Dodge City, the cowboy capital, and the great Southwest in the days of the wild Indian, the buffalo, the cowboy, dance halls, gambling halls and bad men

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R. M. Wright, 1875

Dodge Ci|b?^

AND

Tne Great SoutKwest

IN

TKe Days of

The Wild Indian, tKe Buffalo, tKe CowLo^),

Dance Halls, Gambling Halls

and Bad Men

'^

BY

ROBERT M. WRIGHT

Plainsman, Explorer, Scout, Pioneer, Trader and Seuler

PREFACE

T^^HETHER a preface is explanatory or apologetic, is
' ^ immaterial, in the use we make of this one. Local
history is both personal and public; but the narratives
of a border life or from conspicuous events, having an
origin and a purpose similar to the discovery of a new
country. Local history is the result of development and
progress; and each city or state history is the example of
the whole country. The history of Dodge City, however,
includes a wider environment than the ordinary city or
town, because it was the focus of a range of country two
hundred miles, north, south, east, and west. Therefore,
its center of gravitation was equal in extent to that of a
state. Upon this axis revolved and oscillated the bull-
whacker, the buffalo hunter, the cowboy, the humble
citizen, and the desperado. The character and life of this
mixed class of citizenship was greatly sharpened and en-
hanced by reason of the strenuous and characteristic im-
pulses which governed the circumstances in pursuit and
development. There was nothing passive in the life of
the plainsman. The objective was the supreme motive;
for he stood in face of danger, and his quickness of in-
tuition and sense of warning kept him always alert. A
character built up under such conditions must have been
able to cope with the dangers and hardships incident to
a country infested with warlike bands of Indians, and of
outlaws which followed on the flanks of civilization.

It is the author of this book. Honorable R. M.
Wright, we wish to emphasize in this simple explanation.
Mr. Wright came to the plains country a few years before
the civil war. As a young man, active and vigorous, he
became imbued with a spirit of chivalry and courage, fol-
lowed by those traits of character inevitable to this kind
of life; charity and benevolence. Many of the narratives

TS9296

in this book are largely his own personal experiences;
and they are written without display of rhetoric or fiction.
In everything, Mr. Wright took the initiative, for he had
the ability and had acquired an influence to accomplish
whatever he undertook. Possessing wealth, at one time,
he fostered every enterprise and gave impetus to its ac-
complishment. These are living examples of his public
spirit and generosity; and these are living memories of
his charitable deeds and benevolent gifts. This book is
a fitting testimonial to his life and character. Time is
generous in its rewards; but no testimony endures which
has not a basis upon which to found a character worthy
of testimonial. Mr. Wright will give this book as furnish-
ing an example of what constitutes greatness in life; for
few men have passed a severer ordeal, in greater hardship,
and in more danger to life.

N. B. KLAINE.

INTRODUCTION

A T the solicitation of many friends and acquaintances
as well as a great many people who are desirous of
knowing about early life in the wild west and the Great
American Desert, especially in- wicked Dodge City, I
write these true stories and historical facts. The task is a
pleasant one. As I look back and endeavor to recall the
events of that period, a kaleidoscopic panorama presents
itself to my mind — a picture ever changing, ever restless,
with no two days alike in experience. In those days, one
lived ten years of life in one calendar year. Indians,
drought, buffaloes, bad men, the long horn, and, in fact,
so many characteristic features of that time present them-
selves that I am at a loss where to begin.

I have often thought that did I possess but an atom
of the genius of a Kipling, what an interesting narrative
might I write of the passing events of that period. It
would be another forceful proof of the trite saying that,
"Truth is stranger than fiction". Had I but kept a diary
of each day's events as they occurred, from the first time
I entered the great West, what rich food it would be to
the novelist, and how strange to the present generation
would be the reading.

If you wish to feel yourself more comfortable than a
king while listening to the sweetest strains of music,
come back into a warm, pleasant home with its comforts
and listen to the crackle of a cheerful, open wood fire,
after being out in cold and storm for a month or two,
never, during that time, being near a house or comfortable
habitation, while every moment being in terror of Indian
attack, or suffering from cold and storm really more ter-
rible than Indian attack, sitting up the greater part of

the night to keep from freezing, and riding hard all day
on the morrow. In the joy of the change, you will im-
agine yourself in the heaven of heavens. How many of
us have often experienced these feelings on the frontier
of Kansas in the early days. Yet this kind of a life gives
one a zest for adventure, for it is a sort of adventure to
which he not only becomes accustomed but attached. In
fact, there is a fascination about it difficult to resist, and,
having once felt its power, one could not permit himself
to give it up.

In writing these stories, I have yielded to the request
of my friends, principally, for the reason that there are
but few men left who saw these things, and I, too, will
soon pass away. But before I go, I want to leave behind
a feeble description of the greatest game country on earth,
as well as of the game that roamed over it, and of its
people, and various phases of life.

No doubt, many readers of this book who are reared
in Christian homes under proper influences and, by reason
of wholesome teachings, parental care and guidance and
pure environments, will naturally conclude that Dodge
City, in its early period, did not offer the best social
climate in the world.

Dodge City has been quoted all over the United
States as the most wicked town in existence. The New
York papers refer to it as such, the Washington papers
do the same — so it goes. From New York to Washington,
from Washington to New Orleans, from New Orleans
to St. Louis, from St. Louis to Chicago, and from there
back to Kansas, if horrible crime is committed, they say,
"This is almost as bad, as wicked, as Dodge City."

But, in extenuation of the conduct of her early in-
habitants, I plead the newness of the territory, the condi-
tions of life, the dangers and associations of a western

frontier, and the daring and reckless spirit that such con-
ditions engender.

I also insist that Dodge City was not the worst place
on earth and at last I have heard of a town which was
equal to, if not worse than Dodge City, and, by way of
comparison, I here quote a graphic picture taken from the
"Virginia City Chronicle," published in the '70's, of an-
other bad town:

"There are saloons all over the place, and whisky
four bits a drink. They put two barrels upon end, nail a
board across for a bar and deal out. A miner who wants
to treat pours some gold dust on the barrel head and says,
"Set 'em up!" They never weigh the dust. Sometimes a
man won't put down enough dust, but they never say
a word, and if he's a little drunk and puts up ten or fif-
teen dollars' worth they never mention it. They have
three faro banks running all the time. They don't use
checks, for the boys, when they won a pile of checks they
threw them all over the place and some of them were too
drunk to handle them. So the checks got played out.
Now a man puts a little gold dust on a dollar greenback
and it goes for two dollars worth of dust, on a ten-dollar
greenback goes for twenty dollars, and so on — don't
weigh the dust at all but guess the amount. We have a
daily newspaper — that is, sometimes it's daily, and then
when the compositors get drunk it doesn't come out for
several days. If a man wants gun wadding he goes and
pays four bits for a newspaper. Whenever they start a
new city government they print a lot of city ordinances,
then there's a grand rush for the paper. Sometimes it
comes out twice a week and sometimes twice a day. Every
man in Deadwood carries about fourteen pounds of fire-
aritis hitched to his belt, and they never pass any words.
The fellow that gets his gun out first is the best man and

they lug off the other fellow's body. Our graveyard is a
big institution and a growing one. Sometimes, however,
the place is right quiet. Fve known times when a man
wasn't killed for twenty-four hours. Then again they'd
lay out five or six a day. When a man gets too handy
with his shooting irons and kills five or six, they think
he isn't safe, and somebody pops him over to rid the place
of him. They don't kill him for what he has done, but
for what he's liable to do. I suppose that the average
deaths amount to about one hundred a month."

--8-

Chapter I. .

The Country, Time, and Cohdiiions
that Brought About 0odgh Gity, -

"PiODGE CITY is situated on or near the hundredth
"*^ meridian. It is just three hundred miles in a direct
western line from the Missouri river, one hundred and
fifty miles south from the Nebraska line, fifty miles north
of the Oklahoma line, and one hundred miles from Col-
orado on the west. As the state is just four hundred miles
long and two hundred wide, it follows that Dodge City
is located in the direct center of the southwestern quarter,
or upon the exact corner of the southwestern sixteenth
portion of Kansas. By rail it is three hundred and sixty-
three miles from Kansas City, Missouri, toward the west.
Dodge City was laid out in July, 1872, under the supervi-
sion of Mr. A. A. Robinson, chief engineer of the Atchi-
son, Topeka & Santa Fe Railroad, and, for many years
afterwards, general manager of that road, and a more
pleasant gentleman I never met. The town company
consisted of Colonel Richard I. Dodge, commander of
the post at Fort Dodge, and several of the officers under
him. R. M. Wright was elected president of the town
company, and Major E. B. Kirk, quartermaster at Fort
Dodge, was made secretary and treasurer. Dodge City
was located five miles west of Fort Dodge, on the north
bank of the Arkansas River. The Atchison, Topeka &
Santa Fe Railroad reached Dodge City in the early part
of September the same year, and the town was practically
the terminus of the road for the next few months, when
it reached out to Sargent, on the state line. Meanwhile,
what a tremendous business was done in Dodge City!
For months and months there was no time when one
could get through the place on account of the blocking
of the streets by hundreds of wagons — ^freighters, hunters

—9—

and government teams. Almost any time during the
day, there were about a hundred wagons on the streets,
and dozens and dozens of camps all around the town, in
every direction.- Hay was worth from fifty to one hun-
dred dollars per -ton, aiid hard to get at any price. We
were entirely * without law or order, and our nearest
point of justice was Hays City, ninety-five miles northeast
of Dodge City. Here we had to go to settle our differ-
ences, but, take it from me, most of those differences
were settled by rifle or six-shooter on the spot.

Hays City was also the point from which the west
and southwest obtained all supplies until the Atchison,
Topeka & Santa Fe Railroad reached Dodge. All the
freighters, buffalo hunters and wild and woolly men for
hundreds of miles gathered there. It was a second Dodge
City, on a smaller scale. Getting drunk and riding up
and down the sidewalks as fast as a horse could go, firing
a six-shooter and whooping like a wild Indian, were
favorite pastimes, exciting, innocent and amusing. At
this place lived a witty Irishman, a justice of the peace,
by the name of Joyce. One day, near Hays City, two sec-
tion-hands (both Irish) got into an altercation. One
came at the other with a spike hammer. The other struck
him over the head with a shovel, fracturing his skull and
instantly killing him. There was no one present. The
man who did the deed came in, gave himself up, told a
reasonable story, and was very penitent. Citizens went
out and investigated and concluded it was in self-defense.
When the Irishman was put on trial. Justice Joyce asked
the prisoner the usual question, "Are you guilty or not
guilty ?" "Guilty, your honor," replied the prisoner. "Shut
up your darned mouth," said Joyce; "I discharge you for
want of evidence." Many couples did Justice Joyce make
man and wife, and several did he divorce. He went on
the principle that one who had the power to make had
also the power to unmake. Many acts did he perform
that, although not legal, were witty, and so many snarls

—10—

were made in consequence that, after the country be-
came civilized, the legislature was asked for relief, and a
bill was passed legalizing Justice Joyce's acts.

Such is a sample of early day justice, and a glance
at other phases of life on the plains, in early days, will
make clear the conditions that made possible a town like
Dodge City. During the '50's overland travel had become
established, and communication between the Missouri
River and Santa Fe, New Mexico, and Denver, Colorado,
was regularly kept up, in the face of many dangers and
difficulties. I made my first overland trip with oxen in
the year 1859, reaching the town of Denver in May. Three
times after that I crossed the plains by wagon and twice
by coach. My second trip was made in war times, in the
spring of 1863, when guerrilla warfare was rife in Kansas.
I witnessed some evidences of the guerrillas in the work
of Jim and Bill Anderson, hard characters from Missouri
who, at the commencement of the war, had taken to the
brush. It happened like this:

Traveling along I noticed that the country was dotted
with bare chimneys and blackened ruins of houses along
the old Santa Fe trail, from a few miles west of Westport
to Council Grove. The day we reached Council Grove,
two men rode in on fine horses and, dismounting, one of
them said: "I expect you know who we are, but I am
suffering the torments of hell from the toothache, and if
you will allow me to get relief we will not disturb your
town; but if we are molested, I have a body of men near
here who will burn your town." These men, I learned
afterwards, were Bill Anderson and Up. Hays. A friend
by the name of Chatfield with his family, and I with my
family, were traveling together. We drove about ten
miles from Council Grove that day, and camped with an
ox train going to Santa Fe. Chatfield and I had a very
large tent between us. That night, about midnight, dur-
ing a heavy rainstorm, these two men with about fifty

others rode up and dismounted, and as many of them

—11—

as could enter our tent crowded in and asked for water.
We happened to have a large keg full. After they drank,
they saw that our wives as well as ourselves were much
frightened, and they said: "Ladies, you need not be fright-
ened; we are not making war on women and children,
but on *blue coats.' " When we reached Diamond Springs
we saw what their purpose was. They had murdered the
people and burned their houses. The place, indeed, pre-
sented a look of desolation and destruction. Not a living
thing could be seen about the premises and we were too
scared to make an investigation. We learned afterward it
was an old grudge they had against these people.

Various government posts were established along the
trails for the protection of travelers and settlers, and the
quelling of numerous Indian outbreaks. Fort Aubrey,
Bent's Fort, and Fort Atkinson, were among the earlier
posts, and Fort Larned, Fort Supply, Fort Lyon, and
Fort Dodge were familiar points to the inhabitants of the
plains before the establishment of Dodge City. Fort Lyon
was in eastern Colorado, and was first established in i860,
near Bent's Fort on the Arkansas, but was newly located,
in 1867, at a point twenty miles distant, on the north bank
of the Arkansas, two and one-half miles below the Pur-
gatory River. Fort Larned was established October 22,
1859, for the protection of the Santa Fe trade, on the
right bank of the Pawnee Fork, about seven miles above
its mouth. Fort Dodge was located in 1864, and the site
for its location was selected because it was where the wet
route and the dry route intersected. The dry route came
across the divide from Fort Larned, on the Pawnee, while
the wet route came around by the river, supposed to be
about fifteen miles further. The dry route was often
without water the whole distance, and trains would lay
up to recruit after making the passage, which caused this
point on the Arkansas River to become a great camping
ground. Of course the Indians found this out, to their
delight, and made it one of their haunts, to pounce down

—12—

upon the unwary emigrant' and freighter. Numerous were
their attacks in this vicinity, and many were their victims.
Men were butchered in the most horrible manner, stock
was killed, and women taken into captivity more terrible
than death, and even trains of wagons were burned. Some
of the diabolical work I have witnessed with my own
eyes, and will speak of some of it later.

One day a Mexican Indian, or at least a Mexican who
had been brought up by the Indians, came in and said
his train had been attacked at the mouth of Mulberry
creek, the stock run off, and every one killed but him.
This was the first outbreak that spring. We afterward
learned that this Mexican had been taken in his youth
and adopted by the Indians, and had participated in kill-
ing his brothers. In fact, he had been sent to the train to
tell them that the Indians were friendly. They captured
the train and murdered every one in it, without giving
them the ghost of a show. The Mexican was then sent
to Fort Dodge to spy and find out what was going on
there, because he could speak Spanish. Major Douglas
sent a detachment down, and true enough there lay the
train and dead Mexicans, with the mules and harness
gone. The wagons were afterward burned. The train had
passed over the old Fort Bascom trail from New Mexico,
a favorite route, as it was much shorter than the Santa Fe
trail and avoided the mountains, but scarce of water anc^
very dangerous. At last it became so dangerous that if
had to be abandoned. The trail which came into the
Arkansas four miles west of the town of Cimarron had
to be abandoned for the same reason.

Many attacks were made along the route, and three
trains that I know of were burned, and several had to be
abandoned and stock driven into the Arkansas River on
account of the scarcity of water. The route was called
the "Hornado de Muerti" (the journey of death; very sig-
nificant was its name). At one time you could have fol-
lowed the route, even if the wagon trail had been oblitef'-

—13—

ated, by the bleaching bones. There are two places now
in Grant or Stevens county, on the Dry Cimarron, known
as Wagon Bed Springs and Barrel Springs. One was
named because the thirsty freighters had sunk a wagon-
bed in the quick-sand to get water; and in the other
place because they had sunk a barrel. Sixty miles above
where this route came into the Arkansas there was an-
other called the Aubrey route, which was less dangerous
because less subject to Indian attacks, and water was more
plentiful. Colonel F. X. Aubrey, a famous freighter, es-
tablished this route, and it became more famous on ac-
count of a large wager that he could make the distance
on horseback, from Santa Fe to Independence, Missouri,
in eight days. He won the wager, and had several hours
to spare. Colonel Aubrey had fresh horses stationed with
his trains at different places along the whole route. He
afterwards made his famous trip down through the wilds
of Arizona and California, accompanied by a single In-
dian, and came back to Santa Fe, after a six months'
journey, with marvelous stories of the rich finds he had
made. He had the proof with him in the shape of quartz
and nuggets. When some gentleman questioned his ve-
racity, immediately a duel was fought, in which the Col-
onel was killed. No money, bribe, threats or coaxing
could induce that Indian to go back and show where
these riches lay. He said: "No, I have had enough. Noth-
ing can tempt me again to undergo the hardships I have
endured from want of food and water and the dangers
I have escaped. Death at once would be preferable."

A few miles east of where the Aubrey trail comes
into the Arkansas is what is known as the "Gold Banks."
Old wagon bosses have told me that along in the early
fifties a party of miners, returning from California richly
laden, was attacked by Indians. The white men took to
the bluffs and stood them off for several days and made
a great fight; but after a number were killed and the
others starved out for water, they buried their treasure,

—14—

abandoned their pack animals, and got away in the night,
and some of the party came back afterwards and recov-
ered their buried riches. Another version of the story
says that they were all killed before they reached the
states. At any rate, long years ago there were many
searches made, and great excitement was always going
on over these bluffs. In 1859 I saw a lot of California
miners prospecting in the bluffs and along the dry
branches that put into the Arkansas; and I was told they
got rich color in several places, but not enough to pay.
In this vicinity, and east of the bluffs, is what is named
Choteau's Island, named after the great Indian trader of
St. Louis, the father of all the Choteaus. Here he made
one of his largest camps and took in the rich furs, not
only of the plains, but of the mountains also.

At this side of the point of Rocks, eight miles west
of Dodge City, used to be the remains of an old adobe
fort. Some called it Fort Mann, others Fort Atkinson.
Which is correct I do not know. When I first saw it, in
May, 1859, the walls were very distinct and were in a
good state of preservation, excepting the roofs gone. There
had been a large corral, stables, barracks for troops, and
a row of buildings which I supposed were officers' quar-
ters. Who built it, or what troops had occupied it, I do
not know. There were many legends connected with old
Fort Mann. Some say that a large Mexican train, heavily
loaded with Mexican dollars, took shelter there from the
Indians, and finally lost all their cattle, and buried their
money to keep it out of the hands of the Indians, and
got back to Mexico as best they could. When they re-
turned, the river had washed all their cache away, and
it was never recovered; but the following is the best in-
formation I could gather, and I think it is the most
plausible story: In the '50's, and a long while before, the
government did its own freighting with ox teams. Many
a horn have I seen branded "U. S." One of these trains

was on its way back to the states, loaded with ox chains,

—15—

for the simple reason that the government usually sold
its wagons after they had delivered their loads of supplies,
at their respective destinations, to the miners, hunters,
and trappers, and turned the cattle over to the commis-
sary for beef. This would naturally leave a large accumu-
lation of ox chains. Now, this train loaded with chains
met the heavy snowstorm in or near Fort Mann, and
they cached their chains at the fort, and went in with a
few light wagons, and the river washed the chains away;
for the banks have washed in several hundred feet since
I have known the place.

There was some inquiry made from Washington
about Fort Mann, about thirty years ago, and I remember
going with an escort, and, on the sloping hillside north
of the fort, finding three or four graves. Of these, one
was that of an officer, and the others of enlisted men;
also two lime-kilns in excellent condition and a well-de-
fined road leading to Sawlog. In fact, the road was as
large as the Santa Fe trail, showing that they must have
hauled considerable wood over it. This leads me to be-
lieve that the fort had been occupied by a large garrison.

Another story, and a strange one, of very early times
deals with the ever interesting subject of buried treasure,
hinting of the possibility of companies being organized
to dig for such treasure, supposed to have been concealed
near Dodge City. About four miles west of Dodge, per-
haps many of our readers have noticed a place where the
earth seems to have been, a long time ago, thrown up
into piles, holes dug, etc., indicating that some body of
soldiers, hunters, or freighters had made breastworks to
defend themselves against an enemy. We have often
noticed this place and wondered if a tale of carnage could
not be told, if those mounds only had mouths and voices
to speak. But we leave this to be explained, as it will be,
in the after part of this article, and will proceed to tell all
we have learned of the story, just as it was told in the
early days of Dodge.

—16—

"In the year of 1853, when this country was as wild
as the plains of Africa, only traversed at intervals by tribes
of Indians and bands of Mexicans, there were no rail-
roads running west of St. Louis, and all the freight trans-
mitted by government was carried over this country by
large freighting trains, such as now run between here and
Camp Supply. In the summer of that year, a freighting
train consisting of eighty-two men with one hundred and
twenty wagons started from Mexico, across these plains,
for Independence, Missouri, to purchase goods. The
whole outfit was in charge of an old Mexican freighter
named Jesus M. Martinez, whom many of the old plains-
men of thirty years ago will remember. They traveled
along what is now known as the old Santa Fe trail and
every night corralled their wagons and kept guards posted
to give the alarm if danger should approach in the way
of Indians, bandits or prairie fires. One evening they
halted about sundown, formed the usual corral, and pre-
pared to rest for the night. Little did they think what
that night had in store for them. They had observed
Indians during the day, but the sight of these children
of the plains was no source of annoyance to them, as
they had never been troubled and had seen no hostile
manifestations. Some time during the night the men
who were on watch observed objects not far from camp,
the dogs commenced making a fuss, and presently the
watchmen became suspicious and aroused old man Mar-
tinez. Martinez, being an old plainsman and under-
standing the tactics of the Indians, after closely observing
through the darkness, came to the opinion that Indians
were lurking around, and that their intentions were not
good. He awoke some of his men and they held a kind
of consultation as to the best course to pursue, and finally
decided to prepare for the worst. They immediately
commenced digging trenches and preparing for defense.
The objects around them during all this time seemed to
grow more numerous every moment, and finally could

—17—

be seen on all sides. The Mexicans waited in suspense,
having intrenched themselves as v^ell as possible in ditches
and behind piles of dirt. Finally, v^ith yells and shouts, as
is alvi^ays their custom, the Indians made a dash upon the
camp from all sides. The Mexicans received them like
true martyrs, and being v^^ell fortified had every advan-
tage. Their eighty-tw^o guns poured fatal balls into the
yelling enemy at every report. The Indians finally fell
back and the Mexicans then hoped for deliverance, but
it v^as like hoping against fate. The next day the attack
w^as renew^ed at intervals, and at each attack the Mexicans
fought like demons. For five days the siege continued,
a fev^ of the Mexicans being killed, in the meantime, and
many Indians. During the time the Mexicans had scarce-
ly slept, but what struck terror to their hearts was the
consciousness that their ammunition was nearly gone.
On the sixth night the Indians made a more desperate
attack than before. They seemed crazed for blood and
vengeance for the chiefs they had already lost. As long
as their ammunition lasted the Mexicans continued their
stern resistance, but powder and lead was not like the
widow's oil. It steadily decreased until none was left.
Then their guns were still, and they were swallowed up
like Pharaoh's hosts in the Red Sea, by wild Cheyennes,
Arrapahoes and Kiowas, who made deathly havoc with
the little handful of brave Mexicans. We need not dwell
upon this scene of butchery, and it is only necessary to
relate that but one man is known to have escaped in
the darkness, and that man, somewhat strange to note,
was old Jesus M. Martinez. How he managed to secrete
himself we can hardly divine, others might have been
carried away and held captive until death, but he alone
never told the story to the pale-face. The Indians pillaged
the train of all the flour, bacon, etc., took the stock, set
fire to some of the wagons, and then, Indianlike, immedi-
ately left the field of carnage. Old Martinez remained in

his hiding place until morning and until the Indians

—18—

were miles away, then creeping out he surveyed the re-
mains of what a few days ago was his jolly, jovial com-
panions. He was alone with the dead.

"As is nearly always the case with persons when no
eye is near, he thought of the valuable, and knowing that
quite an amount of silver was stored in one of the wagons,
he searched and found a portion of it. As near as he re-
membered, when he related this occurrence to his son,
he founds twenty-one small bags, each one containing
one thousand silver Mexican dollars. These bags he car-
ried some distance from the camp, we cannot learn ex-
actly how far, or which way, and buried them. He then
started out and made his way on foot back to his old
home in Mexico, where, it seems, he died soon after-
wards. But before he died he told his son what we have
related above, and advised him to hunt this treasure.
What goes to corroborate this story was the evidence of
Dr. Wilber of Kansas City, who sold goods to these
Mexicans and knew of their having a considerable quan-
tity of silver in their possession.

"Pursuant to his father's advice young Martinez
came up to this country some years after the death of his
father for the purpose of following his instructions. There
are two men now living in this city to whom he revealed
the secret, one of whom assisted him in searching for the
buried treasure. From the directions marked out by old
Martinez they found the spot where the massacre took
place, about four miles west of Dodge City — the spot
described above, where the pits and dirt piles are still
plainly visible. For days and even weeks young Martinez
searched the ground in that vicinity using a sharpened
wire, which he drove into the ground wherever he sup-
posed the treasure might lie concealed. But he was not
successful, and not being of a persevering nature aban-
doned the search and remained around Fort Dodge for
some time, when he fell into the habit and became a
hard drinker. He finally returned to Mexico and has not

■—19—

been back here since, that we are aware of. After he left,
one of the men to whom he had revealed the secret (and
this man now lives in this city) made a partial search for
the treasure. He hired men and after swearing them to
secrecy as to what they were searching for, set them to
digging ditches. They found nothing and abandoned
the work."

This story, as told above, is an historical fact, and
portions of it have been heretofore published. We can
give names of men who know more about it than we do
but by request we do not publish them. This treasure will
probably be found some day, and probably will lie buried
forever, and never see the light. No eye but the Omnip-
otent's can tell the exact spot where it lies. As we said
above, it is rumored that parties are preparing to institute
a search. They may find it and they may not. We hope
they will as it is of no benefit to mankind where it is. It
certainly exists.

