while the other remained in the hands of the Department at Washington. Soon after, as Sheridan pushed forward, the Washington end twitched vigorously. He managed, however, with his right arm, Custer, to deal a sledge-hammer blow, which broke to fragments the Cheyenne Black-kettle and his band. Whether or not that band had been guilty of the recent murders, the property of the slain was found in their possession, and the terrible punishment caused the residue of the tribe to sue for peace. It was the first time for years that the war spirit had placed any horrors at their doors, and that one terrible lesson prepared the savage mind for the advent of peace commissioners.

Our brief conference ended, the General bade us good day, and wished us a pleasant experience. Scarcely had we got beyond his tents, however, when we were overtaken by a decidedly unpleasant one. On their way to water, a troop of mules stampeded, and passing us in a cloud of dust, our brutes took bits in their teeth, and joined company. Happily, the run was a short one to the creek, where those of us who had not fallen off before managed to do so then. Poor Gripe was the only person injured, suffering the fracture of a rib, which necessitated his return to Topeka, so that we did not see him again until some months afterward, when we met him on the Solomon.

CHAPTER X

HAYS CITY BY LAMP-LIGHT—THE SANTA FE TRADE—BULL-WHACKERS—MEXICANS—SABBATH ON THE PLAINS—THE DARK AGES—WILD BILL AND BUFFALO BILL—OFF FOR THE SALINE—DOBEEN'S GHOST-STORY—AN ADVENTURE WITH INDIANS—MEXICAN CANNONADE—A RUNAWAY.

Hays City by lamp-light was remarkably lively and not very moral. The streets blazed with the reflection from saloons, and a glance within showed floors crowded with dancers, the gaily dressed women striving to hide with ribbons and paint the terrible lines which that grim artist, Dissipation, loves to draw upon such faces. With a heartless humor he daubs the noses of the sterner sex a cherry red, but paints under the once bright eyes of woman a shade dark as the night in the cave of despair. To the music of violin and stamping of feet, the dance went on, and we saw in the giddy maze old men who must have been pirouetting on the very edge of their graves.

Being then the depot for the great Santa Fe trade, the town was crowded with Mexicans and speculators. Large warehouses along the track were stored with wool awaiting shipment east, and with merchandise to be taken back with the returning wagons. These latter are of immense size, and, from this circumstance, are sometimes called "prairie schooners;" and, in truth, when a train of them is winding its way over the plains, the white covers flecking its surface like sails, the sight is not unlike a fleet coming into port. Oxen and mules are both used. When the former, the drivers rejoice in the title of "bull-whackers," and the crack of their whips, as loud as the report of a rifle, is something tremendous.

On the day of our arrival at Hays City, one of these festive individuals noticed Dobeen gazing, with open mouth, and back towards him, at some object across the street, and took the opportunity to crack his lash within an inch of the Irishman's spine. The effect was ludicrous; Shamus came in on the run to have a ball extracted from his back!

These Mexicans who come through with the ox-trains are a very degraded race, dark, dirty, and dismal. In appearance, they much resemble animated bundles of rags, walking off with heads of charcoal. Personal bravery is not one of their striking characteristics; indeed, they often run away when to stand still would seem to an American the only safe course possible. We were desirous of sending back to Hays City some of the proceeds of our excursion for shipment to friends at St. Louis and Chicago, and therefore hired two of the Mexican teamsters to go as far as the Saline, and return with the fruits of our prowess. For this service, which would occupy about four days, they were to receive twenty-five dollars each.

The morrow was Sunday, and came to us, as nine-tenths of the mornings on the plains did afterward, clear and bracing. Compared with the previous evening, the little town was very quiet. There was no stir in the streets, although later in the morning a few of the last night's carousers came out of doors, rubbing their sleepy eyes, and slunk around town for the remainder of the day. All nature was calm and beautiful; it almost seemed as if we might hear the chime of Sabbath bells float to us from somewhere in the depths around.

One of our sea legends recites that ship wrecked bells, fallen from the society of men to that of mermaids, are straightway hung on coral steeples, where, when storms roar around the rocks above, they toll for the deaths of the mariners. Was it impossible, we mused, that ancient mariners, with whole cargoes of bells, went down on this inland sea centuries before Rome howled? The earth around us might be as full of musical tongues as of saurians, and only awaiting the savan's spade and sympathetic touch to give their dumb eloquence voice. If the people of those days were navigators, surely they might also have been men of metal. In the far-away past existed numerous arts which baffle modern ingenuity. Stones were lifted at sight of which our engineers stand dismayed. Bodies were embalmed with a skill and perfection which our medical faculty admire, but have scarcely even essayed to imitate. Is it impossible that vessels plowed this ancient ocean with a speed which would have left our Cunarders out of sight? If human spirits freed from earth take cognizance of following generations, how those old captains must have laughed when Fulton boarded his wheezing experiment to paddle up the Hudson! And if our doctor's Darwinian-Pythagorean theory were correct, Fulton's spirit might have brought the crude idea from some ancient stoker.