Such were some of the traces which the feet of the
white man left behind in their first passing over the
plains of the southwest. One almost lost sight of the
natural features and attractions of the region, in viewing
these intensely interesting evidences of the beginning of
the conquest of the wilds by civilization. Yet the natural
beauties and attractions were there in superlative degree.

An old darkey, living in the Arkansas valley, thus
explains how it happened that the territory of Kansas
exists. On being asked by a land looker what he thought
of the country, he said:

"Well, sah, when the good Lord made dis whole
world. He found out that He had made a mistake, dat
He had not made any garden, so He jest went to work
and made Hisself a garden, and we call it Kansas."

And a natural garden, indeed, in many respects, was
the Arkansas valley in southwestern Kansas. Pages could
be filled with descriptions of its beauties without exhaust-
ing the subject. But no less than the charms and interest

—20—

of its physical features, were the charms and interest of
other of its natural attributes, atmospheric peculiarities,
for instance, which, as in the blizzard, arose at times to
the height of the grand and terrible. Other phases of
atmospheric conditions, however, peculiar to the great
plains in pioneer days, were very beautiful, and perhaps
the best example of such was the mirage.

Mirage, Webster describes as an "optical illusion,
arising from an unequal refraction in the lower strata
of the atmosphere, and causing remote objects to be seen
double, as if reflected in a mirror, or to appear as if sus-
pended in the air. It is frequently seen in deserts, pre-
senting the appearance of water."

If I were gifted with descriptive powers, what won-
derful scenes could I relate of the mirage on the plains of
Kansas. What grand cities towering to the skies have I
seen, with their palaces and cathedrals and domed
churches, with tall towers and spires reaching almost up
to the clouds, with the rising sun glistening upon them
until they looked like cities of gold, their streets paved
with sapphire and emeralds, and all surrounded by mag-
nificent walls, soldiers marching, with burnished spears
and armor! There would arise at times over all a faint
ethereal golden mist, as if from a smooth sea, shining
upon the towers and palaces with a brilliancy so great
as to dazzle the eyes — a more gorgeous picture than could
be painted by any artist of the present, or by any of the
old masters. The picture as has presented itself to me I
still retain in good recollection, in its indescribable mag-
nificence. At other times the scenes would change en-
tirely, and, instead of great cities there would be moun-
tains, rivers, seas, lakes, and ships, or soldiers and armies,
engaged in actual conflict. So real have such sights ap-
peared to me on the plains that I could not help but be-
lieve they were scenes from real life, being enacted in
some other part of the world, and caught up by the rays

of the sun and reflected to my neighborhood, or perhaps

—21—

that some electrical power had reproduced the exact pic-
ture for me.

How many poor creatures has the mirage deceived
by its images of water. At times one unacquainted with
its varied whims would be persuaded that it really was
water, and would leave the well-beaten track to follow
this optical illusion, only to wander farther from water
and succor, until he dropped down from thirst and ex-
haustion, never to rise again, never again to be heard of
by his friends, his bleaching bones to be picked by the
coyote, unburied and forgotten. On other occasions you
would see immense towering forests, with every variety
of trees and shrubbery. In some places it would be so
dark and lowering, even in the daylight, as to appear
dangerous, though one could not help admiring its
gloomy grandeur. Then there would be fair spots of pic-
turesque beauty, with grottoes and moonlit avenues, in-
viting you to promenade, where one seemed to hear the
stroke of the barge's oars on lake and river, and the play
of the fountains, and the twitter of the birds.

With the trail of the plow, followed by immigration
and civilization, the wonderful mirage is a thing of the
past. It is only now and then that one gets a glimpse of
its beauties; its scenes of magnificence, far beyond any
powers of description, I will never see again.

-22-

Chapter IL

Travel on Old Trails

/^N a beautiful spring morning in early May, 1859, I
^^ was awakened at the break of day — having gone
into camp the preceding evening after dusk — by the
singing of birds and lowing of cattle, and last, but not
least, the harsh and discordant voice of the wagon boss —
of whom I stood in wholesome fear — calling, "Roll out!
roll out!" to the men as the cattle were driven into the
corral to yoke up and get started. Indeed all nature
seemed alive and pouring out the sweetest notes on that
lovely morning when I first saw the great Pawnee Rock.

It was, indeed, a curious freak of nature, rising
abruptly out of & fertile stretch of bottom land several
miles wide, three or four miles north of the Arkansas
River, which flowed sluggishly along its way, its muddy
current on its usual spring rise caused by the melting of
snow in the mountains. The time of the year, the ideal
weather, and the lovely greensward, interspersed with
the most beautiful variegated wild flowers, combined to
make one of the most beautiful sights I ever witnessed.
The scene impressed itself not only upon me, but the
other drivers — "Bull whackers," we were called — shared
my admiration, and through our united petition to the
wagon boss, the train was halted long enough to allow
our going to the Rock, from the summit of which I ob-
tained the grand view that so impressed me. It seemed
as if I could never tire of gazing on the wonderful pano-
rama that spread before me.

The road, if recollection serves me right, ran only a
few hundred feet south of the base of the Rock, parallel
to its face. The Rock faced the south, rearing itself
abruptly, and presenting almost a perpendicular front
with a comparatively smooth surface, having thousands

—23—

of names inscribed on its face, and also on a great many
slabs that had, in the process of time and exposure to the
elements, been detached from its top and sides and lay
flat at its base. Most of the names were those of "Forty-
niners" who had taken that route in their mad rush for
the gold fields of California during that memorable year.
Among the names cut in the Rock were those of officers
and enlisted men in the United States army as well as a
number of famous men and frontiersmen.

There were also a great many Indian paintings, or
pictographs, and hieroglyphics done by the red man —
crude and laughable, and some of them extraordinarily
funny, but I have been told since there was a great deal
of significance attached to these paintings, some of them
portraying important tribal history, others representing
brave and heroic deeds, performed by members of the
tribes.

Of course, there were a great many stories told of
the Rock, romances the most of them, I suppose.

An old plainsman and mountaineer told me that the
name "Pawnee Rock" was taken from a great fight last-
ing several days, between the Pawnees and their life-long
enemies, the Plains Indians composed of a mixed band
of Cheyennes, Arapahoes, Kiowas, Comanches, and a
few Sioux, all pitted against the Pawnees, and numbering
more than ten to one. What a desperate battle it was!

The Pawnees had come over to the Arkansas on their
usual buffalo hunt, and, incidentally, to steal horses from
their enemies, the Plains Indians. They crossed the river
and proceeded south, penetrating deep into the enemy's
country, where a big herd of ponies grazed and lived in
supposed security. The Pawnees reached the herd with-
out arousing the least suspicion of the owners that the
animals were in danger. Surrounding and cutting out
what they wanted, they started on the return trip, greatly
elated over their easy success, and reached the Arkansas

River without meeting with the slightest resistance, but

—24—

found the river very high and out of its banks. The ponies
refused to take the river, v^hich delayed them consider-
ably. In the meantime, the band of Indians, composed
of Cheyennes, Arapahoes, Kiowas, Comanches, and a
fev^ Sioux, v^as on a buffalo hunt, too, v^hen some of
them discovered the trail of the Pav^nees and quickly
notified the others. They all gave chase, overtaking the
Pawnees just as they v^ere crossing the Arkansas. The
Pav^nees might still have gotten av^ay had they aban-
doned the stolen horses; but this they refused to do until
it v^as too late.

Finally, pressed on all sides by overwhelming odds,
they were glad to retreat to the rock where they made a
final stand, fortifying themselves as best they could by
erecting mounds of loose rock, and loading and firing
from behind this crude shelter with such daring and
bravery that their enemies were kept at bay. They were
sorely in need of water. Of meat they had plenty, as
they lived upon the flesh of their dead horses. At night,
some of them usually crept through the line of sentinels
that guarded them and made their way to the river, fill-
ing canteens of tanned hide or skins and working their
way back to their beseiged friends.

The fight was kept up for three days and nights, the
Cheyennes and allies making frequent charges during the
day, but always being compelled to fall back with severe
loss, until they had almost annihilated the little band of
Pawnees. On the fourth night they were reduced to three
or four men. Knowing their desperate situation and
realizing that there was no chance for any of them to
escape, they determined to sell their lives as dearly as
possible. Every man stripped stark naked, and, watching
his opportunity, when the guards were less vigilant than
usual, crept stealthily toward the foes. Having approach-
ed as near as they could without detection, the Pawnees
burst upon the enemy with all the fury of desperate men
going to their death, and, with blood-curdling yells,

—25—

fought as never men fought before. One of them was
armed with a long spear and knife only. (These spears
were used in killing buffaloes.) Many a man went down
before the weapon, but, finally the Pawnee drove it so
deeply into one of his victims that he could not withdraw
it. Then he fell back on his butcher knife and made ter-
rible havoc with it, until overpowered by numbers, he
died a warrior's glorious death, reeking with the blood
of his enemies. He certainly had sufficient revenge.

The time we camped at the foot of the Rock we did
not go into camp until after nightfall. Another man and
I were placed on first guard around the grazing cattle.
After being out some time, we were startled by something
dropping, zip! zip! into the grass around us and near
us. We thought it was Indians shooting at us with arrows.
There were all sorts of rumors of attacks from Indians,
and this certainly was a great Indian camping ground
and country, so we were greatly alarmed and continually
on the lookout, expecting at any time to be attacked.
We finally concluded to go to camp and notify the
wagon boss. He came back with us and for a long time
believed that Indians were shooting at us, but the ques-
tion was, where were they concealed? The mystery was
finally solved. The peculiar sound was made by the little
birds called sky-larks, flying up and alighting, striking
the earth with such force that the noise seemed like that
produced by the fall of an arrow or of a stone. The sky-
larks and meadow larks sang at all hours of the night
on the plains.

The great Pawnee Rock has found its way into the
history of the west. Around its rugged base was many
a desperate battle fought and won; and many a mystic
rite, performed within its shadow, has stamped upon the
grand old mass the wierd and tragic nature of the chil-
dren of the plains.

It was in the immediate vicinity of the rock that I
—26—

inadvertently started one of the most disastrous stampedes
in the history of the plains.

In the fall of 1862 I was going back east with one of
Major Russell's and Waddell's large ox teams. I think we
had thirty or forty wagons, with six yoke of oxen to the
wagon. Our wagons were strung Ryg or six together and
one team of six yoke cattle attached to each string. It was
the latter part of November, and we were traveling along
the Arkansas River bottom about ten miles west of where
Great Bend is now located. It was a very hot afternoon,
more like summer than winter — one of those warm
spells that we frequently have in the late fall on the
plains. I was driving the cavayado (cave-yard — that is,
the loose cattle). The Mexicans always drove their cava-
yado in front of their trains, while the Americans^, in-
variably drove theirs behind. I had on a heavy linsey
woolsey coat, manufactured from the loom in Missouri
lined with yellow stuff, and the sleeves lined with red;
and, as I said, it was very warm; so I pulled off my jack-
et, or coat, and in pulling it off turned it inside out. We
had an old ox named Dan, a big, old fellow with rather
large horns, and so gentle we used him as a horse in
crossing streams, when the boys often mounted him and
rode across. Dan was always lagging behind, and this
day more than usual, on account of the heat. The idea
struck me to make him carry the coat. I caught him and
by dint of a little stretching placed the sleeves over his
horns and let the coat flap down in front.

I hardly realized what I had done until I took a front
view of him. He presented a ludicrous appearance, with
his great horns covered with red and the yellow coat
flapping down over his face. He trudged along uncon-
scious of the appearance he presented. I hurried him
along by repeated punches with my carajo pole, for in
dressing him up he had gotten behind. I could not but
laugh at the ludicrous sight, but my laughter was soon
turned to regret, for no sooner did old Dan make his ap-

—27—

pearance among the other cattle than a young steer bawled
out in the steer language, as plain as good English, "Great
Scott! what monstrosity is this coming among us to de-
stroy us?" and with one long, loud, beseeching bawl,
put all the distance possible between himself and the
terror behind him. All his brothers followed his example,
each one seeing how much louder he could bawl than his
neighbor, and each one trying to outrun the rest. I
thought to myself, "Great guns! what have I done now!"
I quickly and quietly stepped up to old Dan, fearing that
he too might get away, and with the evidence of my guilt,
took from his horns and head what had created one of
the greatest stampedes ever seen on the plains, and placed
it on my back where it belonged. In the meantime the
loose cattle had caught up with the wagons, and those
attached to the vehicles took fright and tried to keep up
with the cavayado. In spite of all the drivers could do,
they lost control of them, and away they went, making a
thundering noise. One could see nothing but a big cloud
of dust. The ground seemed to tremble.

Nothing was left but Dan and me after the dust sub-
sided, and I poked him along with my carajo pole as fast
as possible, for I was anxious to find out what damage was
done. We traveled miles and miles, and it seemed hours
and hours, at last espying the wagon boss still riding like
mad. When he came up he said: "What caused the stam-
pede of the cavayado?" I replied that I could not tell,
unless it was a wolf that ran across the road in front of
the cattle, when they took fright and away they went, all
except old Dan, and I held him, thinking I would save
all I could out of the wreck. There stood old Dan, a
mute witness to my lies. Indeed, I thought at times he
gave me a sly wink, as much as to say: "You lie out of
it well, but I am ashamed of you." I thought that God
was merciful in not giving this dumb animal speech, for
if He had they certainly would have hung me. As it was,
the wagon boss remarked: "I know it was the cussed

—28—

wolves, because I saw several this afternoon, while riding
in front of the train. Well," he continued, "that wolf
didn't do a thing but wreck six or eight wagons in Wal-
nut creek, and from there on for the next five miles, ten
or twelve more; and most of them will never see the
states again, they are so completely broken up. Besides,
one man's leg is broken and another's arm, and a lot of
the men are bruised up. Three steers have their legs
broken, and the front cattle were fifteen miles from
where we are now, when I overtook them."

I have seen many stampedes since, but never anything
to equal that. I have seen a great train of wagons heavily
loaded, struggling along, drivers pounding and swearing
to get the cattle out of a snail's pace, and one would
think the train too heavily loaded, it seemed such a strain
on the cattle to draw it, when a runaway horse or some-
thing out of the usual would come up suddenly behind
them, and the frightened cattle in the yoke would set
up a bawl and start to run, and they would pick up
those heavily loaded wagons and set off with them at
a pace that was astonishing, running for miles and over-
turning the wagons. The boss in front, where he was al-
ways supposed to be, would give the order to roughlock
both wheels, which would probably be done to a few of
the front wagons. Even these doubly locked wagons
would be hurled along for a mile or two before the cattle's
strength was exhausted, and apparently the whole earth
would shake in their vicinity.

My experience with old Dan and the yellow-lined
coat was laughable, with but a touch of the tragic at its
close, but all the travel along the Santa Fe trail and large
part of it was tragedy from beginning to end, kindred
highways, in those old days, had not so happy a tone, and
much of it had a much more tragic ending — unlight-
ened by any touch of humor. Indeed, had all the blood
of man and beast, that was shed beside them, been turned,
unlessened, into the trails, their course across the plains

—29—

would have been marked in unbroken crimson, from
Westport to Santa Fe, and from Leavenworth to Denver.
Moreover, the tragedy was greater than will ever be
known, for mute evidences of mysterious bloodshed were
not wanting along the old trails. Many times, in the early
days of Fort Dodge, I have picked up little bunches of
cattle wandering on the plains aimlessly that had been run
off by the Indians, as well as horses and mules, and turned
them over to some Mexican train from which they had
been stampeded. Once I found a buggy all smashed to
pieces in the timbered breaks of Duck Creek, but we
could never discover whom the unfortunate occupants had
been. They had been killed and dumped out, no doubt,
miles from where the vehicle was wrecked. One day I
found one of the most beautiful horses I ever saw, with a
fine saddle on his back. The saddle was completely satu-
rated with blood.

In 1863, the fall before Fort Dodge was established, on
the bluffs where you first get a sight of the Arkansas on
the dry route from Fort Larned, a little Mexican train
of ten or twelve wagons loaded with corn, groceries and
other goods, many sacks of flour, together with a feather-
bed or two, camped one day to get dinner. Soon after
they had corralled a band of Indians rode up, with their
customary, "How-how, heap Hungry," and wanted some
"chuck-a-way." After gorging themselves, they sat
around the small fire of buffalo chips smoking, they
arose, shook hands all around, mounted their ponies, and,
as they arrived at the rear of the corral, suddenly turned
and killed every one of the Mexicans, excepting the day
herder, who had started off in advance to his animals
that were quietly grazing in the grassy bottoms. The
moment he heard the firing he lit out mighty lively for
Fort Lyon, closely followed by the red devils, but he
managed to escape; the only one left to tell the horrid
tale.

We camped with the mail en route several times that
—30—

winter, and fed our mules on corn, and ourselves ate of
the canned goods that were scattered all over the trail.
It was certainly a curious spectacle, and could be seen for
quite a distance, where the savages had cut open feather
beds and scattered their contents around, which had
caught in the weeds and grass of the prairie. They also
emptied many sacks of flour to get the sacks for breech-
clouts. In nearly the same spot, and in the vicinity, have
I many times helped bury the mutilated and scalped re-
mains of men who had been ruthlessly murdered there by
the Indians.

For many years, and several years before Dodge City
was started. Barlow, Sanderson & Company ran a tri-
weekly stage line through Fort Dodge, over the old Santa
Fe trail. They used a large Concord coach, containing
three inside seats, capable of holding nine persons com-
fortably. Then there was a driver's box where three more
could be comfortably seated, besides an upper deck where
more passengers and baggage could be stowed away; and
also what was called a front and hind boot, where still
more trunks and baggage could be carried, with a large
feather apron strapped down over them, to hold things
in place and keep out the weather. There were five mules
attached to the coach, two mules on the wheel and three
on the lead, and relays were provided from thirty to fifty
miles apart, except from Fort Larned to Fort Lyon which
were two hundred and forty miles apart. In addition to
the stage, a light wagon was taken along to carry grub
and bedding. It was seven hundred miles from Kansas
City to Santa Fe, and the coach made it in seven days.

One time, before Fort Dodge was established, we had

to abandon a big Concord coach, at the foot of Nine-mile

Ridge, on account of the muddy condition of the trail,

and went on to the stage station with a light spring

wagon. On the way we met a band of friendly Indians

who were going to Fort Larned, and we told them to haul

the coach in. Of course they didn't follow the trail, but

—31—

struck across the country on to Pawnee Fork. After a
long time had elapsed, Little Raven, the chief, rode into
the fort and told us he had left the coach twenty miles
up the creek, and blessed if he could get it any farther,
as he had pulled the tails out of nearly every one of
his herd of ponies to get it that far. You see their methods
of hauling the coach was by tying it to the tails of their
ponies.

The summer of 1866, 1 was closing up my business at
Fort Aubrey, preparatory to moving to Fort Dodge, where
I had a contract to fill for wood, with the army quarter-
master at that post. For a few years previous to this, I
had been ranching at the abandoned government post of
Fort Aubrey (which I had strongly fortified against the
Indians), and erecting stage stations every thirty-five or
forty miles, wherever a suitable location could be found,
about that distance apart, for the overland stage line of
Barlow, Sanderson & Company. This line started from
Kansas City, Missouri, but branched off at Bent's old fort,
the main line going to Santa Fe, New Mexico, and the
branch to Denver, Colorado. After crossing the Arkansas
river, the former wended its way southwest, over the Ra-
ton mountains, while the branch, following up the Ar-
kansas to Pueblo, and from thence, the Fountain Gulch
to Colorado Springs, crossed over the divide to Denver.

I was also furnishing these small stations with hay,
cut in the river bottoms near each station, and I kept a
small mule train constantly on the road, hauling grain
from the Missouri river (we simply called it "the River"
those days, every one knowing, as a matter of course, that
we meant the Missouri) to keep the stations supplied with
feed for the stage stock. This is the way we built these
stations. We first hunted a steep bank facing the south
and the river — as the Arkansas ran east and west — and
dug straight into this bank a suitable distance, wide
enough to suit our convenience, and ten or twelve feet
deep at the deepest place, with a gradual slope to the south

—32—

of seven or eight feet. Now this formed three sides of an
excavation, you understand, and only left the south open-
ing exposed. This we built up with sod or adobes. The
top we covered with poles laid across, and on the poles
we placed hay, covering the whole business with dirt, and
sloping it down with the natural fall of the ground.

I had hard work to get men to keep these stations, as
it was dangerous as well as lonely work. Indians were bad
— ^not in regular open warfare, but occasionally murder-
ing small parties, and we had to keep constantly on the
lookout for them. One of the stations about twenty-five
miles west of Aubrey, was called Pretty Encampment.
After much persuasion, I got a Dutchman by the name of
Fred to keep this station. Fred was a big burly devil,
strong as an ox, but a big coward. He continually sent
me word, by drivers, that he was going to quit, and, in
consequence I had to ride up twenty-five miles every few
days, to brag on him and encourage him to stay. Well,
the Indians had lately been committing little devilments,
and one morning I met Fred, a half-mile from the sta-
tion, a horrible looking sight, blood all over him, his dirty
shirt bloody and torn, and a big, sharp butcher-knife in
his hand. He was terribly excited and almost raving, go-
ing on at a terrible rate, in broken English and Dutch,
flourishing his bloody knife and saying, "G — d — ^him,
the son of a b — ; I killed him — I cut his throat and his
guts out!" I was sure he had killed an Indian. I said,
"Fred, you have raised the devil. This will bring on an
Indian war. Don't you know it is against orders from
headquarters and the commander of the fort to kill an
Indian or shoot at him first, under any circumstances?
(And so it was, a standing order). Let's go see about it."

We went up, and the house looked like a tornado had
struck it. The roof was torn partly off, the room covered
with blood, the bed broken down, the old furniture
smashed, and everything in disorder, while in the midst
of all this lay a big dead bull buffalo. You see, there was

—33—

some hay sticking up from the covering of the roof, and
some time before day, an old bull had crept down on this
roof after the hay, and had broken through, one foot first.
It struck Fred, who was soundly sleeping, and with the
noise and dirt falling upon him, suddenly awakened him.
He grabbed the foot and leg, feeling the hair on it, it
scared him to death, and being a powerful man, he held
on to the leg and foot, like grim death to a nigger's heel,
thinking the devil had got him. Then they fought and
struggled in the dark, until, at last, the buffalo fell
through, and still Fred did not know what it was. But
his butcher-knife was under his pillow, and he grabbed
it and went to cutting and slashing.

Whenever I thought of it afterwards, I had to laugh
at his actions and looks when he met me. But I could get
him to stay at Pretty Encampment no longer, and well he
did not, for less than a week afterwards, two drivers of
teams I had just sold, for the purpose of hauling supplies
to these ranches, were killed within two miles of this
ranch, and the mules and harness stolen. Fortunately,
Fred had not yet been replaced with another stock tender
or he would have been killed.

Not among the least of the hardships and dangers
incident to the early pioneer of the southwest was the
"Kansas blizzard;" like all the storms in the arid belt, a
great majority of them were local, but nevertheless severe
and terrible in their destructive fury. A blizzard is de-
fined as "a fierce storm of bitter, frosty wind, with fine,
blistering snow." No definition, however save that of ac-
tual experience, can define its terrible reality. I have wit-
nessed a change in temperature from seventy-four degrees
above zero to twenty degrees below in twenty-four hours,
and during this time the wind was blowing a gale, ap-
parently from the four points of the compass. The air
was so full of the fine, blistering snow and sand that one
could not see ten feet in advance. Turn either way, and
it is always in front. The air is full of subdued noises, like

—34—

the wail of lost spirits; so all-absorbing in its intensity is
this wailing, moaning, continuous noise, that one's voice
cannot be heard two yards away. The historical blizzards
of 1863, 1866, 1873 and 1888, were general embracing a
very large area of country. The early pioneers were, of
necessity, nomadic, and were in no way prepared for these
sudden changes ; and hundreds have lost their lives by suf-
focating in blizzards when the temperature was not zero,
it being a physical impossibility to breathe, the air being so
full of fine, blistering snow and sand.

The spirit of the blizzard, as the background to pic-
tures of the wild west, in early days, is well brought out
in Eugene Ware's vivid little poem, "The Blizzard."

"The fiddler was improvising; at times, he would cease

to play.
Then, shutting his eyes, he sang and sang, in a wild

ecstatic way;
Then, ceasing his song, he whipped and whipped the

strings with his frantic bow,
Releasing impatient music, alternately loud and low;
Then, writhing and reeling, he sang as if he were dream-
ing aloud.
And wrapping the frenzied music around him like a

shroud;
And this is the strange refrain, which he sang in a minor

key,
'No matter how long the river, the river will reach the

sea.*

"It was midnight on the Cimarron, not many a year ago;
The blizzard was whirling pebbles and sand, and billows

of frozen snow:
He sat on a bale of harness, in a dugout roofed with clay;
The wolves overhead bewailed, in a dismal, protracted

way;
They peeped down the 'dobe chimney, and quarreled and

sniffed and clawed;

—35—

But the fiddler kept on with his music, as the blizzard

stalked abroad;
And, time and again, that strange refrain came forth in

a minor key,
*No matter how long the river, the river will reach the

sea.'

"Around him, on boxes and barrels, uncharmed by the

fiddler's tune.
The herders were drinking and betting their cartridges

on vantoon;
And, once in awhile, a player, in spirit of reckless fun.
Would join in the fiddler's music, and fire off the fiddler's

gun.
An old man sat on a sack of corn and stared with a vacant

gaze;
He had lost his hopes in the Gypsum Hills, and he thought

of the olden days.
The tears fell fast when the strange refrain came forth

in a minor key,
*No matter how long the river, the river will reach the

sea.'

"At morning the tempest ended, and the sun came back

once more;
The old, old man of the Gypsum Hills had gone to the

smoky shore;
They chopped him a grave in the frozen ground where

the Morning sunlight fell;
With a restful look he held in his hand an invisible

asphodel;
They filled up the grave, and each herder said, *Good-by

till the judgment day.'
But the fiddler stayed, and he sang and played, as the

herders walked away —
A requim in a lonesome land, in a mournful minor key —
*No matter how long the river, the river will reach the

sea."

r-36—

As an illustration of the terrible nature of a Kansas
blizzard in early times, another poem may be quoted,
which describes a real experience, in the neighborhood
of Dodge City, by some cowboys on the trail. This poem
is written by Henry C. Fellow, the cowboy poet of Okla-
homa, and is used in this work by special permission of
the author.