But while we were thus speculating and giving free reins to Fancy's most erratic moods, the chaplain arrived from the fort, and mounting the freight platform, read the Episcopal morning service. A crowd gathered around, and a voice from the past whispering in their ears, a few bowed their heads during prayer. A drunkard went brawling by, with a sidelong glance and the leering look of eyes whose watery lids seemed making vain efforts to quench the fiery balls. How it grated on one's feelings! In a land so eloquent with voices of the mighty past, it seemed as if even instinct would cause the knee to bow in homage before its Maker.

Monday was our day of final preparation, and we commenced it by making the acquaintance of those two celebrated characters, Wild Bill and Buffalo Bill, or, more correctly, William Hickock and William Cody. The former was acting as sheriff of the town, and the latter we engaged as our guide to the Saline.

Wild Bill made his entree into one court of the temple of fame some years since through Harper's Magazine. Since then his name has become a household word to residents along the Kansas frontier. We found him very quiet and gentlemanly, and not at all the reckless fellow we had supposed. His form won our admiration—the shoulders of a Hercules with the waist of a girl. Much has been written about Wild Bill that is pure fiction. I do not believe, for example, that he could hit a nickel across the street with a pistol-ball, any more than an Indian could do so with an arrow. These feats belong to romance. Bill is wonderfully handy with his pistols, however. He then carried two of them, and while we were at Hays snuffed a man's life out with one; but this was done in his capacity of officer. Two rowdies devoted their energies to brewing a riot, and defied arrest until, at Bill's first shot, one fell dead, and the other threw up his arms in token of submission. During his life time Bill has probably killed his baker's dozen of men, but he has never, I believe, been known as the aggressor. To the people of Hays he was a valuable officer, making arrests when and where none other dare attempt it. His power lies in the wonderful quickness with which he draws a pistol and takes his aim. These first shots, however, can not always last. "They that take the sword shall perish with the sword;" and living as he does by the pistol, Bill will certainly die by it, unless he abandons the frontier.

BUFFALO BILL—From a Photograph.

WILD BILL—From a Photograph.

Only a short time after we left Hays two soldiers attempted his life. Attacked unexpectedly, Bill was knocked down and the muzzle of a musket placed against his forehead, but before it could be discharged the ready pistol was drawn and the two soldiers fell down, one dead, the other badly wounded. Their companions clamored for revenge, and Bill changed his base. He afterward became marshal of the town of Abilene, where he signalized himself by carrying a refractory councilman on his shoulders to the council-chamber. A few months later some drunken Texans attempted a riot, and one of them, a noted gambler, commenced firing on the marshal. The latter returned the fire, shooting not only the gambler, but one of his own friends, who, in the gloom of the evening, was hurrying to his aid. Bill paid the expenses of the latter's funeral, which on the frontier is considered the proper and delicate way of consoling the widow whenever such little accidents occur.

The Professor took occasion, before parting with Wild William, to administer some excellent advice, urging him especially, if he wished to die in his bed, to abandon the pistol and seize upon the plow-share. His reputation as Union scout, guide for the Indian country, and sheriff of frontier towns, our leader said, was a sufficient competency of fame to justify his retirement upon it. In this opinion the public will certainly coincide.

Buffalo Bill was to be our guide. He informed us that Wild Bill was his cousin. Cody is spare and wiry in figure, admirably versed in plain lore, and altogether the best guide I ever saw. The mysterious plain is a book that he knows by heart. He crossed it twice as teamster, while a mere boy, and has spent the greater part of his life on it since. He led us over its surface on starless nights, when the shadow of the blackness above hid our horses and the earth, and though many a time with no trail to follow and on the very mid-ocean of the expanse, he never made a failure. Buffalo Bill has since figured in one of Buntline's Indian romances. We award him the credit of being a good scout and most excellent guide; but the fact that he can slaughter buffalo is by no means remarkable, since the American bison is dangerous game only to amateurs.

We were off early on Tuesday morning for the Saline, our course toward which lay before us a little west of north, the citizens turning out to see us start. We had just parted from Gripe, who went East on the first train to get his ribs healed. "To think, gentlemen," said he, "that I should have escaped rebel bullets and Indian atrocities, only to have my ribs cracked at last by a stampede of mules!" Poor Gripe's farewell reminded me strongly of the old saying about the ruling passion strong in death. As he stood on the platform, with one hand against his aching side, he could not refrain from waving a courtly adieu with the other, and bowing himself from our presence, into the car, as if leaving the stage after a political speech.

We were sorry to lose our friend, and this, together with the thought of the weeks of uncertainties and anxieties which lay before us, made our exit from Hays rather a solemn affair. Even Tammany Sachem's face was ironed out so completely that not a smile wrinkled it. Dobeen had loaded one wagon with culinary weapons, and now sat among his pots and pans, evidently ill at ease and wishing himself doing any thing else rather than about to plunge further into the wilderness.