PASSING OF THE WRANGLER

"Wrangle up yer broncks. Bill,

Let us hit the trail;
Cinch 'em up a knot er two.

Tore there comes a gale.

"Fill the wagon full o' chuck.

Tore we cut adrift;
Fer we'll have a time. Bill

With this winter shift.

"My bones they feel a blizzard

A hatchin' in the west.
An' I must load my gizzard

With some pizen-piker's best.

"Sam, git yer chips together.

An' stack 'em in a box;
An' gether up the tether.

Ropes, shirts, an' dirty socks,

"An' lash 'em to the cayuse.

An' strap 'em tight an' strong;
Fer we given to ha'f t' ride, Sam,

Kase 'tseems they's sumthing' wrong.

"Pards, see the clouds a shiftin';

They's given to turn a trick,
An' make us go a driftin',

Afore we reach the crick.
—37—

"It's a hundred miles, ye know, boys,

To reach the O X camp.
An' we'll ha'f to keep a rollin'

Er we'll ketch a frosty cramp.

"So skin the mules a plenty.
With yer double triggered crack;

An' keep the broncks a goin',
Jist so ye know the track."

So with a whoop an' holler.
The rounders, full o' pluck,

An' tanked up to the collar —
With their wagon load o' chuck,

They left the Dodge behind 'em.
An' started fer the South,

With the wind a blowin'
A peck o' dirt a mouth.

They skase could see the other
Feller, lopin' through the cloud;

Er hear nothin' but the thunder.
An' the flappin' o' their shroud.

Tumble weeds a rollin'.

With a forty minit clip,
An' the clouds a pilin'

Up like a phantom ship.

With 'er double triggered action,
The wind she turned her tail.

An' kicked out all the suction
Fer the souther's gale.

She started into rainin'.

An' follered with a sleet;

An' kept 'er speed a gainin',

A throwin' down 'er sheet;
—38—

Till everything wuz covered,

A frozen glare o' ice;
Yet still she closter hovered,

An' pinched us like a vise.

That blizzard came a peltin'

With 'er frozen shot;
An' sich snov^^ a driftin',

I never have forgot!

We couldn't see a nothin',
Ner hear a rounder croak;

But the gurgle o' the pizen
A puttin' us to soak.

We kept the broncks a movin'
Frum bein' froze to death;

While w^aitin' fer the mornin'
To thav^ us w^ith his breath.

But v^hen the snow^y mornin'
Had come in v^ith his smile,

He'd left a ghastly vi^arnin'
Fer many and many a mile.

A thousand head of cattle,
Caught driftin' w^ith the storm.

Were frozen, v^hile a millin',
A tryin' to keep w^arm.

Poor Sammy, v^ith the w^agon,

Wuz found a mile alone;

Wuz stuck adrift, an' frozen.

An' harder 'n a stone.

—39—

or Bill, he froze his fingers,

An' blistered up his face,
Tryin' to pitch his ringers.

An' a fightin' fer the ace.

I fell into a canyon,

With my cayuse an' my traps,
An' shuffled fer the joker.

With the cinchin' straps.

I warmed myself a plenty

A keepin' up the fight,
A skinnin' ol' McGinty,

Till a comin' of the light.

Poor Sam! he boozed a plenty.

To stack 'im in a heap;
An' the devil swiped his ante.

When he went to sleep.

So Bill an' me together,

Stood in silence by the wag-
On, not a knowin' whether
To swig another jag,

'Er cut the cussed pizen

That had foggled up our breath,
An' kept our spirits risin',

Without a fling o' death.

So me an' Bill, we tackled

The job without a drop.
An' in the hill we hackled

A grave with icy top.

An' shuffled Sammy in it.

An' banked 'im in with snow.

An' 'rected up a monument.

To let the Nesters know
—40—

We had done our solemn dooty,
An' planted 'im in style,

With the whitest snow o' heaven
Heaped on 'im in a pile*

Poor Bill! he sniffed a little
When I lifted up my hat,

An' let some weepin' splatter
On Sammy's frozen mat.

Sam wan't no idle rustler;

No one could ride the range
Better 'n he, ner brand 'em,

Ner dip 'em fer the mange.

His check book showed a balance,
Fer a wrangler o' the stuff,

Fer a hilpin' of his mither
No one could spake enough.

His heart wuz where God put it;

His blood was always red;
His mouth he alluz shut it.

When troubles wuz ahead.

An' if the storm wuz ragin'.

He rode the line alone.
An' never once a stagin'

Some other's stunt his own.

Fer his larnin' he wuz known,

Figgered with the letter X;

Never had to once be shown;

Wuz no mangy maverick.
—41—

Set an' count a herd o' stars,

Driftin' frum the hand o' God;
Tell us all about the flowers

Playin' bo-peep in the sod.

Hope the jedge will let 'im thru,

When he rounds up at the gate;
But, ol' pard, I'm fear in', though,

Sam'll be a little late.

Peace be then to Sammy's ashes.

Till the round up o' the race.
When each wrangler's check book cashes

What it's worth, an' at its face.

Speaking of blizzards, makes me think of John Riney
who was one of the very first citizens to settle in Dodge
City. He helped build the Santa Fe road into Dodge,
and was also the first tollgate keeper for the only bridge
over the Arkansas for miles each way; which position
he held for many years and was always found strictly
honest in his receipts. Before this he was a freighter and
froze both of his feet in our big blizzard of 1873, which
crippled him for life. He now, (1913), resides peacefully
on his big alfalfa farm, a short distance west of Dodge,
and has raised a large family, all of whom are much re-
spected citizens of Dodge City.

As a closing word in this brief discussion of the bliz-
zard in pioneer days, I will narrate one of the many expe-
riences I have had with them. In the summer and fall of
1872 I was freighting supplies from Fort Dodge to Camp
Supply, I.T. Up to the middle of December we had had
no cold weather — plenty of grass all along the route. I
loaded some twenty-mule wagons with corn, along about
the twentieth of December, and the outfit crossed the river
at Fort Dodge, and went into camp that night at Five-
mile Hollow, about five miles from Fort Dodge. It had

—42—

been a warm, pleasant day, and the sun disappeared in a
clear sky. Along in the night the wind whipped around
in the north, and a blizzard set in. By morning the
draw that they were camped in was full of snow, and the
air so full that one could not see from one wagon to the
other. The men with the outfit were all old experienced
plainsmen, but the suddenness and severity of the storm
rendered them almost helpless. They had brought along
only wood enough for breakfast, and that was soon ex-
hausted. They then tried burning corn, but with poor
success. As a last resort they began burning the wagons.
They used economy in their fire, but the second day saw
no prospect of a letting up of the storm, in fact, it was
getting worse hourly. It was then that P. G. Cook, now
living at Trinidad, and another whose name escapes me,
volunteered to make an effort to reach Fort Dodge, only
five miles distant, for succor. They bundled up in a way
that it seemed impossible for them to suffer, and, each
mounting a mule, started for the fort. The first few hours,
Cook has told me, they guided the mules, and then recog-
nizing that they were lost, they gave the animals a loose
rein and trusted to their instinct. This was very hard
for them to do, as they were almost convinced that they
were going wrong all the time, but they soon, got so
numbed with the cold that they lost their sense of being.
They reached the fort in this condition after being out
eight hours. They each had to be thawed out of their
saddles. Cook, being a very strong, vigorous man, had
suffered the least, and soon was in a condition to tell of
the troubles of his comrades. Major E. B. Kink, the
quartermaster at the fort, immediately detailed a relief
party, and, with Cook at their head, started for the camp.
The storm by this time had spent itself, and the relief
party, with an ample supply of wood, reached them with-
out great hardship, and the entire outfit, minus the three

wagons which had been burned for fuel, were brought

—43—

back to the fort. Cook's companion was so badly frost-
bitten that amputation of one of his Hmbs was necessary
to save his life.

In the winter of 1869 I made a contract with the set-
tlers at Camp Supply to freight a trainload of goods from
Dodge to that point. I hurriedly caught up my cattle,
and picked up what drivers I could find. So little time
had I to prepare, and so scarce were hands, that I was
glad to get anyone that could handle a whip. Of course
I had a motley crew — some good men and a few very
worthless. Among the latter was one Jack Cobbin. Now
Jack had been a scout during the war, down around Fort
Gibson and Fort Smith, and was as great a drunkard as
ever drank from a bottle. The first night out we camped
at Mulberry, about fifteen miles from Dodge. A little
snow had fallen, and the night herders lost about half
the cattle. Of course the cattle drifted back to Dodge.
Next morning I sent my extra hand and night herder
back on the only two horses I had, and pulled one wing
of the train ten miles on the divide half way between
Mulberry and Rattlesnake creek, and went back and
pulled the other wing up about nightfall. That night
these catde got away, but I found them next day and
drove them over on a little spring creek three miles from
the main road, where there was plenty of water, grass
and shelter, and placed a guard with them.

I will here have to anticipate a bit. I was loaded with
several wagons of liquor. Jack Cobbin had been drunk
ever since we had left Dodge, and I had broken every
pipe-stem, quill or straw I could find, as this was the only
means he could use to get the liquor out of the barrels,
after drilling a hole in the top, so I concluded that I
would take him along that night to relieve the guard
and keep him sober. About two hours before sundown
he and I started out to the cattle. The Indians were at
war and killing everybody; so I supplied each man with
a dozen rounds of cartridges, in case of a sudden attack,

—44—

to be used until our ammunition could be got out of the
mess wagon, with strict orders not to fire a gun, under
any circumstances, unless at an Indian. Well, we had
gone about two miles in the direction of the cattle when
Jack began to lag behind, and pretty soon a jackrabbit
jumped up and Cobbin blazed away at it. I went back
to chide him, when I found he had something slushing
in the coffee pot he was carrying with his blankets. I
asked him what it was, and he said water. I said: "Throw
it out; you are a bright one to carry water to a creek."
He said: "Maybe we won't find any creek." I told him
that if we did not find the creek we would not find the
cattle. So he went on with the coffee pot slushing, slush-
ing, and I cursing him, and ordering him to throw it out.
At last we reached the creek and relieved the other boys.
I went at once to round up the cattle.

When I got back it was late and very dark and the
fire nearly out. Jack was sound asleep. I built up a big
fire and sat down to enjoy it. After sitting some time I
awakened Jack, but he refused to go out to the cattle. I
felt very uneasy and went again myself. I found that the
cattle had stopped grazing and wanted to ramble. I
stayed with them several hours, until it was almost im-
possible to hold them alone, and then went back after
Jack, but found him too drunk to be of any assistance.
Then I found out what was in the coffee pot. It was
whisky which he had drawn with his mouth out of the
barrels and spit into the coffee pot. I kicked the pot over,
which very much enraged him and he tried to kill me,
but I was too quick for him and disarmed him. I went
back to the cattle, and after awhile got them quiet and
they lay down. I then went back and rebuilt the fire.
When I had my back turned to get some more wood the
devil threw a handful of big cartridges on the fire. Part
of them exploded almost in my face, and the creek being
situated in a little canyon with high rocky walls on each
side, it sounded like heavy cannonading. I was frightened,

—45—

for I thought if there were Indians in five miles they
would certainly hear this and pounce down upon us next
day. I did not feel like killing Jack when he tried to
shoot me for kicking his pot of whisky over, but I was
sorely tempted then. I said to him: "My hearty, I won't
kill you now, but I will surely get even with you."

Next morning we drove in by daylight and strung
out one wing of wagons for Rattlesnake creek. When
they were about three miles away, Major Dimond came
along, in command of several companies of the Nineteenth
Kansas Cavalry and asked for whisky. I said: "You are
too late; yonder go the wagons containing all the whisky.
I sent them off on purpose to keep my friend Jack Cob-
bin sober," pointing to Jack, who replied; "Major Dimond,
how are you? I was your old scout at Fort Gibson. If
you will loan me your horse and canteen I will get you
some whisky." Nearly a dozen of the officers unstrung
their canteens and handed them to Jack, and the column
was halted until his return, and he came back with every
canteen loaded. Each officer took a hearty pull and
asked me to join them, but I said I never drank when I
was out in the cold. I thought, "Where ignorance is bliss,
'tis folly to be wise."

We drew up the other wing that afternoon in a nice
little sheltered, heavily wooded grove, under the bank of
the creek, where the cook had stretched wagon-sheets and
prepared a nice dinner, in the midst of a terrible snow-
storm. The lost cattle arrived at the same time we did;
so I put Cobbin on one of the horses and sent him out
on day herd, while we sat down to dinner. Along in the
afternoon I sent a man to relieve him. One of the men
saw him coming and dropped a couple of cartridges in the
fire just where he thought Jack would hover over to
warm, and sure enough he hardly spread his hands to
the cheering fire when one cartridge went off and as he

turned, the other gave him a parting salute. That night

—46—

just as supper was ready, Jack retaliated by throwing an-
other handful of cartridges into the fire, and blew our
supper all to f lingers. We held a council of war, and a
majority decided to kill him. The extra hand and cook
swore they would. The extra said he would take it upon
himself to do the shooting, but I finally persuaded them
out of the notion.

That night it cleared off, and we pulled over to Bluff
creek, at the foot of Mount Jesus, only a few miles away.
I again put Cobbin on night herd. The clouds had rolled
away and the new moon was shining brightly. The air
was balmy and springlike. My extra hand and I were
sitting up, smoking and enjoying the fine night, with
a nice fire on the side of the bank, and the creek below
us, when we heard a disturbance at one of the whisky
wagons. The extra hand went to see about it, and brought
in Cobbin, pretty full, as usual. I upbraided him for not
being with the cattle, but to no use, and finally he lay
down in front of the fire on the bank above and went to
sleep. The extra said: "Now is the time." Jack wore a
long, blue, homespun coat, which reached nearly to his
heels, with pockets as far down as the coat, in which he
kept his cartridges. We gently pulled the tails out from
under him and built a fire of dry cottonwood chips on
top of his cartridges, and placed a big wet rag above this, so
that the fire would be cut off from the balance of his
clothing. In course of time the chips were live coals, and
then the cartridges began to explode and awaken him. He
rolled from the top of the bank right through that fire
and plumb into the creek. Scrambling out, he said, "I
reckon I laid most too close to the fire." The extra hand
told him, "He reckoned he did," and what was more,
"if he ever caught him at those barrels again he would
kill him;" and the extra being a very determined man.
Jack knew he would. We had no more trouble with him
on the trip.

—47—

Chapter III.

Ranching in Early Days

T^HE ranches in those days were few and far between.
^ •*• Beyond the Grove were Peacock's ranch, at Cow
Creek, Alison's ranch, at Walnut Creek, and also that of
William Greiffenstein, with whom I afterward had the
pleasure to serve in the house of representatives. The fol-
lowing is a true story of the fate of Peacock, as related to
me a few years after his death. Peacock kept a whiskey
ranch on Cow Creek. He and Satank, the great war chief
of the Kiowas, were great friends and chums, as Peacock
knew the sign language well. He had quite a large ranch
and traded with the Indians, and, of course, supplied
them with whisky. In consequence, the soldiers were al-
ways after him. Satank wgs his confidential friend and
lookout. He had to cache his whisky and hide it in every
conceivable manner, so that the troops would not find it.
In fact, he dreaded the incursions of the soldiers much
more than he did the Indians. One day Satank said to
him: "Peacock, write me a nice letter that I can show to
the wagon bosses and get all the chuck I want. Tell them
I am the great war chief of the Kiowas, and ask them to
give me the very best in the shop."

Peacock said, "All right, Satank," and sat down and
penned this epistle: "This is Satank, the biggest liar, beg-
gar, and thief on the plains. What he can't beg of you
he will steal. Kick him out of your camp, as he is a lazy,
good-for-nothing Indian."

Satank presented his letter several times to passing
trains, and, of course, got a very cool reception, or rather
a warm one. One wagon boss blacksnaked him, after
which indignity he sought a friend, and said to him:
"Look here! Peacock promised to write me a good letter,
but I don't understand it. Every time I present it the

—48-^

V <

wagon boss gives me the devil. Read it, and tell me just
what it says." His friend did so, interpreting it literally.
"All right," said Satank, and the next morning at daylight
he took some of his braves and rode to Peacock's ranch.
He called to Peacock, "Get up; the soldiers are coming."
The summons was quickly obeyed. Seizing his field-glass.
Peacock ran to the top of his lookout, and the instant he
appeared, Satank shot him full of holes, exclaiming as
he did so, "Good-by, Mr. Peacock; I guess you won't
write any more letters."

Then they went into the building and killed every
man present, except one, a sick individual, who was lying
in one of the rooms, gored through the leg by a buffalo.
All that saved him was that the Indians were very super-
stitious about entering apartments where sick men lay,
for fear they might have the smallpox, which disease they
dreaded more than any other.

I came from the mountains in the spring of 1864 to
Spring Bottom, on the Arkansas River. The Cheyennes,
Arapahoes and Kiowas were committing many depreda-
tions along the Arkansas that summer.

Shortly after our arrival, my partner, Joe Graham,
went to Fort Lyon after supplies to stand a siege, as we
expected daily to be attacked, the hired man and myself
remaining at the ranch to complete our fortifications. On
the night of Graham's return I started for Point of Rocks,
a famous place on the Arkansas, twenty miles below our
ranch, to take a mule which he had borrowed to help him
home with his load.

The next morning at daylight our ranch was attacked
by about three hundred Indians, but the boys were sup-
plied with arms and ammunition, and prepared to stand
a siege. After they had killed one Indian and wounded
a number of their ponies, the savages became more care-
ful; they tried by every means in their power to draw
the boys outside; they even rode up with a white flag
and wanted to talk. Then they commenced to tell in

—49—

Spanish, broken English, and signs, that they did not
want to hurt the boys; they simply wanted the United
States mail stock; and if it was given up they would go
away. When this modest demand was refused, they re-
newed their attack with greater fury than ever before.

My wife and two children were with me at the ranch
at the time, and, at the commencement of the fight, Mrs.
Wright placed the little ones on the floor and covered
them over with feather beds; then she loaded the guns
as fast as the boys emptied them. She also knocked the
chinking from between the logs of the building, and kept
a sharp lookout on the movements of the Indians. Often
did she detect them crawling up from the opposite side
to that on which the boys were firing. Upon this informa-
tion the boys would rush over to where she had seen
them, and by a few well-directed shots make them more
than glad to crawl back to where they had come from.
This was long before the days of the modern repeating
rifle, and of course they had only the old-fashioned muz-
zle-loaders.

For about seven hours the Indians made it very
warm for the boys; then they got together and held a
big powwow, after which they rode off up the river. The
boys watched them with a spy-glass from the top of the
building until they were satisfied it was not a ruse on
the part of the savages, but that they had really cleared
out.

Graham then took my wife and two children, placed

them in a canoe, and started down the Arkansas, which

was very high at the time. The hired man saddled a colt

that had never before been ridden, and left for the Point

of Rocks. Strange as it may seem, this colt appeared to

know what was required of him, and he ran nearly the

whole distance — twenty miles — in less than an hour and

a half. He was the only animal out of sixteen head that

was saved from the vengeance of the Indians. He was a

little beauty, and I really believe that the savages refrained

•—50—

from killing him because they thought they would event-
ually get him. He was saved in this manner: After the
attack had been progressing for a long time and there
came a comparative lull in the action, my wife opened
the door a little to see what the Indians were up to, while
the boys were watching at the loopholes; the colt ob-
served Mrs. Wright, made a rush toward her, and she,
throwing the door wide open, the animal dashed into
the room and remained there quiet as a lamb until the
battle was over.

The Indians killed all our mules, horses and hogs —
we had of the latter some very fine ones — a great number
of our chickens, and shot arrows into about thirty cows,
several of which died. The majority of them recovered,
however, although their food ran out of the holes in
their sides for days and weeks until the shaft of the ar-
rows dropped off, but, of course, the iron heads remained
in their paunches; still they got well.

I had just saddled my horse, ready to start back to
the ranch, when the hired man arrived, bringing the terri-
ble news of the fight. He told me that I would find my
wife and children somewhere on the river, if the savages
had not captured them. "For my part," he said, "I am
going back to my people in Missouri; I have had enough."
He was a brave man, but a "tenderfoot," and no wonder
the poor fellow had seen enough. His very soul had been
severely tried that day. I at once called for volunteers,
and a number of brave frontiersmen nobly responded;
there were only two or three, however, who had their
horses ready; but others followed immediately, until our
number was swelled to about a dozen. A wagon and
extra horses brought up the rear, to provide means of
transportation for my wife and little ones.

When we had traveled thirteen miles, having care-
fully scanned every curve, bend, and sand-bar in the
stream, we discovered Graham, Mrs. Wright, and the

children about two miles ahead, Graham (God bless

—51—

him!) making superhuman effort to shove the boat along
and keep it from upsetting or sinking. They saw us at
the same moment, but they immediately put to cover on
a big island. We shouted and waved our hats, and did
everything to induce them to come to us, but in vain, for,
as they told us afterwards, the Indians had tried the same
maneuvers a dozen times that day, and Graham was too
wary to be caught with chaff. At last Mrs. Wright rec-
ognized a large, old, white hat I was wearing, and she
told Graham that it was indeed her husband, Robert.
When they reached the bank, we took them out of the
canoe more dead than alive, for the frail, leaky craft had
turned many times; but Graham and Mrs. Wright, by
some means, had always righted it, and thus saved the
little children.

A party went with me to our ranch the next day,
and we witnessed a scene never to be forgotten; dead
horses, dead hogs, dead cows and dead chickens piled
one upon another in their little stockade. Two small colts
were vainly tugging at their lifeless mothers' teats; a sad
sight indeed, even to old plainsmen like ourselves. Both
doors of the building were bored so full of bullet holes
that you could hardly count them, as they lapped over
each other in such profusion. Every window had at least
a dozen arrows sticking around it, resembling the quills
on a porcupine. The ceiling and walls inside the room
were filled with arrows also. We thought we would fol-
low up the trail of the savages, and while en route we dis-
covered a government ambulance, wrecked, and its driver,
who had been killed, with two soldiers and citizens, so
horribly butchered and mutilated that the details are too
horrible and disgusting to appear in print. They had also
captured a woman and carried her o& with them, but the
poor creature, to put an end to her horrible suffering,
hung herself to a tree on the banks of a creek northeast
of where the Indians had attacked the ambulance. In

consequence of her act, the savages called the place White

—52—

Woman. The little stream bears that name today; but
very few settlers, however, know anything of its sad origin
(it was on this creek, some years later, that the gallant
Major Lewis met his death wound at the hands of the
Indians, while bravely doing his duty).

After the fight at Spring Bottom, I moved down to
Fort Aubrey, where, in conjunction with Mr. James
Anderson, I built a fine ranch. At that place we had nu-
merous little skirmishes, troubles, trials, and many nar-
row escapes from the Indians. While at Aubrey, I had
my experience with Fred and the bull buffalo, as described
in a previous chapter.

Just before I moved from Aubrey, J. F. Bigger and
I had a sub-contract to furnish hay at Fort Lyon, seventy-
five miles west of Aubrey. While we were preparing to
move up to go to work, a vast herd of buffalo stampeded
through our range one night and took off with them
about half of our work cattle. The next day the stage-
driver and conductor told us they had seen a few of our
cattle about twenty-five miles east of Aubrey. This in-
formation gave me an idea in which direction to hunt
for them, and I started after the missing beasts, while my
partner took those that remained and a few wagons and
left for Fort Lyon.

I will interpolate here the statement that the Indians
were supposed to be peaceable, although small war parties
of young men, who could not be controlled by their chiefs,
were continually committing depredations, while the
main body of the savages were very uneasy, expecting to
go out any day. In consequence of this threatening aspect
of affairs, there had been a brisk movement of troops
stationed at the various military posts, a large number of
whom were supposed to be on the road from Denver to
Fort Lyon.

I took along with me some ground coffee, filled my

saddle-bags with jerked buffalo and hardtack, a belt of

cartridges, my rifle and six-shooter, field-glass and blan-

—53—

kets, and was ready for any emergency. The first day out
I found a few of the lost cattle, and placed them on the
river bottom, which I continued to do as fast as I recover-
ed them, for a distance of about eighty-five miles down
the Arkansas, where I met a wagon train. The men told
me I would find several more with the train that had
made the crossing of the Cimarron the day before. I came
up to this train in a day's travel south of the river, got
my cattle, and started next morning for home. I picked
up my cattle on the river where I had left them, as I went
along, and, having made a tremendous day's travel, about
sundown concluded to go into camp. I had hardly stop-
ped before the cattle began to drop down, so completely
tired out were they, as I thought.

Just as it was growing dark, I happened to look
toward the west, and saw several fires on a big island near
what was called the Lone Tree, about a mile from where
I had halted for the night. Thinking they were camp-
fires of the soldiers I had heard were on the road from
Denver, and anticipating and longing for a good cup of
coffee, as I had had none for Rwc days, and besides feel-
ing very lonesome, knowing, too, the troops would be
full of news, I felt good, and did not think or dream of
anything else than my fond anticipation; in fact, was so
wrapped up in my thoughts I was literally oblivious to
myl surroundings. I was wild to hear the news and
wanted a good supper, which I knew I would get in the
soldiers' camp.

The Arkansas was low, but the bank was steep, with
high, rank grass growing to the very waters' edge. I
found a buffalo trail cut through the steep bank, very
narrow and precipitous. Down this I went, and arrived
within a little distance of my supposed soldiers' camp.
When I got in the middle of a deep cut I looked across to
the island, and saw a hundred little fires and something
less than a thousand savages huddled around them.

I slid back off my horse and by dint of great exer-
— 54~

tion worked him up the river bank as quietly and quickly
as possible, then led him gently away out on the prairie.
My first impulse was not to go back to the cattle; but
we needed them very badly; so I concluded to return to
them, putting them on their feet mighty lively, without
any noise. Then I started them, and, oh, dear, I was
afraid to tread on a weed lest it would snap and bring
the Indians down on my trail. Until I had put several
miles between them and me I could not rest easy for a
minute; and tired as I was, tired as were my horse and
the cattle, I drove them twenty-five miles before I halted.
Then daylight was upon me and I lay down and fell
asleep. I was at what is known as Choteau's Island, a
once famous place on the old Santa Fe trail.

Of course I had to let the cattle and my horse rest
and fill themselves until the afternoon, but I did not
sleep any longer myself. As I thought it was dangerous
to remain too near the cattle, I walked up a big, dry sand
creek that ran into the river at that point, and, after I had
ascended it a couple of miles, found the banks very steep;
in fact, they rose to a height of eighteen or twenty feet,
and were sharply cut up by narrow trails made by the
buffalo. Here I had an exciting adventure with a herd of
buffalo, but will reserve the account of it for another
chapter. Nothing further, of note, happened during the
afternoon, and, resuming my journey, I finally arrived
at the ranch without mishap.

The day after I arrived at home I was obliged to

start to Fort Lyon with fourteen or fifteen yoke of cattle

and four or five wagons. A Mr. Ward volunteered to

accompany me; and let me say right here, he was as brave

a young man as it has ever been my fortune to know.

He was true blue; a chip of the old block; a nephew of

General Shelby; he might well be proud of his pluck.

I coupled all the wagons together and strung all the

fifteen yoke of oxen to them, and as young Ward

could not drive the cattle he went along for company

— 55 —

and helped me yoke up. We made eighteen miles the
first day and stopped at Pretty Encampment, one of the
most celebrated camping places on the old Santa Fe trail,
located at the foot of Salt Bottom. We yoked up the
next morning several hours before daylight, as the moon
was shining brightly; we wanted to cross the bottom be-
fore we ate breakfast. A few miles from the head of the
bottom the trail diverges, one cutting across the bluff and
the other following the Arkansas; we were on the lower
one. Presently the stage came along, lumbering over the
bluff, stopped, and called to us. I went to it, only a few
hundred yards over to the other trail, when who should
I see but my partner, Mr. B. F. Bigger, and four or five
other men in the coach, besides the driver. They all at
once cried out. Bigger leading: "Go back with us, go
back with us, or you will both be killed." I said: "Bigger,
be a man; stop with us and defend your property; a lot
of these cattle here belong to you; and besides you have
a splendid rifle." He replied: "No, I must go to Aubrey
to protect my wife and child." I answered: "My wife and
children are there, too, in one of the strongest little forts
in the country, six or eight men with them, and plenty
of arms and ammunition; all the Indians on the plains
cannot take them." He said: "You don't know how many
Indians there are; they stopped the coach, took what
they wanted in the way of blankets and ammunition,
two or three six-shooters they found on the front seat,
besides other things." I asked him why they didn't take
his rifle, and he replied: "I reckon they would have done
so, but we hid it." I said: "I wish they had; if you won't
stop with us, loan us your gun; we have only one rifle
and a six-shooter." He said: "No, leave the cattle and go
back with us; they will be down on you in a little while."
"Well, wait until I see Ward," I answered. "Be quick
about it then," replied he.

I went back to Ward and asked him what he wanted
to do. I said: "You have nothing to gain and all to lose.

—56—

The people in the coach yonder say there are several
hundred Indians above the bend; and while they are not
actually on the warpath, they stopped the coach and
robbed it, whipped the mules with their quirts until they
got them on a dead run, then fired at them, and shot
several arrows into the coach; some are still sticking into
the back of it." Ward asked me what I was going to do.
I said that a man might as well be dead as to lose his
property, and I proposed to stay with it; "Maybo we
won't see an Indian." He replied: "I am going to stay
with you." "God bless you for it," I said, "but it is asking
too much of you." "Well, I am going to stay with you,
anyhow." Then I motioned to the stage-driver to go on,
and he did so right quickly. The cattle had all laid down
in the yokes while we halted, but we soon hustled them
up and started, feeling pretty blue. We first held a little
consultation, and then moved all the ammunition to the
first wagon, on which Ward was to sit. I gave him the
rifle; I had on a six-shooter and a belt full of cartridges,
and we agreed to let the Indians take the grub and the
blankets if they came, but that we would stay by our
guns and ammunition. Ward said he would never get
off the box containing the ammunition.

We had proceeded about two miles, were awfully
tired and hungry, had just driven out of the road to
make a temporary camp, congratulating ourselves that
we had missed the Indians, when here they came, two
on their ponies at first. I said to Ward that we would
lick these two; they dare not tackle us, but we had better
keep right on and not go into camp. Ward raised his
gun and motioned for them to keep off. They circled and
went to the rear, when just over a little rise the whole
business of them poured. I pounded away and yelled at
the cattle to keep them moving, but there were so many
Indians they blocked the road, and we came to a stand-
still. They swarmed around us, and on all the wagons,
but the front one; this Ward kept them off of. They took

— 57 —

all of our grub and rope, but nothing else. After string-
ing their bows and making lots of threats and bluffs at
us, they dropped a little behind and we drove off and left
them. We hustled the cattle along five or six miles, when
we came to a good place to water. Ward ran up on a
bluff to see what had become of the savages, while I
drove the cattle chained together to the river. Ward
commenced to shout just as I reached the bank. The oxen
got no water that day. I turned them around in a hurry,
hitched on, and started. Ward said that the Indians were
not more than three miles off, coming our way. We
never made another halt until we were in sight of the
lights on Commissary Hill, at old Fort Lyon, which we
reached about one o'clock that night. I reported to the
commanding officer the next morning, and we learned
afterwards that these Indians had been on Sand Creek
to bury the bones of their dead who were killed in the
Chivington fight several years before. Only a week after
our escape there was a general outbreak and war.

In 1866 I went to Fort Dodge. Now, one might be
inclined to think that the kind of life I had been leading—
the hard experience — that a person would be anxious to
abandon it at the first favorable opportunity; but this
is not so. It gives one a zest for adventure, for it is a sort
of adventure that you become accustomed to; you get to
like it; in fact, there is a fascination about it no one can
resist. Even to a brave man — God knows I make no pre-
tension to that honor — there is a charm to the life he
cannot forego, yet I felt an irresistible power and could
not permit myself to give it up.

Mr. A. }. Anthony and I bought out the Cimarron
ranch, twenty-five miles west of Fort Dodge. The com-
pany of which we purchased were heartily tired of the
place, and eager to sell, for two of their number had been
brutally murdered by the Indians while attempting to
put up hay. Anthony was an old "Overland stage mes-
senger," had seen lots of ups and downs with the Indians

—58—

on the plains, and rather enjoyed them. So we got to-
gether some of the old-timers and went to making hay.
Right there our troubles commenced. We both had seen
a great deal of the Indians and their methods before; but
we didn't realize what they could and would do when
they took the notion. If we didn't see some of the sav-
ages every day it was a wonder; and once that summer
they actually let us alone for four weeks. I remarked to
my partner: "There is something wrong in this; they
must be sick." So they were. When they came in that
winter and made a treaty, they told us the cholera had
broken out among them, and the reason for their remain-
ing away for so long a time was on account of the scourge.
The cholera was perfectly awful that summer on the
plains; it killed soldiers, government employees, Santa Fe
traders and emigrants. Many new graves dotted the road-
sides and camping places, making fresh landmarks.

I remember two soldiers coming up with the mail
escort one night, who were severely reprimanded by their
sergeant for getting drunk, at which they took umbrage,
stole two horses and deserted the next day. One of them
returned on foot about noon, stating that the Indians had
attacked them early in the morning, got their animals
from the picket line, and shot his partner through the
right breast; that he had left him on an island twelve
miles up the river. Our cook had been complaining a
little that morning, and when I went to his room to see
him he said that he had dinner all ready, and would like
to go along with us after the wounded soldier. I told
him no; to stay at home, go to bed, keep quiet, and above
all else to drink very little cold well-water. The sergeant
took six men and the escort wagon with him, and I fol-
lowed on horseback.

When we arrived opposite the island we hailed the
soldier, and he came out of the brush. He walked up
and down the river bank, and made signs to us that his
right arm was useless and he seemed to be in great pain.

— 59 —

The sergeant called for volunteers, but not a man respond-
ed. The Arkansas was swimming full and the current
was very swift in one place for about three hundred yards.
It appeared that none of his comrades liked the fellow
very well, one of them saying, when the sergeant asked
for some one to go over, "If he don't swim, or at least
make an effort, he can stay, and I hope the Indians will
get him." I said, "Boys, this won't do; I will get him,"
and after him I went. When I reached the island I sat
down and reasoned with him; told him exactly what I
required him to do. He seemed very grateful, and knew
that I was risking my own life on him. He was a power-
fully built fellow, and his wound had almost paralyzed
his right side. He said: "Mr. Wright, I appreciate what
you have done for me, and what you are about to under-
take; now, before God, I will let go my hold if I see you
cannot make it." He stayed nobly by his promise. When
we had gone under water several times, and the current
was bearing us down, and it appeared that every minute
would be our last, he said, in the despair of death: "I am
going; let me go." I replied, "For God's sake, no; hold
on." I then felt inspired. I said to myself, this man has a
grand nature; I am going to save him or sink with him.
Indeed, all these thoughts flashed through my mind, and,
as God is my judge, I would have done it, as at that mom-
ent I had no fear of death whatever. When I reached the
bank I was completely exhausted and had to be helped out
of the water. I was awfully sick; it seemed that my
strength had left me absolutely. It was fully an hour
before I was strong enough to ride.

Strange to say, I lay side by side with this poor man
in the hospital at Fort Dodge, after his rescue. He was
excessively kind and attentive, and when I began to con-
valesce— ^for the same night I was stricken down with
cholera — we exchanged drinks; he took my brandy, I his
ale. He would insist in saying that the cause of my sick-
ness was the terrible exertion I had made that day in his

—60—

behalf; but it was not so. When I got back to the ranch,
after our ride up the river, our poor cook was in a terribly
bad fix. I knew that he was gone the moment I saw him,
although he was still sitting up and appeared cheerful,
except when the cramps would seize him. I asked him
what he had been drinking. He replied that his thirst
was so intolerable that he drank a whole bucketful of
canned lemonade. I said to him, "My poor boy, make
your peace with God; tell me the address of your parents
or friends." He answered : "I have none ; it makes no dif-
ference; I think I will pull through all right." In an hour
he was dead. We were laying him out in the shade on
the east side of the house, and I was in the act of tying
up his jaws, when a breeze from the south seemed to en-
ter his mouth and wafted back into mine. I said then,
"There^ boys, I have tasted the cholera from this poor
fellow," and at once set about making my preparations
as to my business affairs and other matters. Before two
o'clock in the morning I was down with the dreadful
disease. Barlow, Sanderson, & Company, the proprietors
of the "Overland Stage," to whom I had shown many
favors, the moment they heard of my illness, sent an am-
bulance and escort of soldiers, and I was conveyed to the
hospital at Fort Dodge. There, under the kind and care-
ful treatment of Doctors De Graw and Wilson, I re-
covered.

I must go back to the haymaking at the ranch. Day
after day the Indians would harass us in some manner,
but they had not yet succeeded in killing any of our men,
although they repeatedly ran off our stock, fired into and
broke up our camp, until even old-timers, men in whom
we had placed the utmost confidence and depended upon
in case of emergency, began to grow tired. They said it
was too monotonous for them. I don't think they really
understood the true definition of the word. Still we per-
sisted, were hopeful, and continued to hire new men at

from seventy-five to a hundred dollars a month for com-

—61—

mon hands; we had to have hay. We considered it no
more than just to tell these new men, when we hired
them, they would have to take desperate chances, and that
was the reason we were paying such large wages. Well,
the Indians finally exhausted us of our horse stock, and we
had to resort to ponies; but they were too small and we
got along very slowly. We were compelled to purchase
a big span of mules of the United States mail company,
for which we paid six hundred dollars. Mr. Anthony
was very proud of them, as he often sat behind them when
he was a messenger on the overland routes. They were
named Puss and Jennie. The first morning they were
sent to the haystack Anthony was in the corral stacking.
After a while he came to the house, looking as proud as
a peacock, and said to me: "Hear that machine? Ain^t
Puss and Jennie making it hum?" But the sound did not
seem natural to me, so I grabbed a spy-glass and ascend-
ed to the lookout on top of the building. Sure enough,
just as I expected, I saw two Indians come up, one on each
side of the mules, pounding them over the backs with
their bows, and they were making it hum, while the boys
in the camp were shooting as fast as they could load and
fire, protecting the poor driver, who was running toward
them for his life with about two dozen of the red devils
after him, whooping, yelling, and shouting as they charged
upon him. The two Indians who attacked the driver of the
mowing-machine had watched their opportunity, rushed
out of the brush on the bank of the river, and were upon
him before he had the slightest idea of their presence, and
running off with the mules. His two revolvers were
strapped upon the machine, and he could do nothing but
drop off behind from his seat, leave his weapons, and run
for his life.

The government had ten men and a sergeant station-
ed at the ranch, on escort duty with the United States
mail. One day while the men were at dinner, and a soldier
was on guard outside, whom I suspected was asleep at the

—62—

time, two Indians, who had stolen a couple of old mules
from the stage station forty miles above, rode by and fired
at the sentinel, just for fun, I believe, or at least to wake
him up, and then dashed down to the river, crossing close
to a Mexican train. Quicker than thought they unsaddled
their mules, threw them upon the back of two freight
horses that were picketed near, mounted them, and jump-
ed off a steep bank five feet deep into the Arkansas and
were over on the other side before the astonished Mexi-
cans really knew what was going on.

The day before the same train had left a lame steer
out in the sand hills, and the wagon boss sent one of the
hands back after it that morning. As soon as the two
Indians crossed the river they spied the Mexican with the
lame ox and immediately took after him. From the top
of my building, with an excellent glass, I could plainly see
their whole maneuverings. The savages circled around
the poor "greaser" again and again; charged him from
the front and rear and on both sides, until I actually
thought they had ridden over him a dozen times, empty-
ing their revolvers whenever they made a charge. They
would only halt long enough to re-load and then were
after him again. During all these tactics of the Indians
the Mexican never made any attempt to return their fire;
that saved his life and scalp. They wanted to compel
him to empty his revolvers, and then they could run
up and kill him. Of course, from the distance, nearly
two miles, I could not hear the report of the Indians'
weapons, but I could see the smoke distinctly, and I
knew that the Mexican had not fired a shot. Presently
the poor fellow's horse went down, and he lay behind
it for awhile. Then he cut the girth, took off the saddle,
and started for the river, running at every possible chance,
using the saddle as a shield, stopping to show fight only
when the savages pressed him too closely; then he would
make another stand, with the saddle set up in front of

him. After a few more unsuccessful charges, the Indians

—63—

left him. When he had arrived safely at the train, they
asked him why he had not fired a shot when the In-
dians rode so close to him. He stated if he had a thou-
sand shots he would have fired them all, but in crossing
the river that morning his horse had to swim and his
revolver got wet (the cartridges were the old-fashioned
kind, made of paper, and percussion caps the means of
priming. It was fortunate, perhaps; for if the Indians had
surmised that his revolver would not go off, they would
have had his scalp dangling at their belts in short order.
The Indians had given us a respite at the ranch for
awhile (I refer to the time I have mentioned when they
were attacked by the cholera). We had recruited up con-
siderably, were in high hopes, and had started in fresh,
as it were, when one morning they swooped down upon
us again to the number of two thousand, it appeared to
me ; but there was not that many, of course ; still they were
thick enough. It looked as if both of the banks of the
Arkansas were alive with them, as well as every hill and
hollow. There were Indians everywhere. Our men were
all in th hay field, with the exception of two, and my part-
ner, Mr. Anthony, was with them. Anthony was a cool,
brave man; knew exactly what to do and when to act. I
think that his presence saved the party. I could see the
whole affair from the lookout. As soon as the firing be-
gan we could see our watchman, who was stationed on a
bluff, and his horse ran away and threw him, but he man-
aged to get to the boys in the field. We were using two
wagons with four yoke of cattle to each. The wagons
were about half loaded, and the boys had to fly and leave
them standing. The Indians set the hay on fire, then open-
ed with a shower of arrows upon the steers, and started
them on a run, scared out of their senses. We found them
after the thing was over, all dead in a string, chained to-
gether as they had been at work. The savages had lots
of fun out of their running the poor brutes around the
bottoms while the hay on the wagons was burning. At

—64—

the first attack the men all got together as quickly as pos-
sible and made for the camp, which was on the bank of
the river. A hundred or more Indians charged them so
close that it appeared they would ride over them, but
whenever our boys made a stand and dropped on their
knees and began to deliberately shoot, they would shy off
like a herd of frightened antelope. This, they kept up
until they reached the river, over half a mile from where
they started in the field, then they made for a big island
covered with a dense growth of willows; there they hid,
remaining until after dark.. We at the ranch formed
little parties repeatedly and tried to go to their relief by
hugging the river bank, but at every attempt were driven
back by an overwhelming number of savages.

The Indians charged upon our men in the willows
many times during the day, in their efforts to dislodge
them, and so close did some of them come on their ponies
that any of the boys by a single spring could have grabbed
their bridle-reins. Although they might have killed sev-
eral of the savages, the latter would have eventually over-
powered them, and cruelly butchered the last one of them.
To show how cool and brave a man old Anthony was, and
what stuff the men were made of, he passed many a joke
around among the boys. There was a stern reticent veteran
in the group, whose pipe was seldom out of his mouth ex-
cepting when he was asleep. Anthony would repeatedly
hand him his pipe and tobacco, and say: "Brother Tubbs,
take a smoke; I am afraid there is something wrong with
you; have you given up the weed?" Tubbs would reply:
"If we don't be getting out of here, we won't be making
those ten leads of hay today, and you will lose your bet."
Anthony had wagered with some one that they would
haul ten loads of hay that day. These and similar jokes
passed between them all the while, while they were sur-
rounded by hundreds of savages, many of them within
five or six steps very frequently; the least false move on
the part of the besieged, and none of them would have

-—65—

lived as long as it takes me to write this. About three
o'clock that afternoon we heard firing both above and
below us. The Indians had attacked the United States pay-
master coming up the river, and several companies of
soldiers coming down, and gave them a hot fight, too,
compelling them to go into corral, and holding them for
several hours.

These constant skirmishes kept up till late in the fall;
in November and December, 1868, the Indians made a
treaty. I then sent for my family, who were in Missouri.
A short time after their arrival, one Sunday morning,
during a terrible snowstorm, and no help at the ranch
but two stage drivers and a Mexican boy, I threw open
the large double doors of the storeroom, and, before I
could even think, in popped forty Indians, all fully armed,
equipped, and hideous with their war paint on. I thought
to myself, "Great God, what have I done; murdered my
wife and little ones!" We had to use strategem; resistance
would have been useless. The stack of guns was in the
corner behind the counter, in a passageway leading to the
dwelling-house, or in the part of the building in which I
lived. I called to the Mexican boy, in an adjoining apart-
ment, to get his revolver and hold the door at all hazards;
to put the guns one at a time inside of the sitting room,
and to shoot the first Indian who attempted to get over
the counter; to tell the savages what I had ordered, in
Spanish, and that I would remain with them and take my
chances. Everything worked to a charm, except that the
Indians commenced beating the snow off of them and
laying aside their accouterments. I said to the boy: "Tell
them, in Spanish, this won't do; they could not stay in
here; this is the soldiers' room; but they must follow me
out into a larger, warmer room where we would cook
them some chuck." This he accomplished by signs and
in Spanish, as rapidly as God would let him. I said:
"When the last one is out, jump quickly and double-bar
the door; it is our only chance." I thought the reason

—66—

why the Indians acted so coolly was that they believed
they had a "dead cinch" on us, and were in no hurry to
commence action.

As soon as the boy had finished talking to them they
turned and followed me out. One of them took hold of
me with many a sign and gesture, but as I could only
understand the sign language a little, barely enough to
trade with the Indians, I was at this moment so excited
that I hardly understood English. The savage then led
me back to the door and signed for me to open it. I shook
my head and said: "Oh, no, old fellow; not for all the
gold in the Rocky Mountains would I open that door
again; my dearest treasures on earth are in there, and as
long as these doors are closed that long they are safe;
but God only knows how long they will remain so." At
my refusal he immediately began to abuse me most out-
rageously; spat in my face, and went on like a madman;
more than once he reached for his revolver, and, of course,
I thought my time had surely come. The Mexican boy,
having heard the rumpus, slipped out of the back door
and came around the house to see what was up. I said to
him: "Placido, what does he mean?" Placido commenced
to smile (the first beam of sunshine I had seen since the
entrance of the savages), and he replied: "Oh, that is all
right; he left his bow in there, and because you won't
open the door thinks you want to steal it." "Tell him I
will get it; and, now you have got him in good humor,
ask him what they all want and what they are after, and
tell me." When I returned Placido and the savages were
talking like old chums. The boy said "No danger, we
are all right; this is a party of young bucks going to the
mountains to steal horses from the Utes." This intelli-
gence was a burden lifted, and I felt as if I could fall
down and worship the great God who created me. I said:
"Bring out the fatted calf; feed them to their hearts* con-
tent, and until their bellies pop out like pizened pups;
until their vary in'ards are made to cry, 'Enough!' and

—67—

want no more." Instead of the fatted calf we cooked them
several camp kettles full of bacon and beans, many of the
same full of coffee, two gallons of black molasses, plenty
of sugar, and a box of hardtack. They feasted, and went
on their way rejoicing.

The ultimate fate of the old ranch was, that the In-
dians burnt it, together with several tons of hay, the day
after Mr. Anthony abandoned it, by order of Major
Douglas, commanding Fort Dodge.

— 68 —

CHAPTER IV.

The Greatest Game Country on Earth

r\P course, it was not always fight and run, run and
^^ fight; we had our fun, too. One day a stage driver,
Frank Harris, and myself started out after buffalo. They
were very scarce, for a wonder, and we were very hungry
for fresh meat. The day was fine, and we rode a long
way, expecting sooner or later to rouse up a bunch. Late
in the afternoon we gave it up, and started for home. Of
course, we did not care to save our ammunition; so we
shot away at everything in sight — skunks, rattlesnakes,
prairie dogs, and so on — until we had only a few cart-
ridges left. Suddenly up jumped an old bull that had
been lying down in one of those sugar-loaf shaped sand
hills, with the top hollowed out by the action of the wind.
Harris emptied his revolver into him, and so did I but
the old fellow stood suddenly still on top of the sand hill
bleeding profusely at the nose, but persistently refusing
to die, although he would repeatedly stagger and nearly
topple over. It was getting late, and we could not wait
for him, so Harris said: "I will dismount, creep up be-
hind him, and cut his hamstrings with my butcher
knife," the bull by this time having laid down. Harris
commenced his forward movement, but it seemed to in-
fuse new life into the old fellow; he jumped to his feet,
and, with his head down, away he went around the out-
side of the top of the sand hill. It was a perfect circus
ring, and Harris, who had gotten him by the tail, never
let go his hold; he did not dare; it was his only show.
Harris was a tall, lank fellow, and his legs were flying
higher than his head, as round and round he and the
bull went. I could not help him in the least, but had to
sit and hold his horse and judge the fight. I really thought

that the old bull would never weaken. Harris said to me,

—69—

after it was over, that the only thing he feared was that
he would pull the bull's tail out by the roots, and if he
did he was a goner. Finally the ring performance began
to grow slower and slower, and Harris at last succeeded
in cutting his hamstrings, when down went the bull. We
brought in his tongue, hump, and hindquarters, and, at a
glorious feast that night, had a big laugh with the boys
over Harris' comical adventure.

I wish here to assert a few facts concerning game,
and animal life in general, in early days, in the vicinity of
Fort Dodge and Dodge City. There were wonderful
herds of buffalo, antelope, deer, elk, and wild horses.
There were big gray wolves and coyotes by the thousand,
hundreds of the latter frequently being seen in bands, and
often from ten to fifty grays in a bunch. There were also
black and cinnamon bears, wild cats and mountain lions,
though these latter were scarce and seldom seen so far
from the mountains. Then there was the cunning little
prairie dog — millions of them; and next in number to
them was the little swift, similar to a fox in shape and
color, but much prettier, and it could run like a streak,
which gave it the name of swift. They were very suscept-
ible to poison, and soon vanished from the face of the
earth, as did the black croaking raven. I have seen the
ground literally covered with dead ravens, for the space
of an acre, around the carcasses of dead wolves that had
been poisoned; having eaten of the flesh of the poisoned
wolves, it affected the ravens the same as if they had eaten
the poison direct.

One terror of the plains was mad wolves. Several
times were the different forts visited by them, and they
not only did great damage to stock, but frequently to
human beings. One ran into Fort Larned one night, bit
the officer of the day. Lieutenant Thompson, and two
soldiers, and I think two or three employees of the gov-
ernment. Thompson went east and put himself under
treatment, but he never was the same man afterward. It

—70—

is doubtful whether it was the treatment he underwent
that affected him, or the continual dread. The others all
died.

Now I wish to give an idea of the great number of
water-fowl and amphibious animals, such as the otter,
beaver, muskrat, weasel, and mink, that were found on
the southwestern plains. Up to about 1870 the beavers
were plentiful, and there was also quite a number of
otter; but neither of these animals could stand civilization,
and both were soon wiped out of existence, on account of
the high price of their fur, and too many trappers.

For some years after Dodge was established, our
rivers, streams, ponds and lakes were covered with wild
fowl — ducks, geese, swans, brants, pelicans, cranes and
every species of water-fowl known to this continent. It
was a poor day or a poor hunter who could not kill a
hundred ducks and geese in a day, and sometimes several
hundred were killed in a day, so one can judge by this
how plentiful they were. Then turkeys and quails —
there was no end to them. Their number were countless;
one could not estimate them. Indeed, I am almost asham-
ed to state how many I have seen, but what I am going
to say about their number is no exaggeration. I have seen
thousands of turkeys in a flock, coming into roost on the
North Fork and the main Canadian and its timbered
branches. Several times, at a distance, we mistook them
for large herds of buffalo. They literally covered the
prairie for miles, with their immense flocks, and, more
than once, we saddled our horses to make a run for them,
thinking they were buffalo. If my recollection serves me
right, about ninety miles down the North Fork of the
Canadian from Fort Supply, is what is called, Sheridan's
Roost, named for the large number of wild turkeys, killed
in a single night, by Major-General Sheridan's escort, who
made camp there one night. I had passed by the place
before, and several times after the big killing, and I
should think it was rightly named, for, in my trips

—71—

through that country, I thought I saw, with my own
eyes, more wild turkeys than there were tame ones in
the whole United States put together; and there were just
as many quails in the sand hills, bordering on these
streams.

I must not fail to mention, among our game birds, the
pretty prairie plover, which, for about three months in
the year, came in great numbers and dotted the prairie
everywhere. It was a most beautiful game bird and con-
sidered by epicures to be very fine eating, superior to quail
in flavor and juiciness. I have often gone out and killed
from one hundred to two hundred, and back to Dodge,
inside of four hours. It was beautiful sport. The bird
would arise singly, when you approached it within forty
or fifty yards, and sail gently away from you ; and before
you could reach your first dead bird, you would often-
times have three or four more down. Army officers, and
distinguished sportsmen and our governors and congress-
men would come here to hunt them. But, like the wild
turkey and other game, the prairie plover, too, has almost
ceased to appear. Civilization or settlement of the country
has sounded its death note.