When about to mount Cynocephalus, Semi's feelings were wounded by a depraved urchin who suggested, "You'd better fust knock that fly off, Boss. Both on ye 'll be too much for the hoss!" Fortunately, perhaps, for our feelings, the remainder of the inhabitants were so civil that further criticisms on our outfit, though they may have been ripe at their tongues' end, were carefully repressed.

Moving out over the divide above town the Professor noticed the general depression of the party, and forthwith began philosophising.

"My friends," said he, "had the feelings which explorers suffer, when fairly launched, been allowed to be present during the days of preparation, science and discovery would be in their infancy. Enthusiasm bridges the first obstacles to an undertaking, but others roll on and block the explorer's path, and the spirit which has got him into the difficulty momentarily deserts him. If properly courted, however, she returns, and meanwhile the traveler is afforded the opportunity of looking, through matter-of-fact spectacles, along his future journey. What he thought pebbles reveal themselves as hills, and what he had marked on his chart as hills develop into mountains. These he must recognize and examine with all the resolution he can summon, and he will be the more able to climb them from expecting to do so. Right here is the critical point in his journey. Numerous cross-roads branch off—some right, others left, but all with a brighter prospect down them. Perhaps on one, a wife and children stand at the door of their home, beckoning him. The garden that his own hand planted blooms in a background of flowers, while the path he has now chosen sparkles with winter snow. He knows, however, that beyond these, perhaps amid sterile mountains, are the precious diamonds he seeks.

"It is wise that, where these roads branch off—some to castles of indolence, others to comfortable homes and moderate exertion—the man should be left alone for a time and allowed to survey the rough path before him, with all the blinding glamour of enthusiasm subdued by the light of truth, and with a full knowledge of all the stumbling blocks which lie before him. If he then thumbs the edge of his hunting-knife, examines his Henry rifle, and presses forward, the metal is there, and from that time onward you may at any time learn of his whereabouts by inquiring at the temple of fame."

Sachem interrupted the Professor to remonstrate at the girding of loins being left out. He had always been used to the girding in similar discourses, and considered that loins were in much more general use than Henry rifles.

And now Shamus, from his perch on the pans, suddenly broke in: "Faith, Professor, your enthusiasm once brought me sore trouble. It got me into a haunted house, when the clock was strikin' midnight, and my legs were sore put to it to get me out fast enough. Ye see, I bet a pig with my next cousin that I would stay all night in an old house full of spirits. The master and his house-keeper had been murdered in the tenantry riots, and the boys that did the business, they swung for it soon afterward. And now, there was a regular barricadin' and attackin' going on those nights ever since. While I was lookin' at the old clock, and thinkin' of the pig I'd drag home in the morning, I must have dramed a little. He was as likely a pig as yez ever saw, and I was listenin' proudly to his swate cries as I carried him from the sty, and feelin' full enough of enthusiasm to stay there a hundred years. Just then there was a rustlin' in front, and I opened my eyes wide, and there stood the old house-keeper leanin' against the shaky clock, with her ear to its yellow face, and lookin' straight behind me to where I could feel the master was sittin'. There was an awful light in her eyes, and I thought I heard her say—any way, I knew she was sayin' it—'Hark, Sir Donald, they're comin', but the soldiers will be here, too, at twelve.' An' then there was a sort of shudder in the old clock and it commenced a wheezin' an' bangin' away, a tryin' to get through the strokes of twelve, as it did twenty years before. But it hadn't got out half, when I heard the crowd outside scrapin' against the window sill. An' then there come a report, and the room was filled with smoke, an' somethin' hit the back of my head. How I got out I don't know, but when I come to myself I was running for dear life across the common. I have the scar of the ghost's bullet ever since. See here, yez can see it for yourselves." And taking off his cap, Shamus showed us a bald spot about the size of a silver dollar on the back of his cranium.

"And what became of the pig?" asked Mr. Colon quietly.

"Faith, an' my cousin carried him home next morning," replied Shamus, with a regretful sigh; "and lady Dobeen, bless her sowl, never forgot to tell me of that to her dying day. We were needin' the bacon them times."

Sachem, who delighted to spoil our cook's stories, declared that, to gain a pig, it was worth the cousin's while to fire an old musket through the window over a drunken Irishman inside. Still that did not excuse him for his carelessness; he should have seen that the wad flew higher.

What Dobeen's answer might have been will never be known; for, just at that moment, the attention of the entire party was suddenly directed to a dark mass of moving objects away off upon our right, a mile distant at least, and to our untrained eyes entirely unrecognizable. The Mexicans, however, pronounced them buffaloes. Whether thinking to vindicate his reputation for personal courage, or whether simply from love of excitement, is not exactly clear, but Dobeen eagerly requested permission to pursue them, and as he would, ex officio, be debarred the pleasure of future sport, consent was given. This was done the more readily, because we knew that Shamus, while as inexperienced in the chase as any of us, was also a wretched rider; for, although constantly boasting of the tournaments he had been engaged in, we all indorsed Sachem's opinion, that, if ever connected with such an affair at all, it must have been in holding a horse, not riding one.