I have spoken about the great number of wild ani-
mals, but have failed to mention the skunks. They, too,
were very numerous, in the early days, at and around
Dodge City, and, strange to say, their bite was almost al-
ways fatal. At least eight or ten persons died here from
their bite, the first season Dodge started. We supposed
they were mad skunks, or affected with hydrophobia.
Every one, of course, slept out of doors, and skunks would
crawl right into bed with the men, and bite. Some were
bitten on the nose, some on the lip, some on the hand or
finger, and one man had his toe bitten almost off. One
man who was bitten through the nose, had the skunk
hold on to him, while he ran through the camp in the
night, beating with both hands at Mr. Skunk and he had
a time getting rid of the beast. The man whose toe was

—72—

bitten was George Oaks, partner, at the time, of our fel-
low townsman, Mr. George Richards. After he was bit-
ten he determined to have revenge, so he camped his
train (and he had quite a large mule train) and waited
for, some say, four nights, before Mr. Skunk came back.
Anyhow, he laid his train up for a day or two. But fin-
ally, one night, he blew Mr. Skunk's head off with a
double-barreled shotgun, and, not satisfied emptying both
barrels into his victim, reloaded and shot him again. He
sure got his revenge. Some people were mean enough to
say that Mr. Skunk would have died anyway, after biting
Mr. Oaks, and that Mr. Skunk only came back to apolo-
gize, after he found out whom he had bitten, but I think
different; this was a joke, for George Oaks was my friend
and a big hearted, noble fellow, even if a little eccentric,
and some people could not appreciate him.

The creeks, when the Fort (Dodge) was first started,
were all heavily wooded with hackberry, ash, box-elder,
Cottonwood, and elm. We cut fifteen hundred cords of
wood almost in one body on a little creek six miles north
of the fort, all hackberry. There were a good many
thousand cords cut on the Sawlog, which stream is prop-
erly the south fork of the Pawnee, but the soldiers would
go out to the old Hays crossing, chop down a big tree,
hitch a string of large mules to it, haul it up on the bank
near the ford, and, after stripping off its top and limbs,
leave its huge trunk there. In consequence thousands of
immense logs accumulated, making the place look as
if a sawmill had been established; and these great trunks
were sawlogs ready to be cut into lumber. The early buf-
falo hunters called the creek Sawlog, which name it bears
to this day.

Just above the crossings was a great resort and covert
for elk. I have seen as many as fifty in a single band at
one time. Every spring we would go out there and cap-
ture young ones. That region was also the heart of the

buffalo range as well as that of the antelope. I have seen

—73—

two thousand of the latter graceful animals in a single
bunch driven right into Fort Dodge against the buildings
by a storm. I have shot buffalo from the w^alls of my
corral at the fort, and so many of them were there in
sight it appeared impossible to count them. It was a
difficult problem to determine just how many buffalo I
saw at one time. I have traveled through a herd of them
days and days, never out of sight of them; in fact, it
might be correctly called one continuous gathering of the
great shaggy monsters. I have been present at many a
cattle round-up, and have seen ten thousand head in one
herd and under complete control of their drivers; but I
have seen herds of buffalo so immense in number that
the vast aggregation of domestic cattle I have mentioned
seemed as none at all compared with them.

In writing this brief description of animal life along
the old trails, I have purposely left till the last the men-
tion of the buffalo for it is the animal to which it is hard-
est to do justice. The southwestern plains, in early days,
was the greatest country on earth, and the buffalo was the
noblest as well as the most plentiful of its game animals.
I have indeed traveled through buffaloes along the Ar-
kansas river for two hundred miles, almost one contin-
uous herd, as close together as it is customary to herd
cattle. You might go north or south as far as you pleased
and there would seem no diminuation of their numbers.
When they were suddenly frightened and stampeded
they made a roar like thunder and the ground seemed to
tremble. When, after nightfall, they came to the river,
particularly when it was in flood, their immense numbers,
in their headlong plung, would make you think, by the
thunderous noise, that they had dashed all the water
from the river. They often went without water one and
two days in summer, and much longer in winter. No one
had any idea of their number.

General Sheridan and Major Inman were occupying
my office at Fort Dodge one night, having just made the

—74—

trip from Fort Supply, and called me in to consult as to
how many buffaloes there were between Dodge and Sup-
ply. Taking a strip fifty miles east and fifty miles west,
they had first made it ten billion. General Sheridan said,
"That won't do." They figured it again, and made it
one billion. Finally they reached the conclusion that
there must be one hundred million; but said they were
afraid to give out these figures ; nevertheless they believed
them. This vast herd moved slowly toward the north
when spring opened, and moved steadily back again from
the far north when the days began to grow short and
winter was setting in.

Horace Greeley estimated the number of buffaloes at
five million. I agree with him, only I think there were
nearly five times that number. Mr. Greeley passed
through them twice; I lived in the heart of the buffalo
range for nearly fifteen years; now who do you think
would be the best judge of their number ? I am told that
some recent writer who has studied the buffalo closely,
has placed their number at ninety millions, and I think
that he is nearer right than I. Brick Bond, a resident of
Dodge, an old, experienced hunter, a great shot, a man
of considerable intelligence and judgment, and a most
reliable man as to truthfulness and honesty says that he
killed fifteen hundred buffaloes in seven days, and his
highest killing was two hundred and fifty in one day, and
he had to be on the lookout for hostile Indians all the
time. He had fifteen skinners, and he was only one of
many hunters.

Charles Rath and I shipped over two hundred thou-
sand buffalo hides the first winter the Atchison, Topeka
& Santa Fe railroad reached Dodge City, and I think there
were at least as many more shipped from there, besides
two hundred cars of hind quarters and two cars of buf-
falo tongues. Often have I shot them from the walls of
my corral, for my hogs to feed upon. Several times have
I seen wagon trains stop to let the immense herds pass;

—75—

and time and time again, along in August or September,
when putting up hay in the Arkansas, bottom, would
we have to put out men, both night and day, to keep them
out of our herd of work cattle. We usually hunted them
on horseback; that is, we would single out one animal
in a herd, and ride along by the side of it, and shoot it
with a six-shooter. Sometimes we would kill several
buffalo on a single run, but very few white men killed
them wantonly.

There was great antipathy between the hunters and
the Indians; they cordially hated each other. This hatred
between them was greatly on account of their different
manner of killing the buffalo. The Indian hunted the
buffalo altogether on horseback, with bow and arrow, or
else with a long spear or lance, which they planted in the
side of the animal by riding up alongside of him. By
either means, they had to ride up close to the buffalo,
scattering the herd and running them out of the country
or off the range entirely. The Indians claimed they only
killed for meat or robes, and, as soon as they had suf-
ficient, they stopped and went home, the herds of buffalo
soon getting together again and recovering from their
panic. Whereas the hunters never knew when to quit or
when he had enough, and was continually harassing the
buffaloes from every side, never giving them a chance
to recover, but keeping up a continual pop-pop from their
big guns. The Indians further claimed that the hunters*
mode of killing was not only unfair, but it was cowardly,
and downright murder, pure and simple, for they did not
give the buffaloes the ghost of a show for their lives. They
would get a stand on a herd by shooting the leader, at
the great distance of a mile, clear out of scent and sound of
the gun, and almost out of sight, and in a short time,
would annihilate the entire bunch, whilst the bewildered
animals would wander around, taking their deaths, ignor-
ant of what was the source of danger or how to get away.

—76—

Besides, many of them, wounded, would wander oil,
out of sight and reach, and were not found until they
were unfit for market; and the Indians claimed that the
noise of the hunters' guns and their mode of killing
would soon drive the buffalo out of the country or anni-
hilate them. Time has proved that the Indians were
correct.

A band of hunters cared no more for Indians than
Indians did for foot soldiers, and, unless they greatly
outnumbered the hunters, and then only under the most
favorable circumstances, the Indians would not attack
the hunters. They were afraid of the hunter's big guns,
his cool bravery, and, last but not least, of his unerring,
deadly aim. Then, too, the hunter had but little plunder
that was dear to the Indian, after the fight was won —
only a team of work horses, and the redskin cared much
more for riding ponies than for work animals.

I want to say something of the buffalo and its habits.
The buffalo-wallow is caused by the buffalo pawing and
licking the salty alkali earth, and when the sod is once
broken the dirt is wafted away by the action of the wind;
then, year after year, by more pawing and licking and
rolling or wallowing by the animals, more wind wafts the
loose dirt away, and soon there is a large hole in the
prairie. Now there is a much more curious spectacle to
be seen every year when the grass starts up; is even plainly
to be seen yet when springtime arrives. These are rings
on the prairie; and there are thousands of them — yes,
millions. From the first of April and until the middle of
May was our wet season on the plains; this was always
the case; you could depend upon it with almost the cer-
tainty of the sun and moon rising at the proper time.
This was the calving season of the buffalo; the buffalo,
not like domestic cattle, only rutted one month, neither
more nor less, then it was all over. I want to interpolate
a statement here, that no man living I ever heard of or
saw witnessed the act of copulation by the buffalo. It was

—77—

all done after night. Then was the only time that the
buffalo made any noise or fuss; but at this season they
would keep up a low roaring sound all night, and, as a
consequence, the cows all calved in a month. At that time
there were a great many gray wolves in the country as
well as the little coyote. While the cows were in labor,
the bulls kept guard to drive off the wolves, and, in their
beat, made the rings referred to. I have had people argue
to me that they were caused by lightning striking the
earth; but it is certainly strange that lightning should only
strike at these breeding places and nowhere else. Others
would argue that the Indians had their war dances there,
which is just about as absurd a statement as the other.
Others even say that two bulls get their heads together in
battle and push each other round and round in a ring
until a circle is formed. Buffaloes live to a great age. I
have heard it from best authority that some of them live
to be seventy-five or eighty years old, and it is quite com-
mon for them to live thirty or forty years; in fact, I think
I have seen many a bull's head that I thought to be over
thirty years old. After a storm, when we would go in
search of our lost cattle, we could tell the buffalo tracks
from our cattle tracks because the buffalo tracks would
be going against the storm every time, while our domestic
cattle would invariably go with it. You see the buffalo
is much more thinly clad behind than in front; nearly
all of his coat is on his head, shoulders and hump, and,
when our cattle would turn tail, the buffalo would na-
turally face the storm.

In another paragraph, mention has been made of the
terrific noise and quaking of ground, resulting from a
stampeding herd of buffaloes. I will now remind the
reader of my exciting adventure with buffaloes, referred
to in another chapter, and which I promised to relate. It
will be remembered that, after a forced march in flight
from Indians, I was allowing my horse and cattle to rest
and graze a few hours, before proceeding on our way to

—78—

the ranch at Aubrey. While waiting for the animals, and
for greater safety to myself away from them, I ascended
a dry sand creek a couple of miles, where the banks rose
very steeply to the height of eighteen or twenty feet, and
were sharply cut up by the narrow trails made by the
buffalo.

The whole face of the earth was covered with buf-
falo; they were grazing slowly toward the river. As it
was a warm day, and getting on in the afternoon, all at
once they became frightened at something and stampeded
pell mell toward the very spot where I was. I quickly ran
into one of the precipitous little paths and up on the
prairie to see what had scared them. They were fairly
making the ground tremble, as in their mighty multitude
they came on running at full speed; the sound of their
hoofs resembled thunder, only a continuous peal. It ap-
peared to me that they must sweep everything in their
path, and for my own preservation I ran under the banks;
but on they came like a tornado, with one old bull in
the lead. He held up a second to descend the deep, nar-
row trail, and when he got half way down the bank I let
him have it — I was only a few steps from him — and over
he tumbled. I don't know why I killed him — out of pure
wantonness, I expect; or perhaps I thought it would fright-
en the others back; not so, however; they only quickened
their pace over the dead bull, and others fell over them.
The top of the bank was actually swarming with them;
they leaped, pitched and rolled down. I crouched as
close to the bank as possible, but numbers of them just
grazed my head, knocking the sand and gravel in great
streams down my neck; indeed, I was half buried before
the last one had passed. The old bull was the last buffalo
I ever shot wantonly, excepting once from an ambulance,
to please a distinguished Englishman who had never seen
one killed. Then I did it only after his hard persuasion.

Jack Bridges, a scout of some fame in eastern Kansas

during the war, said to me one day: "I see you always

—79—

hunt buffaloes on horseback. If you will take a needle-
gun (that was an improved Springfield) and go with me,
you will never hunt on horseback again." And I never
did. We usually hunted the calves only in the fall and
winter, as all we cared for was the meat. It was wonder-
ful to see how strong the mother's instinct was to protect
her young. The calf would invariably run on the opposite
side of its mother. One day I had taken a knee rest, and
waited and waited for the calf to run ahead of its mother
as they ascended a hill together. At last I saw a dark spot
just ahead of the cow's breast and fired, killing both cow
and calf, breaking the cow's neck as he had it distended
ascending the hill, and shooting the calf dead, as I sup-
posed. Just then a soldier came along and asked permis-
sion to have their tongues. We told him yes. On coming
back with a wagon, picking up the dead calves, we found
this one gone. Bridges said to me: "See, the d — soldier
has stolen the calf." We saw the soldier soon after com-
ing to us. He said: "After I cut the tongue out of the
calf, he got up and ran over the hill a quarter of a mile."
Sure enough, there he lay dead, with his tongue cut out.
Two other soldiers verified this one's story.

Notwithstanding this abundance of game and the
general pursuit of it, for a white man to go south of the
Arkansas River to hunt was considered suicidal until
after 1870. The south side of the Arkansas was considered
sacred to the Indians, or at least this was their view of it,
and no one ventured across the Arkansas except the old
traders, unless under a good escort of soldiers. The more
daring of the hunters would take desperate chances to
hunt pelts and furs in winter, south of the river, but they
were very few, and some of them never returned, and
they would go singly, never more than two together. It
was considered an unknown quantity, and so it was. Rich
in furs and pelts, game everywhere, no wonder it was
watched by the Indians with such jealous care. With
longing eyes the daring hunters would gaze across ; it was

—80—

forbidden fruit, and their curiosity and hankering would
be increased all the more for this reason. Curly Walker
and Jack Pratt were two who ventured down into that
country every winter, sometimes in partnership, but most
generally alone, with a strong light wagon, two good
draft horses, and a good and tried saddler. They always
returned loaded to the brim with the richest furs, beaver,
otter, big grey wolves, and sometimes a silver fox. The
little coyote was too insignificant, and only caught to
make up the load. These men made their headquarters
at Dodge. They traded with the writer, and I seldom paid
them less than six dollars apiece for their grey wolf skins,
and their load never netted them less than a thousand
dollars and sometimes double that amount.

A game animal of the utmost practical value was the
wild horse, which was hunted in a manner very different
from that in which other game was hunted, and which
was attended by peculiar difficulties and dangers. In the
summer of 1878, Mr. J. T. Elliott, of Dodge City, in
company with I. M. Henderson and F. C. Foxworthy,
started in pursuit of wild horses. An account of their ex-
perience, as related at the time, runs as follows:

"They struck a band of about two hundred head of
the finest wild horses they ever saw. After following
them on horseback and afoot for nine days and nights,
they finally succeeded in corralling forty-eight head.
They were thirty-six hours without water, and came near
perishing for want of it. Finally the herd struck the
Arkansas River, just at the time when they were ready
to give up further pursuit, as they felt they could go no
farther and must surely perish for want of water. New
courage overtook them, however, and they stuck to their
little band until the river was reached. They are holding
these horses at Lakin. Mr. Elliott was in Dodge a few
days ago, purchasing supplies for another trip after wild
horses."

Wild horses were numerous on the plains. These

—81—

horses were the progeny of abandoned horses by plains-
men, and they were harmful to range stock. The capture
of the stallions was necessary, so as to corral and capture
the mare herds. The increase of the wild bands was
made, yearly, by the escape of horses from the stock herds.
The wild stallions could not be secured by a cowboy on
horse-back. A winter's campaign was necessary to ac-
complish the capture of the wild horses. The stallions
were shot, by getting in close range by the cowboy, from
time to time, and the mares were secured alive.

A horse belonging to a cattleman by the name of E.
Clemence, was being saddled with a cowman's saddle,
made by R. E. Rice, when it broke away from its owner,
and was not seen until two years afterwards, when it was
discovered with a drove of wild horses, the saddle still
being in proper position on the back of the horse. The
owner never recovered the animal.

Among the many things that young Dodge City took
great pride in and excelled in, was one pertaining to her
great game resources and the chase, and that was her
dogs. They were known far and wide; every one was
singing the praises of Dodge City's dogs, and justly, too,
for they were the best bred of the kind in the world. I
mean the pure-bred greyhound, and there were several
large packs of these hounds. I expect the greatest pack and
the largest was one owned by Mayor James H. Kelly,
and, for that reason the "gang" christened him "Dog"
Kelly.

The first winter of Dodge's existence there came a
deep snow, the latter part of November, which drove
the antelope off the hills into the river bottom, where
they bunched up by the thousands. Kelly started out,
the morning after the storm, with a lot of sports and a
big pack of greyhounds, and just a half mile west of
Dodge they struck a big band of antelope, and the dogs
soon caught all they could carry home. The snow was
deep and the morning turned out to be very warm. They

—82—

were all true sports and did not wish to kill for useless
slaughter, and the dogs were warm and tired, so they
called them off and started back to town. When they
got in, Kelly missed a favorite hound by the name of Jim,
only a pup six months old, but a monster. He was extra-
ordinarily large for his age, big boned and well muscled,
and gave promise of making a fine animal when he got
of age. So back went Kelly after Jim-dog. A mile or two
from where they quit the hunt, he found a dead antelope;
a few miles farther along the Santa Fe trail, he found
another; and on he went, finding dead antelope until he
got to the foot of Nine-mile Ridge, twenty miles west of
Dodge City. There he found Jim-dog lying by the side of
his last kill. I know Kelly told me there were at least a
dozen antelope killed by this same dog in the twenty-
mile run. You see, the old Santa Fe trail ran along the
river, and the wind had swept the snow, to a great
measure, out of the trail, and the herd of antelope they
started that morning kept the trail because it was easier
traveling for them. The dog kept after them, and when
he would kill one, would leave it and go after the others,
until he was completely used up and worn out. Kelly
brought him home in front of his saddle, and no money
could buy Jim after this exploit.

Many times afterwards, when the dog got age, and
they would be on a hunt twenty or thirty miles away,
the other dogs would all quit and the hunters return
home, when Jim-dog would be missing, sometimes it
would be two or three days before his return, and he
would eventually stagger in all tired out, as lank as a
shad, and it would be days before he would notice any-
thing but water and food, he would be so completely done
up and worn out. We would kid Kelly by saying, "Yim.
has quit." "Not until the antelope does," would be his
reply.

In this connection, a story entitled, "A Race to

Death," clipped from the "Dodge City Times," of Sep-

—83—

tember 15, 1877, is of decided interest. It seems there was
great rivalry between Lieutenant Gardener, of Fort
Dodge, and Mr. James Kelly, as to who had the best pack
of hounds. The story continues:

"The dogs of both of these gentlemen are known to
be the best in the land and were eager for the contest, so
they made up a race, which, from its tragic termination,
will not soon be forgotten. On the morning of the 14th,
together with a large party of friends and sports, they
crossed the Arkansas four miles from Dodge, in the lower
hills that skirt the river, and started two fine antelope.
Then followed a race after the flying dogs and antelope,
that for excitement and reckless enjoyment makes the
finest sport in the world. The antelope, clearing away
over the prairie with flying feet, almost seemed for awhile
to outdo the sleek graceful hounds, who, with ears laid
low and tails straight out and active muscles, dashed after
the beautiful fugitives. It was a beautiful sight, the ante-
lope, the hounds, and the huntsmen. A mile and a half
of breakneck speed told the story, and just as that wonder
of modern speed and ugliness. Yclept, Old Calamity (this
was the name of a famous hunter), carried this deponent
over the brow of a hill, the hounds brought the tired
creatures to the ground. It was a victory dearly won, and
the dead antelope were soon to be followed by their cap-
tors, in a chase through animal paradise.

"The last of the huntsmen had hardly reached the
finish when it became apparent that the faithful dogs had
given their lives for the game. Unable to stand, they were
taken upon the saddles before the hunters and hurriedly
carried toward the river, three miles away. Poor Fly, a
most beautiful animal, never reached the water. The
others were taken to the river, bled, and rubbed, but to no
purpose. Rowdy soon followed Fly, and, to close the scene,
Kate, an elegant imported hound of Lieutenant Gardener
— both animals, for grace, beauty and speed, probably
have no peers in western Kansas — paid the debt of nature.

—84—

The best dogs die first, and the latter two were very king
and queen. It is not everybody that enjoys this kind of
sport, but, once a participant, there are but few who will
not admire the graceful animals, and, after so noble an
effort, be sorry to see them die." The loss of dogs was
great in hot weather hunts. Kelly never sold a dog but
would occasionally give one away to a dear friend, and,
when parties would come to Dodge and bring their dogs
for a grand hunt, Kelly would often buy one, no matter
what the price. He paid one hundred dollars for a dog,
and often fifty dollars, and I have known him to pay two
hundred dollars when he saw an extra good one. A few
days after the race. Lieutenant Gardener lost two more
of his dogs. One was his favorite hound, Omar, who died
of congestion of the lungs, brought about by, the last
day's sport. Omar had an unblemished pedigree. I
could mention a great many more exciting races if I had
the space.

—85—

Chapter V.

Indian Life of the Plains

T TPON the loss of our ranch (at Cimarron), Mr. An-
^ thony and I thought we would take our chances
again, and burn lime on the Buckner, or middle branch
of the Pawnee, about thirty miles north of Fort Dodge.
We were well aware that the government could not
furnish us with a guard. But the Indians were now sup-
posed to be peaceable and not on the warpath. They had
only captured a few trains, burnt a number of ranches,
and murdered small parties of defenseless emigrants on
the trail; still they were not considered at war. All the
whites were forbidden to kill or molest an Indian in any
manner, although it was perfectly legitimate for them
to murder us.

Under such conditions we started to work to fill our
public lime contracts; we were receiving big prices for it,
however, comparable to the supposed risk, getting three
or four dollars a bushel. Our positive instructions from
the commandant at Fort Dodge were: "Under no circum-
stances, no matter how aggravated, you must not kill an
Indian first; let them kill you; then it will be time enough
to retaliate."

Late one night, the quartermaster. Lieutenant Bas-
sett, and his chief clerk rode into our camp, and told us
that the Indians were killing everybody over in the
Smoky Hill country. They had traveled all night, and
laid by during the day, as they were unable to get any
escort, all the troops being out in the field after savages.
They left for Fort Dodge early the next morning, warning
us to take the utmost precaution against surprise and at-
tack. After the departure of Lieutenant Bassett and his
clerk, Jim Wrighting, an old wagon boss, and I started
for a load of wood. We had to go about four miles down

—86—

the creek for it, but still in plain view of our camp. Sud-
denly we saw a dozen bucks, each with a led horse, rise
over the top of the hill. The creek was between us, and
we knew it was exceedingly boggy; it could only be
crossed at certain places; if these places were missed, it
would mire a saddle-blanket. I said to Jim: "What shall
we do? There are some of the very lads who have been
murdering the women and children over on the other
river; shall we try to make it back to camp, or go right
ahead, and pretend that we don't see them, or don't care
for them if we do see them?" He replied: "We will take
our chances, and go ahead. I hate to run, and have the
boys laugh at us." "Here's with you," I answered.

We had only revolvers with us, and away they came
lickety brindle. I thought: "Laddie bucks, you are tender-
feet, or young ones, or you would not come tearing down
the hill that way. You don't know the creek like your
forefathers, and if you keep at that gait, and don't tumble
into a mire-pit up to your necks, never to get out again,
then you can call me a horse thief. Then Jim Wrighting
and I will go down and chop off your heads just even up
with where the mire strikes them, as did Jack the Giant
Killer." They left their led horses back on the hill with
two guards, so they were free to ride at will. But when
they arrived at the creek, they stopped short with a little
jerk-up, and I think one or two of them — those in the
lead — got a taste, and the others had to pull them out.
Now they began to slowly and carefully hunt a crossing,
which was difficult to find. Then they tried other tactics ;
they rode along and commenced yelling and gesticulating,
motioning for us to stop, but our eyesight was not very
good in that direction, and then we lost them altogether.
I said: "Jim, these fellows have given us up, or else have
tumbled into one of these mire holes, and we will have a
time chopping their heads off when we go back." Jim
answered : "No, them 'ere fellows was born on the prairie,

and is as true to instinct as a buzzard is to scent carrion.

—87-—

They are sure to find a crossing, and be down on us in a
holy minute, like a hawk on a chicken, and we are
bound to have fun." You see I was beginning to get
very ticklish myself — scared nearly to death — but did not
want to let on for fear Jim would get scared too. I knew
I must try to keep my courage up by keeping up his, and
I said to him: "J™> maybe they are only youngsters, and
don't know how to shoot; they appear to be by the way
they charged the creek." Jim replied: "Youngsters!
nothing; them is the worst kind." Said I: "Jim, perhaps
they only want to pay us a friendly visit, and want us to
go to camp with them and help eat their grub; what do
you think?" Jim answered: "More than likely they will
take us into camp, but I will be at the taking."

This was just what I wanted. Jim's metal had "riz,"
and I knew he was ready to fight a stack of bobtailed
wildcats. As the savages reappeared, I turned to Jim and
said: "Here they come." "I knowed it," he replied. "Don't
waste any ammunition; we have got twelve loads apiece,
and there are only eight of them." Four of their number
had remained in the rear to guard the led horses, and
the eight had only delayed to find a crossing; but they
trimmed themselves up besides, to be ready for any
emergency. Four of them now dashed ahead, two to the
right of us and two to the left, making a detour wide
enough to keep out of range of our pistols, which they
could plainly see in our hands. Then the first four came
in, while the others closed up behind. We kept right on,
however, until they finally surrounded us, and we were
obliged to stop. They held their six-shooters in front of
them, but we had a decided advantage of them, for we
were in a thick, heavy wagon box. They wanted to know
where the main big camp of the Indians was. We told
them that they had been camped at the Cimarron cross-
ing, but the soldiers had got after them and they had gone
south. Then we pointed out our tents — we had five of

them and they made quite a respectable figure at a dis-

—88—

tance — and told them it was the soldiers' camp. They
evidently did not believe us, for they v^ent over to the
camp, bound the cook securely, v^hom they found asleep
(why they did not kill him is a mystery), cut open every
valise and took several revolvers from our tenderfeet, who
had left them in their grips instead of strapping them on
their persons. They carried off all the ammunition they
could find, all the horses, mules, ropes, and everything
else that seized their fancy. Mr. Anthony and the re-
mainder of our men were quarrying rock up in the bluffs,
and had their rifles with them.

These young bucks were certainly of those who had
been concerned in the murder on the other river, for we
noticed dry blood on their hands and clothing, and, as
there was not an antelope or buffalo in the country then,
it could not have been the blood of game in which they
were ensanguined. They had evidently strayed away
from the main band and were very anxious to find them,
or get back south of the Arkansas River, where they were
better acquainted with the country. They were a little out
of their regular beat where they now found themselves,
and that fact undoubtedly deterred them from commit-
ting further acts of deviltry.

I have seen with my glass from the lookout on top
of my building at the ranch (Cimarron) two hundred or
three hundred wagons and two thousand head of mules
and oxen, all waiting for the river to go down, so that
they could cross; and I have watched a band of Indians
charge upon them like an avalanche, kill the poor, panic-
stricken Mexican drivers as easily and unmercifully as a
bunch of hungry wolves would destroy a flock of sheep.
Then the savages would jump off their horses long
enough to tear the reeking scalps from their victims' heads
and dash away after fresh prey. They, of course, drove
off many of the horses and cattle. Sometimes the owners
would succeed in getting the majority of their stock into
the corrals, and for days and weeks afterward the miser-

—89—

able mutiliated oxen would struggle back to the river for
water, some with their tails cut off close, some with ears
gone, some with great strips of hide stripped from their
bodies, others with arrows sticking out of them, the cruel
shafts sunk deep into their paunches half way up to the
feathers. The Indians did not care anything for the cattle
as long as there was plenty of buffalo; they mutilated the
poor creatures to show their damnable meanness. The
horses, of course, they valued.

Once, while a train of wagons was waiting to cross,
three or four of them having already made the passage,
leaving the Mexican drivers on this side with the wagons
loaded with loose wool, a lot of Indians swooped down
upon them. When the men saw the savages, the poor de-
fenseless wretches made for their wagons and concealed
themselves under the wool, but the Indians followed them
in and killed the last one with an old camp ax belonging
to the train, afterwards mutilating their bodies in their
usual barbarous manner.

Satank was chief of the Kiowas when I first knew
him, but was deposed because he ran away from camp
and left the women and children. Satanta took his place.
The Indians were camped in a large bottom called
Cheyenne bottom, about eight miles north of old Fort
Zarah, and the same distance from where the town of
Great Bend now is. All of the bucks were out on a hunt,
or on the warpath excepting Satank. The soldiers from
Fort Larned suddenly surprised them in their camp, when
Satank jumped on his pony and skipped. He certainly
would have been killed or captured had he remained; so
Satank, deeming discretion the better part of valor, lit
out. His tribe, however, claims that it was his duty to
have died at his post in defense of the women and chil-
dren, as they had left him back for that purpose, to guard
the camp.

Satanta was considered the worst Indian on the
plains, and for a long time the most dreaded. He was

—90—

war-chief of the Kiowas. There were many stories afloat
about his doings at Fort Dodge, some of which are true,
others not. In 1866 a committee was sent from Washing-
ton to inquire into the causes of the continued warfare on
the border, and what the grievances of the Indians were.
Of course Satanta was sent for and asked to talk his mind
freely. He was very pathetic. He had "no desire to kill
the white people, but they ruthlessly killed off the buffalo,
and let their carcasses rot on the prairie, while the Indian
only killed from necessity. The whites had put out fires
on the prairie and destroyed the grass, which caused their
ponies to die of starvation, as well as the buffalo. They
cut down and destroyed the timber and made large fires
of it, while the Indian was satisfied to cook his 'chuck'
with a few dry limbs. Only the other day," continued he,
"I picked up a little switch in the road and it made my
heart bleed to think that small limb so ruthlessly torn up
and thoughtlessly destroyed by the white man would
have in the course of time become a grand tree, for the
use and benefit of my children and my grandchildren."
After the powwow, and when he had a few drinks of
red liquor in him, he showed his real nature, and said
to the interpreter: "Now, didn't I give it to those white
men in good style? The switch I saw in the road made
my heart glad instead of sad, for I knew there was a
tenderfoot ahead, because an old plainsman never would
have anything but a quirt or a good pair of spurs. I said,
*Come on, boys; we have got him;' and we came in sight
of him, pressing him closely on the dead run; he threw
his gun away and held tight onto his hat, for fear he
might lose it."

Another time, when Satanta had remained at the fort
for a long time and had worn out his welcome, so that no
one would give him anything to drink, he went up to the
quarters of his friend. Bill Bennett, the stage agent, and
begged him for liquor. Bill was mixing a bottle of medi-
cine to drench a sick mule, and the moment he set the

—91-—

bottle down to do something else Satanta picked it up and
drank most of its contents before stopping. Of course it
made the savage dreadfully sick, as well as angry. He
then went up to a certain officer's quarters and again
begged there for liquor, to cure him of the effects of the
previous dose, but the officer refused. Still Satanta per-
sisted; he would not leave; and after awhile the officer
went to his closet and took a swallow of balsam copaiba,
placing the bottle back. Satanta watched his opportunity
and, as soon as the officer left the room, seized the bottle
and drank its contents. That, of course, was a worse dose
than the horse medicine, and the next day the wily
Satanta called his people together, crossed the Arkansas,
and went south. Before leaving, however, he burnt all
of Mr. Coryell's hay, which was stacked opposite the fort.
He then continued on to Crooked creek, where he killed
three wood-choppers, all of which he said he did in re-
venge for trying to poison him twice at Fort Dodge.

In the fall the Indians would come in, make a treaty,
and draw rations, and break the treaty as soon as the grass
was green in the spring. I have seen the Arkansas bot-
tom for miles above and miles below Fort Dodge covered
with Indians' tepees and ponies — thousands of the former
and many thousands of the latter — the Indians all draw-
ing rations, and the whole country full of game, black
with buffalo and large bands of antelope, with deer on
the islands and in the brush, and not a few elk in the
breaks and rough country.

I think it was in 1867 our government got a very
liberal streak, and sent the Indians thousands of sacks of
flour, pantaloons in abundance, and a big lot of stiff-rim
hats, bound around the edge with tin or German silver,
to hold the rim in shape. They also sent them a few
light-running ambulances. The savages, to show their
appreciation of these magnanimous gifts from the "Great
Father," threw the flour on the prairie in order to get the
sacks for breech-clouts. They cut out the seats of the

—92—

pantaloons, as they said an Indian's posterior was too
warm anyhow; they cut the crown off the hats and used
them as playthings, shying them in the air like a white
boy does a flat stone, to see them sail away. The ambu-
lances they were very proud of. The government neglect-
ed to send any harness with them, so the Indians manu-
factured their own. They did not understand anything
about lines, and, instead, they drove with a quirt or short
whip; when the near horse would go too much gee,
they whipped up the off horse, and when he would go
too much haw, they pounded away at the near horse
again, and vice versa, all the time. This unique manner
of driving kept the poor animals in a dead run most of
the time. I remember taking a ride with Little Raven,
chief of the Arapahoes. At first we started off gently;
but the ponies did not go straight, so he kept tapping
them, now the off horse, then the near, until finally he
got them on a rapid gallop, and I thought, at one time,
that my head would surely pop up through the roof of
the ambulance. The country was very level, fortunately,
or I don't know what would have been the outcome.

In the fall of 1869 Mr. Anthony and I were filling a
hay contract at Camp Supply. Our camp was about ten
miles up the Beaver. One afternoon I started from Camp
Supply for my own camp, after having partaken of an
excellent dinner at the officers' mess. It was issuing day
to the Indians; I think the first time that live beef was
ever distributed to them. Several hundred big, wild
Texas steers were turned over to them, but the Indians
didn't care for the meat; they could always get plenty of
buffalo, which they infinitely preferred, but they took
great delight in the sport of killing them after their man-
ner of hunting buffalo. They ran the frightened creatures
on horseback, lanced them with their spears, and shot
them full of arrows, until the last one was dead. The
whole trail was strewn with dead steers, though scarcely

one of them was touched for food. Occasionally I would

—93—

notice one whose skin was covered with pretty white
spots, and this fact having struck the savage fancy, they
had peeled off the most beautiful of them to make quivers
for their arrows.

As I was approaching my camp, yet some two miles
distant, a large, fat Indian rode out of the brush on a
peculiar piebald pony, and by signs indicated to me that
he wanted to swap. I asked if he meant that pony; he
answered, "Not my pony." "What is it, then.?" said I.
He tried hard to make me understand, but I could not
talk. He finally motioned for me to ride into the brush,
but I said: "Here, old fellow, none of your tricks; I don't
want any squaws." He said: "No squaw," so I rode in,
and saw a fine dog with his hindquarters gone. I said to

him: "You go to ; what do you take me for.?" He

replied: "You're a fool; you don't know what is good."
I answered him: "Eat it yourself, if you think it is so
nice." He then said he had just traded the saddle to some
white folks, and wanted to trade me the other part. The
skin was still hanging on, attached to the body of the dog
where he had stripped it from the saddle, but I looked at
him in disgust and rode off.

When I arrived at my camp Mr. Anthony and the
boys were eating supper. I threw my bridle-reins over
the front standard of a wagon and walked up to the fire
where they were eating. They said to me, "Come and get
some supper." I told them no; I had partaken of a hearty
dinner at the officers' mess just before I left Supply.
Anthony said: "You better have some; I bought the saddle
of an antelope from an Indian this afternoon; it's the
sweetest and juiciest meat I ever tasted. So did all the
men urge me to try it. Indeed, they were lavish in the
praise of their antelope meat. I said: "Are you sure that
is antelope meat? Antelope are very scarce; I haven't
seen one for a long time." They were certain it was an-
telope; it tasted like antelope; they knew it was antelope,
and remarked it was a good one. After they had finished

—94—-

supper, I said: "Fellows, do you know what you have all
been eating so heartily?" They all answered antelope,
of course; nothing else. I told them it was dog! They
would not believe me, and I jumped on my horse, rode
back, threw my lariat over the dog's head and pulled it
into camp. "Now," said I, "a big, fat Indian, on a piebald
pony, tried to trade me the balance of this carcass." An-
thony said: "That's him, sure," and then he tried to
vomit. The others poked their fingers down their throats
to coaxe up the obnoxious meat, but I interrupted them
with: "It's no use, boys; he is down deep in your
stomachs; let him stay there."

As an interesting picture of another phase of Indian
life on the plains, I quote the following early day descrip-
tion of an Indian duel and their death songs:

"Two Indians came forth from different lodges, each
with a gun in his hand. They walked some little distance
from the rest of the Indians and took post distant from
each other about fifty yards. At a given signal they
turned, raised their rifles to their faces, and fired. Both
fell wounded, one fatally. They were immediately sur-
rounded by friends who made no effort to bind their
wounds but simply stood around, talking among them-
selves and gesticulating, while the wounded Indians, as
soon as they fell, began the death song. There was little
music in it. It was a sort of deep-down unnatural tone of
voice, kept up for half a minute or so at a time, when it
would cease and the sufferers would, in the interim, make
a confession of all the evil deeds that they had done.
They would tell of the massacres in which they had been
engaged, how many scalps they had lifted from the heads
of white people, the number of ponies they had stolen,
together with all sorts of important and unimportant evil
doings in their lifetime. This accomplished, they were
ready to give up the ghost."

This is what the great chief. Spotted Tail, told the
President, when he visited Washington, many years ago,

— 95 —

with a lot of other chiefs. It is so much Hke the wants
of Indians who visited Fort Dodge in early days, that I
can't help relating it here.

"We want our provisions sent to the agencies that I
have mentioned. You told us your nation increases; we
want to increase, too, in prosperity and in numbers. You
said you wished us to be like white men, and so we are
here today, dressed in white men's clothes. I want the
kind of cattle the white men have, short horns. I want
everything in writing, before I go home, so there be no
mistake. We want teachers of English ; we want Catholic
priests to teach us. We should like saw mills and grist
mills and agricultural instruments and seeds. We want
five or six stores; then we could buy cheaper from one
than at another. I am very well dressed and so are the
others. They want forty dollars apiece to buy things for
their women and children, and they would like to have
a trunk apiece to carry their clothing in. As the weather
is getting a little cold, we should like to have an overcoat
apiece. We see you wearing overcoats, and we should
like to have them."

Some of them, who came to Fort Dodge to state their
grievances, wanted more than these. They wanted even
the earth and it fenced in.

Continual danger from the Indians made the pioneers
of early days continually apprehensive of Indian attack
and continually on their guard against surprise, and
keenly watchful when any suspicious move on the part
of the Indians was observed. Naturally, this caution and
watchfulness were, at times, somewhat overdone, Indian
alarms sometimes proving groundless, and precautions,
against seemingly threatened outbreak, proving needless,
or even laughable.

In the fall of 1874 I went to Texas, and when I came
home I found my partner, Mr. H. L. Sitler, who was
interested with me in a government hay contract, laid up
with a bad flesh wound he had received in a fight with

—96—

Dr. T. L. McCarty
One of the Seven Old Timers of Dodge City

the Indians only the day before, and the men in camp
thirty miles west of Fort Dodge badly demoralized, as the
Indians had jumped them a time or two very recently.
I mounted a good horse, taking with me a fine rifle and
two revolvers, and started for camp, where I arrived about
sundown that night. I had a long talk with the boss, and
I promised to stay right with them, which promise and
my cheering conversation soon placed them in good
humor, and they declared their intention to keep on at
work. In the night there came on one of our late, cold,
misty, drizzling rains. The tent was leaky and the next
morning we all got up feeling wet and generally miser-
able. The storm looked as if it had set in for the week.
Of course, I did not want to remain there, but the only
compromise, after my promise of the evening before, was
to leave with the boss my fine rifle, as well as my horse,
and ride back in its place an old, wornout one. I thought
that anything was better than staying there; so I ex-
changed horses, left my rifle, and started for Fort Dodge.
The misty rain was constantly beating in my face,
so that it almost blinded me. I left the main road and
took the trail, or near cut-off, around by the river, and
when I got about ten miles from camp, and at nearly the
place where Mr. Sitler was shot, up jumped, as I thought,
a lot of Indians, yelling and shouting. They seemed to
be traveling in Indian file, one right behind the other, as
I had often seen them. Thinks I to myself, I will just
fool you; I will make a long detour around the hollow
and come back into the trail about two miles below here,
and you fellows are trying to cut me off. When I don't
come out below, as you expect me to do, you will go over
to the main road and watch there. So I carried out my
plan and came back to the place two miles below, but they
were again running and yelling ahead of me, it seemed,
worse than before. I tried again, with the same result.
Then I went out to the main road, chose my position, and
waited for their coming, intending to shoot my old horse

—97—

and then lie behind him. How many times I wished I had
not left my good horse in camp, as I could easily have
run away from the Indians; and I further cursed my
luck that I was so foolish as to give up my rifle also.
After waiting and waiting in the rain, until I was com-
pletely soaked and tired out, expecting them to be on me
every minute, I thought I would go back to the trail along
the rough breaks by the river and take my chances.
When I got back the last time, up they jumped again;
but the wind and rain had let up a little and I saw what
I had taken for Indians was nothing but a flock of blue
cranes. You see the wind and rain were so blinding —
one of those awfully cold, misty storms — that when I
approached the river the birds would rise and merely
skim along through the willows, one after another, and
so I kept chasing them down stream a mile or more every
time I scared them up; but they scared me worse than I
scared them; they chased me back to the main road nearly
frightened to death. We had many a hearty laugh over
my fright from the cranes.

—98--

Chapter VI.

Wild Days with the Soldiers

A S has been stated, the site of Fort Dodge was an
old camping ground for trains going to New Mexico.
The government was obHged to erect a fort here, but even
then the Indians struggled for the mastery, and made
many attacks, not only on passing trains, but on the troops
themselves. I witnessed the running off of over one
hundred horses, those of Captain William Thompson's
troop of the Seventh United States Cavalry. The savages
killed the guard and then defied the garrison, as they
knew the soldiers had no horses on which to follow them.
Several times have I seen them run right into the fort,
cut off and gather up what loose stock there was around,
and kill and dismount and deliberately scalp one or more
victims, whom they had caught outside the garrison,
before the soldiers could mount and follow.

Early one very foggy morning they made a descent
on a large body of troops, mostly infantry, with a big
lot of transportation. At this time the government was
preparing for a campaign against them. It was a bold
thing to do, but they made a brave dash right into and
among the big mule trains. It was so dark and foggy
that nothing was seen of them until they were in the
camp, and they made a reign of bedlam for a short time.
They succeed in cutting about fifty mules loose from the
wagons and getting away with them, and killing, scalp-
ing, and mutilating an old hunter named Ralph, just as
he was in the act of killing a coyote he had caught in
a steel trap, not three hundreds yards from the mule camp.
Of course they shot him with arrows, and then speared
him, so that no report should be heard from the camp.
"Boots and saddles" was soon sounded, and away went
two companies of cavalry, some scouts following or at

—99—

least acting as flankers, I among the latter. The cavalry
kept to the road while we took to the hills. In the course
of time we came up to the Indians — the fog still very
heavy — and were right in among them before we knew it.
Then came the chase. First we ran them, and then they
turned and chased us. They outnumbered us ten to one.
More than once did we draw them down within a mile or
two of the cavalry, when we would send one of our num-
ber back and plead with the captain to help us; but his
reply was that he had orders to the contrary, and could
not disobey. I did not think he acted from fear or was a
coward, but I told him afterward he lost an opportunity
that day to make his mark and put a feather in his cap;
and I believe he thought so, too, and regretted he had
not made a charge regardless of orders.

In a previous chapter, the account was given of the
massacre of the little Mexican train and the scattering of
their flour and feather beds upon the bluffs near the
site of Fort Dodge, but before the fort was established.
On the bottom immediately opposite is where Colonel
Thompson's horses of the troop of the Seventh Cavalry
were run off by the Indians. One of the herds on duty
jumped into the river and was killed ; the other unfortun-
ately or fortunately was chased by the savages right into
the parade ground of the fort before the last Indian leav-
ing him, grabbing at his bridle-rein in his determined
effort to get the soldier's horse. The persistent savage
had fired all his arrows at the trooper, and the latter,
when taken to the hospital, had two or three of the cruel
shafts stuck in his back, from the effect of which wounds
he died in a few hours.

Major Kidd, or Major Yard, I do not remember
which just now, was in command at Fort Larned, and
had received orders from department headquarters not to
permit less than a hundred wagons to pass the fort at one
time, on account of the danger from Indians, all of whom
were on the warpath. One day four or five ambulances

—100—

from the Missouri River arrived at the fort filled with
Nev^ Mexico merchants and traders on the v^^ay home to
their several stations. In obedience to his orders, the
commanding officer tried to stop them. After laying at
Larned a fev^ days, the delay became very wearisome;
they were anxious to get back to their business, which
was suffering on account of their prolonged absence.
They went to the commanding officer several times, beg-
ging and pleading with him to allow them to proceed.
Finally he said: "Well, old French Dave, the guide and
interpreter of the post, is camped down the creek; go and
consult him; I will abide by what he says." So, armed
with some fine old whisky and the best brand of cigars,
which they had brought from St. Louis, they went in a
body down to French Dave's camp, and, after filling him
with their elegant liquor and handing him some of the
cigars, they said: "Now, Dave, there are twenty of us
here, all bright young men who are used to the frontier;
we have plenty of arms and ammunition, and know how
to use them; don't you think it safe for us to go through ?"
Dave was silent; they asked the question again, but he
slowly puffed away at his fine cigar and said nothing.
When they put the question to him for a third time,
Dave deliberately, and without looking up, said: "One
man go troo twenty time; Indian no see you. Twenty
mans go troo one time and Indian kill every s — o — b —
of you."

General Sheridan was at Fort Dodge in the summer
of 1886, making every preparation to begin an active and
thorough campaign against the Indians. One day he
perceived, at a long distance south, something approaching
the post which, with the good field-glass, we took to be
a flag of truce — the largest flag of the kind, I suppose,
that was ever employed for a like purpose. Little Raven
had procured an immense white wagon-sheet and nailed
it to one of his long, straight tepee poles, and lashed it
upright to his ambulance. He marched in with a band

— aoi—

of his warriors to learn whether he was welcome, and to
tell the big general he would be in the next sleep with all
his people to make a treaty. Sheridan told him that
maybe he could get them in by the next night, and maybe
he had better say in two or three sleeps from now. Little
Raven said: "No; all we want is one sleep." The time he
asked for was granted by the general, but this was the
last Sheridan ever saw of him until the band made its
usual treaty that winter. The wary old rascal used this
ruse to get the women and children out of the way before
using hostilities. The first time he came after peace was
declared he was minus his ambulance. I asked him what
had become of it. He replied: "Oh, it made too good a
trail for the soldiers; they followed us up day after day
by its tracks. Then I took it to pieces, hung the wheels in
a tree, hid the balance of it here and there, and every-
where, in the brush, and buried part of it."

During the same expedition, after the main com-
mand had left the fort with all the guides and scouts,
there were some important dispatches to be taken to the
command. Two beardless youths volunteered to carry
them. They had never seen a hostile Indian, or slept a
single night on a lonely plain, but were fresh from the
states. I knew that it was murder to allow them to go,
and I pitied them from the bottom of my heart. They
were full of enthusiasm, however, and determined to go.
I gave them repeated warnings and advice as to how
they should travel, how they should camp, and what
precautions to take, and they started. They never reached
the command, but were captured in the brush on Beaver
creek about dusk one evening — taken alive without ever
firing a shot. The savages had been* closely watching
them, and when they had unsaddled their horses and
gone into the brush to cook their supper (having laid
down their arms on their saddles), the Indians jumped
them, cut their throats, scalped them, and stripped them
naked.

—102—

Drunken Tom Wilson, as he was called, left a few
days afterward with dispatches for the command, which
he reached without accident, just as French Dave had in-
timated to the New Mexico merchants about one man
going through safely. It made Tom, however, too rash
and brave. Give him a few canteens of whisky and he
would go anywhere. I met him after his trip at Fort
Larned one day when he was about starting to Fort
Dodge. I said: "Tom, wait until tonight and we will go
with you," but he declined; he thought he was invulner-
able and left for the post. On the trail that night, as I
and others were going to Fort Dodge, under cover of
darkness, our horses shied at something lying in the road
as we were crossing Coon creek. We learned after-
wards that it was the body of drunken Tom and his old
white horse. The Indians had laid in wait for him there
under the bank of the creek, and killed both him and
his horse, I suppose, before he had a chance to fire a shot.

Two scouts, Nate Marshall and Bill Davis, both brave
men, gallant riders, and splendid shots, were killed at
Mulberry creek by the Indians. It was supposed they had
made a determined fight, as a great many cartridge shells
were found near their bodies, at the foot of a big cotton-
wood tree. But it appears that was not so. I felt a deep
interest in Marshall, because he had worked for me
for several years; he was well acquainted with the sign
language, and terribly stuck on the Indian ways — I reckon
the savage maidens, particularly. He was so much of an
Indian himself that he could don breech-clouts and live
with them for months at a time; in fact, so firmly did he
think he had ingratiated himself with them, that he be-
lieved they would never kill him. Ed. Gurrier, a half-
breed and scout, had often written him from Fort Lyon
not to be too rash; that the Indians would kill anyone
when they were at war; they knew no friends among the
white men. Marshall and Davis were ordered to carry

dispatches to General Sheridan, then in the field. They

—103—

arrived at Camp Supply, where the general was at that
time, delivered their dispatches, and were immediately
sent back to Fort Dodge with another batch of dispatches
and a small mail. When they had ridden to within
twenty miles of Fort Dodge, they saw a band of Arapa-
hoes and Cheyennes emerging from the brush on the
Mulberry. They quickly hid themselves in a deep cut on
the left of the trail as it descends the hill going south-
west, before the Indians got a glimpse of them, as the
ravine was deep enough to perfectly conceal both them
and their horeses, and there they remained until, as they
thought, the danger had passed.

Unfortunately for them, however, one of the savages,
from some cause, had straggled a long way behind the
main body. Still the scouts could have made their escape,
but Marshall very foolishly dismounted, called to the
Indian, and made signs for him to come to him; they
would not hurt him; not to be afraid; they only wanted
to know who were in the party, where they were going,
and what they were after. Marshall imposed such im-
plicit confidence in the Indians that he never believed
for a moment that they would kill him, but he was mis-
taken. The savage to whom Marshall had made the sign
to come to him was scared to death ; he shot off his pistol,
which attracted the attention of the others, who immedi-
ately came dashing back on the trail, and were right upon
the scouts before the latter saw them. It was then a race
for the friendly shelter of the timber on the creek bot-
tom. But the fight was too unequal; the savages getting
under just as good a cover as the scouts. The Indians fired
upon them from every side until the unfortunate men
were soon dispatched, and one of their horses killed;
the other, a splendid animal, was captured by the Chey-
ennes, but the Arapahoes claimed him because they said
there were twice as many of them. Consequently, there
arose a dispute over the ownership of the horse, when one
of the more deliberate savages pulled out his six-shooter

— 104 —

and shot the horse dead. Then he said: "Either side may
take the horse that wants him." This is generally the
method employed by the Indians to settle any dispute re-
garding the ownership of live property.

As an example of the encounters the soldiers had so
frequently with the Indians, in frontier days, there cannot
be a better than that of the battle of Little Coon creek,
in 1868. I did not take part in this fight, but I was at
Fort Dodge at the time, knew the participants, and was
present when the survivors entered the fort, after the
fray was over. One of the scouts who took part, Mr. Lee
Herron, still lives, at Saint Paul, Nebraska, and, I am
indebted to him for the following account of the fight
and the copy of the accompanying song, which he com-
piled for me, very recently, with his own hand.

FIGHT AT LITTLE COON CREEK

During 1868 the Indians were more troublesome than
at any previous time in the history of the old Santa Fe
Trail — so conceded by old plainsmen, scouts and Indian
fighters at that time. It was a battle ground from old
Fort Harker to Fort Lyon, or Bent's Old Fort at the
mouth of the Picketware, near where it empties into the
Arkansas River. The old Santa Fe Trail had different out-
fitting points at the east, and at different periods.- At
one time it started at Westport, now Kansas City, at an
earlier date at Independence, Missouri, and at one time —
in the fore part of the nineteenth century — at St. Louis,
Missouri; but from i860 to 1867 the principal outfitting
point was at Leavenworth, Kansas, and its principal des-
tination in the west was Fort Union and Santa Fe, New
Mexico. But Fort Dodge and vicinity was the central
point from which most of the Indian raids culminated
and depredations were committed. The Indians became
so annoying in 1868 that the Barlow Sanderson stage
line, running from Kansas City, Missouri, to Santa Fe,

New Mexico, found it necessary to abandon the line as

—105—

there were not enough soldiers to escort the stages
through. Also the Butterfield stage line on the Smoky
Hill route was abandoned. Several of the southern tribes
of Indians consisted of Kiowas, Comanches, Arapahoes,
Cheyennes, Apaches and Dog Soldiers. The Dog Soldiers
consisted of renegades of all the other tribes and were a
desperate bunch, with Charley Bent as their leader. Also
the Sioux, a northern tribe, was on the warpath and allied
themselves with the southern tribes. In all some five
thousand or more armed Indians joined forces to drive the
white people off the plains, and it almost looked for a
time as though they would succeed, for they were in
earnest and desperate. Had they been better armed, our
losses would have been much heavier than they were as
they greatly outnumbered us. It was a common occur-
rence for us to fight them one to ten, and often one to
twenty or more, but the Indians frequently had to depend
entirely upon their bows and arrows, as at times they had
no ammunition. This placed them at a disadvantage at
long range as their bows and arrows were not efficient
over two hundred feet, but at close range, from twenty-
five to one hundred feet, their arrows were as deadly as
bullets, if not more so. So after the stage line was dis-
continued, a detail was made of the most fearless and
determined men of the soldiers stationed at Fort Dodge,
as a sort of pony express, which was in commission at
night time, as it would be impossible to travel in the day-
time with less than a troop of cavalry or a company of
infantry, and they had no assurance of getting through
without losing a good part of the men, or perhaps the
entire troop, and the entire troop would stand a big
chance of being massacred. Indeed, in the fall of 1868—
October, I think — I joined Tom Wallace's scouts and
went with the Seventh United States Cavalry and several
companies of infantry, Wallace's scouts and a company
of citizen scouts, with California Joe in command, all un-
der command of General Alfred Sully, a noted Indian

—106—

fighter of the early days. The command started south,
crossing the Arkansas River just above Fort Dodge. From
the time wt left the Arkansas River it w^as a constant
skirmish until we reached the Wichita mountains, the
winter home of the southern tribes. After w^e got into the
mountains, the Indians crow^ded us so hard that the whole
command was compelled to retreat, and had not the com-
mand formed in a hollow square, with all non-combat-
ants in the center, it might have proved disastrous. As it
was, a number were killed and some were taken prisoners
and burned at the stake and terribly tortured. A very
interesting article could be written about this expedition,
and I think but a very little is known of it, as there is but
a sentence relating to it in history.

Fort Dodge was the pivot and distributing base of
supplies in 1868, and thrilling events were taking place
all the time. All trains were held up and some captured
and burned, and all who were with the train were killed
or captured, and the captured were subjected to the
most excruciating torture and abuse. I saw one party
which was massacred up west of Dodge. Not a soul was
left to tell who they were or where they were going, and
no doubt their friends looked for them for many years,
and at last gave up in despair. I served in the Civil War in
Company C Eighty-Third Pennsylvania Volunteers, and
we sustained the heaviest losses, numerically of any
regiment in the entire Union army, except the Fifth New
Hampshire. This is according to war records compiled
by Colonel Fox. But there were many times along the
old Santa Fe trail where the percentage of losses was
greater than in the Civil War. However, there is no
record kept of it that I am aware of. Of course in these
fights there were but a few men engaged, where in the
Civil War there were tens of thousands and many thou-
sands lost their lives, and a few hundred men who lost
their lives out on the great plains was scarcely known

—107—

except to those in the vicinity — ^hundreds of miles from
civiHzation.

On the night of September first 1868, I was coming
from Fort Larned with mail and dispatches when I met
a mule team and government wagon loaded with wood,
going to Big Coon creek, forty miles east of Fort Dodge,
as there was a small sod fort located there, garrisoned
with a sergeant and ten men. These few men could hold
this place against twenty times their number as it was all
earth and sod, with a heavy clay roof, and port-holes all
around, and they could kill off the Indians about as fast
as they would come up, as long as their ammunition held
out. But they were not safe outside a minute. They had
been depending on buffalo chips for fuel, as there was no
other fuel available, and as soon as the men would attempt
to go out to gather buffalo chips, the Indians lying in
little ravines of which there was a number close by,
would let a shower of arrows or bullets into them. The
reason why the men with the wagon whom I have men-
tioned were going to Big Coon Creek was to take them
wood. I told the boys who were with the wagon to under
no consideration leave Big Coon creek, or Fort Coon as
we called it, until a wagon train came by, and if they
would not wait for a wagon train, by all means to wait
until it got good and dark, as the Indians are inclined to
be suspicious at night time, and not so apt to attack as in
daytime. The men, whose names were Jimmy Goodman,
Company B, Eleventh United States Cavalry, Hartman
and Tolen, Company F, Third United States Infantry,
and Jack O'Donald, Company A, Third United States
Infantry, imagined I was over-cautious, and started back
the afternoon of September fourth, 1868.

I, after parting with them, continued on towards Fort
Dodge, where I arrived just before daylight, the morning
of September second. After lying down and having a
much needed sleep, and rest, I, in the evening, went up to
Tapan's sutler store. I noticed the Indian's signals of

—108—

smoke in different directions, and I knew this foreboded
serious trouble. They signaled by fire at night and smoke
by day, and could easily communicate with one another
fifty or sixty miles. I had not been at the sutler store
long, where I was in conversation with some of the scouts.
There were a number of famous scouts at Fort Dodge at
that time consisting of such men as California Joe, Wild
Bill Hickok, Apache Bill, Bill Wilson and quite a number
of others whose names I have forgotten, but I noticed the
enlisted men had to stand the brunt of the work. I never
could understand why this was and it is a mystery to me,
except those scouts of fame were too precious, and soldiers
didn't count for much for there were more of them.
While I was standing talking, an orderly came up to me
and said the commanding officer wanted to see me at
once. It was nearly night at this time. I at once reported
to the commanding officer. He informed me that he
wanted me to select a reliable man and be ready to start
with dispatches for Fort Larned, seventy-five miles east
on the wet route, or sixty-five miles east on the dry route.
As I had just come in that morning, I thought it peculiar
he did not select some of those noble spirits I had just
left at the sutler's store, but it was possible he was saving
them up for extreme emergency, but I could not see from
the outlook of the surroundings as the emergency would
be any more acute than at the present time, as the terms
of the dispatch we were to take, if I remember right,
were for reinforcements. I selected a man of Company B,
Troop Seven, United States Cavalry, named Paddy Boyle,
who had no superior for bravery and determination when
in dangerous quarters, on the whole Santa Fe Trail.
Paddy sleeps under the sod of old Kentucky. For many
years he had no peer and few equals as a staunch, true
friend and brave man. As luck would have it on this
night Boyle selected one of the swiftest and best winded
horses at the fort, and only for that I would not have
been permitted to ever see4<ort Dodge again, for that

e7

horse, as later will be seen, saved our lives. We had our
canteens filled vv^ith government v^hisky before we started,
as a prevention for rattlesnake bites, as rattlesnakes were
thick in those days, or any other serious event which
might occur, and often did occur in those strange days on
the Great Plains.

I felt a premonition unusual and Boyle did too, and
several of our friends came and bade us good-bye, which
was rather an unusual occurrence. I don't think the com-
manding officer thought we would ever get through, for
Indian night signals were going up in all directions, which
indicated that they were very restless.

When we arrived near Little Coon creek we heard
firing and yelling in front of us. We went down into a
ravine leading in the direction we were going, cautiously
approaching nearer where the firing was going on, and
made the discovery that the Indians had surrounded what
we supposed to be a wagon train. We knew somebody
was in trouble and could at this time see objects seated
all around on the nearby plains, which proved to be
Indians, but as yet we had not been seen by the Indians
or, if they did see us, they took us for some of their own
party as it was night. They were so busy with the wagon
train that they didn't know we were whites until we
went dashing through their midst, whooping and yelling
like Comanches, and firing right and left. Instead of
being a wagon train as we thought it was, it proved to
be the party we last met at or near Big Coon creek with
the wood wagon, and we arrived just in time to save
them from being massacred. At this time the Indians
made a desperate charge, but were repulsed and driven
back in good style. When I looked the ground over and
saw what a poor place it was to make a fight against such
odds, I knew that as soon as it got daylight we were sure
to lose our scalps, and that at any moment they might
get in some good shots on one of their desperate charges,
and disable or kill all of us. I suggested that either Boyle

—110—

or myself try and cut his way through the Indians and
go to the fort for assistance. As Boyle had the best horse
in the outfit — a fine dapple-grey, the same horse prev-
iously mentioned in this article — Boyle said he would
make the attempt.

He took a sip from his canteen and then handed it to
me, saying we would probably need it more than he would,
as he didn't propose to be taken alive and that if he got
through he could drink at the other end of the line. It
always seemed to me this noble horse understood the sit-
uation and knew what was wanted of him. Our horses
had a terrible dread of Indians. When Boyle started it
needed no effort to induce the noble dapple-grey to go,
for he darted away like a shot out of a gun. When Boyle
left us, he had to go down in a deep ravine which was the
bed of Little Coon creek, and where the main trail weaved
to the right for a distance of perhaps two hundred yards
in order to again get out of the ravine, as the banks were
very steep and not practicable to go straight across. At
this time some of the Indians attempted to head him off,
and did so far as following the main trail was concerned,
as I had a fairly good view of the top of the hill where
Boyle should come out. At this time several shots were
fired at Boyle, and not seeing him come out I supposed he
was killed and told the men so, and there was no possible
chance of us ever getting out that I could see. Up to this
time we had been behind the wagon, but the Indians were
circling all around us, and I could see we had to get into
more secure shelter as all the protection we had was the
wagon which was very poor protection from arrows and
bullets. Within a short distance of us there was a deep
buffalo wallow. When the Indians had quieted down a
little, we, by strenuous efforts, pushed the wagon so it
stood over the buffalo wallow. After getting into the
wallow we found conditions much improved so far as
shelter from the firing was concerned and if our ammuni-
tion was more plentiful we would have felt much more

—111—

encouraged, but we knew unless relief came before day-
light they would get us. But I will mention a little mat-
ter that perhaps many of the good people of Kansas
would not approve of, as Kansas is a prohibition state.
The canteen full of whisky did a lot to keep up our spirits.
Occasionally I would give each one a small amount and
did not neglect myself. This little bit of stimulant,
under these extremely unpleasant conditions had a very
good effect, and I believe our aim was more steady and
effective.

The Indians charged repeatedly, uttering the most
blood curdling yells. Most of the time they would be on
the side of their horses so we could not see them, but hit-
ting their ponies, the bullets would go through and
occasionally get one of them. They several times charged
up within a few feet of the wagon, but the boys were
calm and took deadly aim and would drive them back
every time. There were some of their ponies lying dead
close to the wagon. It was seldom the Indians would
make such desperate and determined efforts when there
was nothing to gain except to get a few scalps, but I think
at that time, in fact, at all times when they were on the
warpath, a scalp-lock was more desirable to an Indian
warrior than anything else their imagination could con-
ceive. It was the ones who got the most scalps that were
the most honored, and promotion to chiefs depended on
the amount of scalps secured while out on expeditions on
the warpath. I have known Indians to be cornered when
they would make the most desperate fight, and fight until
all were killed.

At this time our ammunition was getting low and we
saw we couldn't hold out much longer. Goodman had
been wounded seven times by arrows and bullets, Jack
O'Donald had been struck with a tomahawk and received
other wounds, Nolan was wounded with arrows and bul-
lets. This left Hartman and myself to stand off the
Indians, and towards the last Hartman was wounded but

—-112—

not seriously disabling him. I would load my Remington
revolver and hand it to Nolan, v^ho w^as obliged to fire
v^ith his left hand, his right arm being shattered. The
Indians charged right up to the wagons more than once.
At one time O'Donald had a hand to hand encounter with
one, and was struck on the head with a tomahawk. It
was only by the most desperate exertions that anyone
escaped. The party were entirely within their power
more than once, but they would cease action to carry off
their dead — which lost the Indians many a fight, as they
thought if one of their number lost his scalp he could not
enter the Happy Hunting Grounds.

Finally we saw the Indians apparently getting ready
for another rush from a different direction, fully expect-
ing that they would get us if they did. At about the
same time I noticed a body of horsemen coming out of a
ravine in another direction. We supposed this was an-
other tactful dodge of the Indians and they would come
at us from two ways. At this time we hadn't any prospect
or hope of saving our lives. Had we had plenty of am-
munition we could have probably held them off for
awhile, but ammunition we did not have, perhaps not over
a dozen rounds. It was understood by all of us that we
would not be taken alive, but that each one's last shot
was to be used on himself.

What seemed extremely mysterious was when the

body of horsemen, just previously mentioned, came out of

the ravine, the men on the horses seemed to be dressed in

white, and as they came on to high ground, deployed a

skirmish line. I had seen Indians form a line of battle

occasionally, but it was not common for them to do so.

After they had advanced within three hundred or four

hundred feet of us we were still undecided who they were,

but they acted and had more the appearance of white men

than Indians. But relief we hadn't the least hope of. It

was hard to realize that any assistance could possibly

reach us, as there were no scouting parties out that we

—113—

knew of, and we had every reason to believe Boyle was
killed and never reached the fort. This body of men
dressed in white halted about three hundred feet from us
and stood there like a lot of ghosts. (The reader must
remember this was in the night time and we could not
make out objects plainly. Had it been daytime we could
of course readily have seen who they were).

The suspense at this time was becoming very acute.
I told the men I would risk one shot at them and end the
suspense. But at this Goodman raised his head and look-
ing in the direction of the horsemen remarked, "I believe
they are our own men; don't fire." I was about of the
same opinion, but the Indians were always resorting to
some trickery. I had about made up my mind they were
trying to deceive us and make us think they were white
men. Finally one of them hollered, speaking in English,
that they were friends. But that didn't satisfy me as the
renegade Bent boys were with the Dog Soldiers and could
speak good English, and were always resorting to every
conceivable form of fraudulent devices to get the advant-
age of white people. They had been the means of causing
the deaths of scores of people in this way.

At this time each one of our party was prepared to

take his own life if necessary, rather than to be taken

prisoner, for being captured only meant burning at the

stake, with the most brutal torture conceivable. We knew

we did not have sufficient ammunition to resist another

charge, and if we fired what little ammunition we had we

would have none to take our own lives with. I hollered

to one of the horsemen for one of them to advance. At

once a horseman came riding up with his carbine held

over his head, which those days was a friendly sign. After

he came up within about fifty feet, I recognized Paddy

Boyle, as though he had risen from the dead. The whole

command advanced then and it was a squadron of the

Seventh United States cavalry. The joy experienced in

being relieved from our perilous position may be imagin-

—114—.

ed. Shaking hands and cheering and congratulations were
in full force. Soon after the cavalry arrived, it might have
been an hour, another command of infantry came in on a
run with wagons and ambulances, and accompanying
them was a government doctor; I think his name was
Degraw, post surgeon, and a noble man he was. He had
the wounded gently cared for and placed in the ambu-
lances and they received the kindest of attention and care
in the hospital at Fort Dodge until able to be around,
but I don't think any of them ever recovered fully.

It might be of interest to the reader to know why
these horsemen were dressed in white, as I have previously
mentioned. It was an ironclad custom in those strenuous
and thrilling times for every man to take his gun to bed
with him or "lay on their arms," as the old army term
gives it, loaded and ready for action at a moment's notice,
with their cartridge box and belt within their reach. The
men those days were issued white cotton flannel under-
clothes, and as the weather was warm, no time was taken
to put on their outside clothes, but every man immediately
rushed to the stables at the first sound of the bugle which
sounded to horses, and mounted at one blast. When this
call was sounded it was known that an extreme emergency
was at hand and men's lives in jeopardy. This white
underclothing accounts for the mysterious look of the
troopers when they made their appearance at Little Coon
Creek, and the mysterious actions of the squadron in not
advancing up to us when they first arrived, can be ex-
plained that they did not know the situation of affairs,
as there was no firing at that particular time, and they
were using extreme caution for fear they would run into
an ambush, of part of the Indians. I think, if I remember
rightly, there were four Indians who followed Boyle right
up to the east picket line at the fort, and had he had to
go a mile farther he never could have made it to the fort.
The noble dapple-grey horse, if I remember rightly, died

from the effects of the fierce run he made to save our lives.

—115—

General Alfred Sully who was at that time in com-
mand of the troops in the Department, and who was an
old and successful Indian fighter, issued an order com-
plimenting the party on their heroic and desperate de-
fense that they made and also for mine and Boyle's action
in charging through the Indians to their assistance. As
there were scores of little skirmishes, and some big ones
taking place on the old Santa Fe trail all the time at
some portion of it, it was generally conceded that the Little
Coon Creek engagement was the most desperate fight
for anyone to come out alive. There were probably as
desperate ones fought, but none ever lived to tell it. This
is the only instance I know of where a General United
States Officer had an order issued and read publicly to
the troops of the different forts in the Department, com-
mending the participants of a small party in an Indian
fight for herioc action. How any of the party ever escaped
is a mystery to me today and always has been. It was
reported after peace was declared that Satanta, head chief
of the Kiowas, admitted that in the Little Coon Creek
fight the Indian warrior losses were twenty-two killed be-
sides a number wounded. I did not count the number
of times the wagon was struck with arrows and bullets,
but parties who said they did count them reported the
wagon was struck five hundred times, and I have not a
doubt that this is true, for arrows were sticking out like
quills on the back of a porcupine, and the sideboards
and end of the wagon was perforated with bullets. The
mules were riddled with bullets. Two pet prairie dogs
which the boys had in the wagon in a little box were both
killed. The general order which was issued by General
Alfred Sully, only mentions four Indians being killed,
but these being left on the ground were all that could be
seen. It is well known among old Indian fighters that
Indians on the war-path and losing their warriors in
battle will always carry off their dead if possible. It is

very often their custom to tie their buffalo hide lariats

—116—

around their body or connect with a belt and the other
end fastened to their saddle when going into battle, and
then if they are shot off their ponies, their ponies were
trained to drag them off, or at least until some of their
brother warriors came to his assistance, then two would
come up, one on each side, on a dead run, reach down
and grab him. If he was attached to a lariat, they would
cut it in an instant and off they would go, but it was a
common thing for the rescuers to get shot in their herioc
efforts to save their comrades. I have witnessed proceed-
ings of this kind a number of times, and there have been
many instances where two or three warriors would be
shot trying to rescue a comrade.
-f ^ f

The writer saw the above-mentioned wagon after it
was brought into Fort Dodge, and it was literally filled
with arrows and bullet holes, and the bottom of the wagon
bed was completely covered with blood as were the ends
and sides where the wounded leaned over and up against
them. I never saw a butcher*s wagon that was any
bloodier.

Mr. Herron concludes the story of the fight as fol-
lows:

SONG

Calm and bright shone the sun on the morning.

That four men from Fort Dodge marched away,
With food and supplies for their comrades —

They were to reach Big Coon Creek that day;
'Tis a day we shall all well remember.

That gallant and brave little fight.
How they struggled and won it so bravely —

Though wounded, still fought through the night.
Chorus :
So let's give three cheers for our comrades,

That gallant and brave little band.

Who, against odds, would never surrender.

But bravely by their arms did they stand.
—117—

Fifty Indians surprised them while marching,

Their scalps tried to get, but in vain;
The boys repulsed them at every endeavor.

They were men who were up to their game.

"Though the red-skins are ten times our number.

We coolly on each other rely."
Said the corporal in charge of the party,

"We'll conquer the foe or we'll die!"

Still they fought with a wit and precision;

Assistance at last came to hand.
Two scouts on the action appearing,

To strengthen the weak little band.
Then one charged right clear through the Indians,

To Fort Dodge for help he did go,
While the balance still kept up the fighting.

And gallantly beat off the foe.

A squadron of cavalry soon mounted,

Their comrades to rescue and save.
General Sully, he issued an order,

Applauding their conduct so brave.
And when from their wounds they recover.

Many years may they live to relate.
The fight that occured in September,

In the year eighteen sixty-eight.

This song was composed by Fred Haxby, September,
1868, on the desperate fight at Little Coon creek, about
thirty miles east of Fort Dodge, on the dry route, Sep-
tember second, 1868. Fred Haxby, or Lord Haxby, as
he was called, was from England, and at the time of the
fight was at Fort Dodge.

The song gives fifty Indians comprising the attacking

party. This was done to make the verses rhyme, as I

am sure there were many more than this.

—118—

The tune this song was sung by, nearly a half a
century ago, was the same as the one which went with
the song commonly known at that time, "When Sherman
Marched Down to the Sea." Not, "Sherman's March
Through Georgia." "Sherman's March Through Geor-
gia," and "Sherman's March to the Sea," were different

songs and different airs.

# # #

The author of this work is further indebted to Mr.
Herron for another interesting story of soldier life in the
wild days^ It runs 'as follows:

eAPTORMQ 'THE BOX FAMILY
Capturing the Box family from the Indians was one
of the interesting events which took place at Fort Dodge,
although the rescue of the two older girls took place
south of Fort Dodge near the Wichita mountains, per-
haps near two hundred miles. But the idea of getting
the girls away from the Indians originated at Fort Dodge,
with Major Sheridan, who, at the time, October, 1866,
was in command of the fort. At this time, the troops
garrisoning the fort consisted of Company A, Third
United States infantry, of which I was a member, holding
a non-commissioned officer's rank.

On a sunshiny day about the first of October, 1866,
the sentinel reported what appeared to be a small party
of mounted men, approaching the fort from the south
side of the Arkansas river, perhaps two miles away, and
just coming into sight out of a range of bluffs which
ran parallel with the river. They proved to be Indians
and the glittering ornaments with which each was deco-
rated could be seen before either the Indians or their
ponies. After the Indians came down to the river and
were part way across, a guard, consisting of a corporal
and two men, met them at the north bank of the river,
just below the fort, and halted them. It was noticed they
carried a pole to which was attached an old piece of what

—119—

had one time been a white wagon cover, but which
at this time was a very dirty white. This was to repre-
sent a flag of truce and a peaceful mission, which idea
they had got from the whites, though the Indians were
very poor respectors of flags of truce. When approached
with one by white men, they, on several occasions, killed
the bearers of the flag, scalped them, and used their scalps
to adorn their wigwams. They considered the flag a kind
of joke and rated the bearer as an easy mark.

The guard learned from the Indians that they were
Kiowas, old chief Satanta's tribe. Fred Jones, who was
Indian interpreter at Fort Dodge, was requested to come
down and ascertain what was wanted The Indians in-
formed Jones that they had two pale-faced squaws whom
they wished to trade for guns, ammunition, coffee, sugar,
flour — really, they wanted about all there was in the fort,
as they set a very high value on the two girls.

By instructions of the commanding officer, they were
permitted to come into the fort to talk the matter over.
After passing the pipe around and each person in council
taking a puff, which was the customary manner of pro-
cedure, they proceeded to negotiate a "swap," as the In-
dians termed it. The Indians wanted everything in sight,
but a trade or swap was finally consummated by promis-
ing the Indians some guns, powder and lead, some coffee,
sugar, flour and a few trinkets, consisting mainly of block
tin, which was quite a bright, glittering tint. This was
used to make finger rings, earrings and bracelets for the
squaws. The bracelets were worn on both ankles and
arms of the squaws and, when fitted out with their buck-
skin leggings and short dresses, covered with beads, they
made a very attractive appearance.

The Indians knew they had the advantage and drove
a sharp bargain — at least, they thought they did. They
insisted on the goods being delivered to their camp near
the Wichita mountains, which was quite an undertaking,

—120—

considering that a white man had never been in that sec-
tion except as a prisoner, a renegade, or possibly an in-
terpreter. Two wagons and an ambulance were ordered
to be got ready, and the wagons were loaded. Our party
consisted of Lieutenant Heselberger of Company A. Third
United States infantry, an old experienced Indian fighter,
one non-commissioned officer, (myself), and seven pri-
vates, with Fred Jones as interpreter. We crossed the
river about a half mile below Fort Dodge and took a
southerly course, traveling for days before we came to
the Kiowa camp. One evening, just as the sun was going
down, we came to a high hill, and as we gained the crest,
going in a southeasterly direction, I witnessed the most
beautiful sight I ever saw.

The whole Kiowa tribe, several thousands in number,
were camped on the banks of a beautiful sheet of water,
half a mile away. The sun setting and the sun's rays
reflecting on the camp, gave it a fascinating appearance.
Hundreds of young warriors, mounted on their beautiful
ponies, and all dressed in their wild, barbaric costume,
bedecked with glittering ornaments, were drilling and
going through artistic maneuvers on the prairie, making
a scene none of us will ever forget. There were about
three hundred lodges, all decorated as only an Indian
could decorate them, being painted with many gaudy
colors. Many papooses were strapped upon the more
docile ponies, and, under the guidance of some warriors,
were getting their first initiation into the tactics neces-
sary to become a warrior; while squaws were engaged in
tanning buffalo skins and going through the different
movements necessary to a well-organized wild Indian
camp. Small fires were in commission in different parts
of the camp, with little ringlets of smoke ascending from
them, which, in the calm, lovely evening, made an exceed-
ingly interesting scene, while off on the distant hills
thousands of buffalo were peacefully grazing.

—121—

Right here let me say that I have seen the Russian
Cossacks on the banks of the river Volga, in southern
Russia, and, w^hile they have the reputation of being the
finest and most graceful riders in the world, they did not
compare, for fine horsemanship, with the American In-
dian of fifty years ago.

As we halted and took in this beautiful panorama,
a bugle call sounded, clear and distinct, in the Kiowa
camp. Three or four hundred young warriors mounted
their ponies, the charge was sounded, and they came
dashing towards us. On they came, keeping as straight
a line as any soldiers I ever saw. When about three
hundred feet from us and just as we were reaching for
our carbines (for everything had the appearance of a
massacre of our little party, and we had determined when
starting on this venturesome errand that if the Indians
showed treachery, we would inflict all the punishment on
them we possibly could before they got us, and would
shoot ourselves rather than be captured alive; for being
captured meant burning at the stake and the most ex-
cruciating torture), the bugle sounded again, the Indians
made a beautiful move and filed to right and left of us,
half on each flank, and escorted us to their camp which
was but a short distance away. The bugler was a pro-
fessional but we never knew who he was as he never
showed himself close enough to us to be recognizable,
but he was supposed to be some renegade. On other
occasions, when a battle was going on, these bugle calls
were heard. At the battle of the Arickaree where Roman
Nose, head chief of the Cheyennes attacked Forsythe's
scouts, the bugle was heard sounding the calls all through
the battle.

The night we arrived at the Kiowa camp we were

located on the banks of a creek. The young warriors

commenced to annoy us in all manner of ways, trying

to exasperate us to resent their annoyances so they could

—122—

have an excuse to make an attack on us. At this time,
Fred Jones and Lieutenant Heselberger, who had been up
to Satanta's lodge, came to our camp and, seeing the
taunts and annoyances to which we were being subjected,
admonished us not to resent them, for if we did the whole
party would be massacred or made prisoners and burned
at the stake. Jones, the interpreter, immediately went
back to Satanta and reported the situation. Satanta, at
once, had a guard of old warriors thrown around us and
thus saved us from further annoyances. Not that Satanta
was any too good or had any love for us that he should
protect us, but at that immediate period it was not policy
for him to make any rash movements.

All night long the Indian drums were continually
thumping and the Indians were having a big dance in
their council chamber, which was always a custom,
among the wild Indian tribes, when any unusual event
was taking place. The next morning we were up bright
and early, teams were hitched to the wagons and pro-
ceeded to the center of the Indian camp in front of the
council chamber, where the goods were unloaded. The
two young girls were then turned over to us by one of the
chiefs. They were a pitiful looking sight. They had
been traded from one chief to another for nearly a year,
and had been subjected to the most cruel and degrading
treatment. The eldest girl gave birth to a half-breed a
short time after their rescue. One of the girls was seven-
teen and the other fourteen years old. They had been
captured near the Texas border and had been with the
Indians some time, according to the story told us. The
father, a man by the name of Box, the mother, and their
four children were returning to their home, when they
were overtaken by a band of Indians. The Indians killed
Mr. Box because he refused to surrender; the youngest
child was taken by the heels and its brain beaten{ out
against a tree; the mother and three children were taken

back to the main camp. The mother and youngest child

—123—

were taken to the Apache camp, an Apache chief pur-
chasing them from the Kiowas. We felt confident that,
later on, we would get possession of the mother and
youngest child, for the Apaches would want to trade too,
when they learned how the Kiowas had succeeded. But
the articles which were traded to the Kiowas were of
very poor quality. The guns were old, disused muzzle-
loading rifles; the powder had but little strength, having
lost its strength and a man would be quite safe, fifty feet
away from it when discharged ; the lead was simply small
iron bars, with lead coating; but the Indians seemed to
think it was all right, as they didn't do much kicking,
but people who, in a trade, would take a ten-cent "shin-
plaster" in preference to a twenty-dollar bill, were easy
marks to deal with.

After a long, hard march, we finally arrived again on
the banks of the Arkansas River, which we had had little
hopes of doing. Knowing the treacherous disposition of
the Indians, we expected they would lie in ambush for us,
so we were continually on the alert and always went into
camp at a location where we had a good view for several
rods around us. It took Custer's whole Seventh United
States cavalry, in the winter of '68 and '69, to get some
white women from the Indians, and the way he succeeded
was by getting the head chiefs to hold a treaty, then tak-
ing them prisoners and holding them until the Indians
surrendered the women. Our party's going into the
Indian camp, as we did, was a very hazardous undertak-
ing, and the only reason we ever got back was that the
Apaches had the other two members of the Box family,
they wanted to trade for them, and they knew if they
killed us the trade would be off. Such a foolhardy
undertaking was not attempted again, to my knowledge,
in the years I was on the plains.

When we arrived at Fort Dodge, we were given a
very pleasant reception, and the young ladies received
the tenderest care, but were naturally terribly distressed

—124—

at their terrible sorrow and affliction. General Sherman,
at this time, arrived at Fort Dodge. He had been on a
tour of inspection of the frontier forts, and was then on
his way to Washington. After learning what the com-
manding officer had done, he instructed him not to send
any more details on so hazardous an undertaking, and
not to trade any more goods for prisoners, as it would
only have the tendency to encourage the Indians to more
stealing.

As we expected, a few days after our return to Fort
Dodge the sentry reported a party approaching from east
of the fort. All that could be seen was the glittering,
bright ornaments, dazzling in the sunlight, but shortly,
the party approached close enough for it to be seen that
they were Indians. They proved to be a party of Apaches,
as we expected, chief Poor Bear being with them. When
he was informed that the Indians were coming. Major
Andrew Sheridan, who was still in command of Fort
Dodge, sent the interpreter, Fred Jones, out to meet them
and arrange with the head chief. Poor Bear, to come into
the fort and hold a council, a customary thing in those
days, when a trade was to be made.

Fort Dodge was located on the north bank of the
Arkansas River, and was in the shape of a half circle.
Close to the river was a clay bank about twelve feet high,
where were a number of dugouts, with port-holes all
around, in which the men were quartered, so that, if
the Indians ever charged and took the fort, the men
could fall back and retire to the dugouts. On the east
side of the fort was a large gate. The officers were quar-
tered in sod houses, located inside the inclosure. When
Poor Bear and his warriors came into the fort. Major
Sheridan informed them that the great chief, meaning
General Sherman, had given instructions that no more
goods would be delivered to the Indian camp in trade for

white women, but if the woman and daughter were

—125—

brought in, a council would be held to determine what
could be done. At this, the Indians left for their camp to
report progress. In about two weeks, we noticed Indians
by the score, crossing from the south side of the river,
below the fort about a mile, near where the old dry route
formed a junction with the wet route. A guard at once
was instructed to notify the Indians that they must not
come any nearer the fort than they were, but must camp
at a place designated by the commanding officer, nearly
a mile below Fort Dodge.

The Indians proved to be Apaches and the whole
tribe came in, numbering about two thousand. They had
brought along the white woman, Mrs. Box, and her young
daughter, expecting to make a big "swap." There was
no intention of giving anything for them, but there was a
plot to get the Indians in, gain possession of the chiefs
and head men of the Apache tribe, and hold them as
hostages until they would consent to surrender the woman
and child. It was a desperate and dangerous experiment,
for the Indians outnumbered us greatly. I don't think,
at this time, there were over one hundred and seventy-
five men, altogether, at Fort Dodge, including civilians,
and against these was one of the most desperate tribes on
the plains. When the time arrived for the council, about
a hundred of the chiefs, medicine men, and leading men
of the Indians were let in through the big gate at the
east side of the fort. As soon as they were inside, the
gate was closed. When they were all ready for the big
talk, and the customary pipe had been passed around,
Major Sheridan instructed the interpreter to inform the
Indians that they were prisoners, and that they would
be held as hostages until Mrs. Box and her daughter were
brought in and turned over to him.

The Indians jumped to their feet in an instant, threw
aside their blankets, and prepared for a fight. Prior to
the time the Indians were admitted into the fort inclosure,
the mountain howitzers had been doubled-shotted with

—126—

grape and canister, the guns being depressed so as to
sweep the ground where the Indians were located. Some
of the soldiers were marching back and forth, with guns
loaded and bayonets fixed, while a number of others, with
revolvers concealed under their blouses, were sitting
around watching the proceedings. The main portion of
the garrison was concealed in the dugouts, the men all
armed and provided with one hundred rounds of am-
munition per man. The Indians were all armed with tom-
ahawks which they had carefully concealed under their
blankets. When they were informed that they were
prisoners, they made a dash for the soldiers in sight, as
they were but few, the majority, as has been said, being
hid in the dugouts; but when the men came pouring out
of the dugouts and opened fire, the Indians fell back and
surrendered. One of the old chiefs was taken up on the
palisades of the fort and compelled to signal to his war-
riors in their camp. In less than thirty minutes Mrs. Box
and her child were brought to the big east gate, and one of
the most affecting sights I ever witnessed was that of the
mother and girls as they met and embraced each other.
It was a sight once seen, never to be forgotten.

Major Sheridan then told the interpreter to inform
the Indians that they could go, warning them not to steal
any more women or children. But the warning was of no
avail, for the next two years the frontier was terribly
annoyed by Indian raids and depredations.

There were but few fatalities when the soldiers
opened fire on the Indians at the fort, as it was done
more to intimidate than to kill. A representative of
Harper's Weekly was at Fort Dodge, at the time, and
took a number of photographs of the Indians and the Box
family, but if there are any of the pictures in existence
today, I am not aware of it, but I should like to have them
if they exist. This piece of diplomacy on the part of the
commanding officer of Fort Dodge cost scores of lives

—127—

afterwards, for those Apaches went on the war-path and
murdered every person they came across, until the Seventh
United States cavalry caught up with and annihilated
many of them, in the Wichita mountains, in November,
1868.

All the great expeditions against the Indians, horse
thieves, and bad men were organized and fitted out at
Fort Dodge or Dodge City, because, as I remark else-
where, they were at the edge of the last great frontier or
the jumping-off place, the beginning and the end — the
end of civilization, and the beginning of the badness and
lawlessness of the frontier. Here civilization ended and
lawlessness began.

This gave rise to and the necessity for many great
and notable men coming to Dodge, such as Generals Sher-
man, Sheridan, Hancock, Miles, Custer, Sully, and many
others, even including President Hayes. Dodge was ac-
quainted with all of these, besides dukes and lords from
over the water, who came out of curiosity. We feel proud
that she knew these men, and General Miles told the
writer that Fort Dodge should have been made one of our
largest forts, at least a ten-company post. But he did
not take in the situation in time, as it was the key to
all the country south of us, and, had it been made a ten-
or twelve-company post, one can easily see how the garri-
son could have controlled all the Indian tribes south, who
were continually escaping from their agencies and going
north, to visit, intrigue, and combine with the northern
Indians, the northern tribes doing the same thing when
they went south. The troops could have intercepted the
Indians either way, and cut them off and sent them back
before they were able to do any devilment. Particularly
could this have been done when Dull Knife and Wild
Hog made their last raid through Kansas. There were
only about seventy-five warriors, besides their women and
children, in this little band, but they managed to make a

—128—

City Hall

>?'

laughing stock and a disgrace of our troops; at least, so
, it appeared from the actions of the officers who were sent
after them.

In September, 1868, at the DarHngton Agency, there
were, under the leadership of Wild Hog and Dull Knife,
a small bunch of Cheyenne Indians, who had been moved
from their northern agency and, for various reasons, were
determined to go back, much against the wishes and
orders of the United States government and also their
agent, who positively forbade their going. They had
secretly been making preparations for this tramp, for
some time, but they had no horses, but few guns and
ammunition, and very little provisions of any kind. Now,
under these adverse circumstances, they stole away.

As has been said, there were only seventy-five war-
riors all told, outside of their women and children. Their
first care was to get themselves mounts, then arms and
ammunition, and provisions. Little by little, they stole
horses and picked up guns and ammunition from the
cattle camps and deserted homes of the frontier settlers,
so, when they got within forty miles of Fort Dodge,
south, they were supplied with horses, and fairly well
supplied with their other wants.

On Sand Creek, they were confronted with two com-
panies of cavalry and several parts of companies of in-
fantry, with wagon transportation. These soldiers out-
numbered the Indians nearly three to one; besides, quite
a lot of settlers and some cowboys had joined the troops.
To be sure, the settlers were poorly armed, but they were
of assistance, in some ways, to the troops.

On their march, the Indians had scattered over a
large scope of country. That is, the warriors did, while
the women and children kept straight on in the general
direction they wanted to go. But the warriors raided
and foraged some fifteen or twenty miles on either side
of the women and children, and at night they would all
rendezvous together. This gave rise to the erroneous

—129—

impression that the band was very much larger than it
was. In fact, there were supposed to be several hundred
warriors, and this reckoned greatly in their favor. The
bold daring front that they assumed was another big
thing in their favor, and made the troops and others be-
lieve there were many more of them than there were.
When they were confronted with the troops on Sand
Creek, they stopped in the bluffs and fortified, while the
troops camped in the bottom to watch their movements
and hold them in check. But the cowboys said that the
Indians only stopped a short time, and, when night came,
they broke camp and left the troops behind. The soldiers
did not find this out for nearly two days, and, in this
maneuver, they had nearly two days the start of the
soldiers.

The Indians, next day, trailed by Belle Meade, a
little settlement, where they were given a fine beef just
killed. Strange to say, they disturbed no on here, except
taking what arms they could find and some more
"chuck". Up to this time, they had killed only two or
three people. Starting off, they saw a citizen of Belle
Meade, driving a span of mules and wagon, coming
home. They killed him and took his mules and harness,
after scalping him. This was done in sight of the town.
A few miles further on, they espied another wagon, and,
after chasing it within ten miles of Dodge, the driver was
killed and his mules and harness taken; and so on.
They raided within a few miles of Dodge. Twelve were
seen four miles west of Dodge, on an island, where they
plundered and burned a squatter's house. The Dodge
people had sent out and brought every one in for miles
around, which is the reason, I suppose, the Indians did
not kill more people close to Dodge.

I here quote largely from an enlisted man, stationed
at Fort Supply, more than a month after this Indian raid
through Kansas and Nebraska was over, so he had time
to look calmly over the situation, and the excitement had

—130—

died down. As his views and mine are so nearly alike,
I give the most of his version. He says:

"Field-marshal Dull Knife outgeneraling the grand
pacha of the United States army, and reaching, in safety,
the goal of his anticipations, being, it is said, snugly
ensconced among his old familiar haunts in Wyoming
and Dakota. Without casting the least reflection upon or
detracting a single thing from the ability, loyalty, or
bravery of our little army, it must be said, that the escape
of Dull Knife and his followers, from the Cheyenne
Agency, and their ultimate success in reaching Dakota
territory, is certainly a very remarkable occurrence in the
annals of military movements. I have no definite means
of giving the exact number of Dull Knife's force, but,
from the most reliable information, it did not exceed one
hundred warriors (this is about Agent Mile's estimate).
Dull Knife's movements, immediately after he left the
reservation, were not unknown to the military authorities.
He was pursued and overtaken by two companies of
cavalry, within sixty miles of the agency he had left.
He there gave battle, killing three soldiers, wounding
as many more, and, if reports of eye witnesses are to be
believed, striking terror into the hearts of the remainder,
completely routing them. All the heads of the military
in the Department of the Missouri were immediately
informed of the situation, and yet. Dull Knife passed
speedily on, passing in close proximity to several military
posts, and actually marching a portion of the route
along the public highway, the old Santa Fe trail, robbing
emigrant trains, murdering defenseless men, women, and
children as their fancy seemed to dictate, and, at last,
arriving at their destination unscathed, and is, no doubt,
ere this, in conference with his friend and ally, Sitting
Bull, as to the most practicable manner of subjugating
the Black Hills.

"While we look the matter squarely in the face, it
must be conceded that Dull Knife has achieved one of

—131—

the most extraordinary coup d*etat of modern times, and
has made a march before which even Sherman's march
to the sea pales. With a force of a hundred men, this
untutored but wily savage encounters and defeats, eludes,
baffles, and outgenerals ten times his number of Ameri-
can soldiers. At one time during his march, there were
no less than twenty-four companies of cavalry and in-
fantry in the field against him, and he marched a dis-
tance of a thousand miles, almost unmolested. Of course,
most of the country he passed through was sparsely set-
tled, but, with the number of military posts (six), lying
almost directly in his path, and the great number of
cattle men, cowboys, freighters, etc., scattered over the
plains, that came in contact with his band, it does seem
strange that he slipped through the schemes and plans
that were so well laid to entrap him. However, Dull
Knife has thoroughly demonstrated the fact that a hun-
dred desperate warriors can raid successfully through a
thousand miles of territory, lying partly in Dakota, Ne-
braska, Kansas, and the Indian Territory, steal stock, and
perpetrate outrages too vile and horrible to print; and
this in the face of ten times their number of well-equipped
United States troops. That some one is highly repre-
hensible in the matter of not capturing or annihilating
Dull Knife and his entire band is believed by all, but who
the culpable party is will probably never be placed on the
pages of history.

"The cause that led to the outbreak is the same old
story — goaded into desperation by starvation at the hands
of the Indian agents. There are no buffalo anywhere near
the agency, and this same band were allowed, last fall
and winter, to go from their reservation to hunt, to
supply themselves with meat. They did not find a
single buffalo. A portion of them killed and ate their
ponies, and the remainder feasted on their dogs. An
Indian never eats his dog except when served up on state
occasions, and their puppies are considered a great deli-

—132—

cacy. They only feed these to their distinguished guests,
at great night feasts. They consider they are doing you
a great honor when they prepare a feast of this kind for
you, and they are badly hurt and mortified if you do
not partake freely of same. Dull Knife appealed so per-
sistently for aid, the commanding officer ordered a few
rations to be given them (which military establishments
have no authority to do). These were eagerly accepted
and greedily devoured.

"After soldiering, as a private, ten years on the plains,
I am convinced that a majority of the Indian raids have
been caused by the vacillating policy of the government,
coupled with the avaricious, and dishonest agents. I do
not pretend to hold the Indian up as an object of sym-
pathy. On the contrary, I think they are treacherous,
deceitful, black-hearted, murdering villians. But we
should deal fair with them and set them an example for
truthfulness and honesty, instead of our agents, and
others in authority, being allowed to rob them. Two
wrongs never made a right, and no matter what wrongs
they have committed, we should live strictly up to our
promises with them."

I will give only a brief account of this raid through
our state, from my own memory. I was on my way to
Boston to sell a lot of buffalo robes we had stored there.
At Kansas City I received a telegram from my firm, say-
ing, "Indians are out; coming this way; big Indian war
expected." I returned to Dodge at once, found everything
in turmoil, and big excitement. After getting the news
and advice from Colonel Lewis, commander of Fort
Dodge (v/ho was well posted, up to that time, in regard
to the whereabouts of these Indians, though he had no
idea of their number, supposing them to be a great many
more than there were), William Tighlman, Joshua Webb,
A. J. Anthony, and myself started southwest, thinking to
overtake and join the troops already in the field. We
made fifty miles that day, when we met a lot of farmers

—133—

coming back. They said the Indians made stand against
the soldiers, in the bluffs on Sand Creek. The soldiers
camped a short distance down the creek, for two days,
when they made a reconnaissance and found the Indians
had been gone for nearly two days, while the troops
thought they were still there and were afraid to move
out. But it seems the Indians broke camp the first night,
and were nearly two days' march ahead of the troops.
Captain Randebrook in command, trailing on behind
them.

Before our little company started, Colonel Lewis re-
quested me to report to him immediately upon our re-
turn, which I did. When he heard the story of the cow-
boys and settlers who were on Sand Creek with the
troops, and how cowardly the officers had acted in letting
the Indians escape them when there was such a fine op-
portunity to capture them, Colonel Lewis was utterly dis-
gusted. I never saw a more disgusted man. He didn't
swear, but he thought pretty hard, and he said: "Wright,
I am going to take the field myself and at once, and, on
my return, you will hear a different story." Poor fellow!
He never returned. The troops just trailed on behind
the Indians, when they crossed the Arkansas, and fol-
lowed on, a short distance behind them, until Colonel
Lewis joined them and took command.

And now I'll tell the story, as told to me, about tfie
killing of Colonel Lewis, as gallant an officer as ever
wore a sword. The troops, with Colonel Lewis in com-
mand, overtook the Indians this side of White Woman
creek, and pressed them so closely they had to concen-
trate and make a stand. Lewis did the same. Late in
the afternoon, he made every arrangment to attack their
camp at daybreak next morning, having posted the troops
and surrounded the Indians as near as possible. Colonel
Lewis attended to every little detail, to make the attack
next morning a success, and they were to attack from all
sides at the same time, at a given signal. About the last

—134—

thing he did, before going to headquarters for the night,
he visited one of the furthest outposts, where a single
guard was concealed. Colonel Lewis had to crawl to get
to him. The guard said the Colonel was anxious to shoot
an Indian who was on post and very saucy. The
guard said, "Colonel, you must not raise up. These out-
posts and sharp shooters are just waiting for us to expose
ourselves, and that fellow is acting as a blind, for others
to get a chance at us." But the Colonel persisted. He
said he wanted to stir them up; and, just as he rose up,
before he got his gun to his shoulder, he was shot down.
They had to crawl to Colonel Lewis and drag him out on
their hands and knees. The surgeon in charge knew he
would die, and started with him at once for Fort Wallace,
but he died before reaching that post. This happened
about dark, and the news soon spread throughout the
camp — Colonel Lewis was killed — which had a great de-
moralizing effect upon the troops, as they knew he was
a brave man and liked him and had great confidence in
his ability. His orders were never carried out, and the
attack was not made. The Indians broke camp and
marched away next morning, but, from the signs they
left behind, it was very evident they would not have made
much of a fight. Indeed, I have been told there was a
flag of truce found in their camp. This was vouched for
by several, and there were evidences that they intended
to surrender, and it is the opinion of the writer they
intended to surrender. Anyhow, I do think, if Colonel
Lewis had lived, they would have been so badly whipped
they never would have got any further north, and the
lives of all those people, who were killed on the Sappa
and after they crossed the Missouri, Pacific Railroad,
would have been saved. I think they killed about forty
people, after they left White Woman creek. The farmers
and citizens, who were along with the soldiers, censure
the two cavalry captains severely and claim they acted
cowardly, several times and at several places. They, I

—135—

believe, were both tried for cowardice, but were acquitted
after a fair trial.

Our citizens of Dodge City, as well as his brother
officers and the enlisted men under his command, held
Colonel Lewis in great respect, as the following resolu-
tions, presented by the enlisted men, assembled in a meet-
ing for the purpose, at the time of his death, will show:

"Whereas, the sad news has been brought to us of the
death, on the field of battle against hostile Indians, of
our late commanding officer. Lieutenant Colonel William
H. Lewis, Nineteenth United States infantry;

"Be it resolved, that his death is felt as a great calam-
ity to the army of the United States, as well as for his
family, to whom we tender our most heartfelt sympathy,
and that we deplore, in his demise the loss of one of
the kindest, bravest, and most impartial commanders to
be found in the service;

"And be it further resolved, that these resolutions
be published in the 'Army and Navy Journal,' the Wash-
ington and Leavenworth papers, the 'Ford County Globe,'
and the 'Dodge City Times,' and a copy be sent to his
relatives.

"THOMAS G. DENNEN,

"Ordnance Sergeant, President,
"LOUIS PAULY,
"Hospital Steward, Secretary."

The meeting then adjourned.

The old servant, who had been with Colonel Lewis
for many years and was greatly attached to him, could
not be comforted after his master's death. He wept and
mourned as if he had lost a near relative. After the Col-
onel had received his mortal wound and knew that he
must die, he instructed his attendants to tell the old
servant to go to his mother's, where he would find a home
for the balance of his days. Accordingly, after all the
business at Fort Dodge had been settled, he started, with
a heavy heart, for his new home. He said he knew he

—136—

would have a nice home in which to spend his last days,
but that would not bring his old master back. There is
nothing that speaks plainer of the true man, than the dis-
interested devotion of his servants.

Long years afterwards, when the veterans of the
Civil War, living at Fort Dodge, organized a post of the
Grand Army of the Republic, they named it the Lewis
Post, in honor of the brave but unfortunate Colonel.

Referring again to the subject of General Miles'
opinion that Fort Dodge should have been at least a ten-
company post, it might be added that the General, with
that very purpose in mind, visited the fort, several years
after its abandonment. I was living there at the time,
being appointed by the government to take charge of the
property left there, and see to the care of the buildings.
I drove him down, and he took lunch with me. He said:
"Wright, your Dodge people made a big mistake when
you placed your smallpox patients in the old hospital."
You see, Dodge City was visited once with smallpox, and
it raged pretty strongly. A great many of our people
took it, and it was so violent and virulent that it carried
off not a few. Mayor Webster seized the old military
hospital and had the patients quarantined in it.

The General further said: "I see Fort Dodge's great
military importance, and I would like to garrison it to
its full capacity and would do so; but, Wright, you know,
if a single soldier died there from smallpox, even years
from now, the press of the country would get up and
howl, and censure me ever so severely for subjecting the
army to this terrible disease. I can't afford to take such
chances." General Miles was right; this is just what
would have been done, if the smallpox had ever broken
out.

—137—

Chapter VII.

The Beginnings of Dodge City

TT has already been said that Dodge City was established
•*■ in 1872, upon the advent of the Atchison, Topeka &
Santa Fe Railroad. Dodge was in the very heart of the
buffalo country. Hardly had the railroad reached there,
long before a depot could be built (they had an office
in a box car), business began; and such a business! Doz-
ens of cars a day were loaded with hides and meat, and
dozens of carloads of grain, flour, and provisions arrived
each day. The streets of Dodge were lined with wagons,
bringing in hides and meat and getting supplies from
early morning to late at night.

Charles Rath & Company ordered from Long Broth-
ers, of Kansas City, two hundred cases of baking-powder
at one order. They went to Colonel W. F. Askew, to
whom we were shipping immense quantities of hides,
and said: "These men must be crazy, or else they mean
two hundred boxes instead of cases." They said there
were not two hundred cases in the city. Askew wired us
if we had not made a mistake. We answered, "No;
double the order." Askew was out a short time after
that and saw six or eight carloads of flour stacked up in
the warehouse. He said he now understood. It was to
bake this flour up into bread.

I have been to several mining camps where rich
strikes had been made, but I never saw any town to equal
Dodge. A good hunter would make a hundred dollars a
day. Everyone had money to throw at the birds. There
was no article less than a quarter — a drink was a quarter,
a shave was a quarter, a paper of pins a quarter, and
needles the same. In fact, that was the smallest change.

Governor St. John was in Dodge once, when he was
notified that a terrible cyclone had visited a little town

—138—

close to the Kansas line, in Nebraska. In two hours I
raised one thousand dollars, which he wired them. Our
first calaboose in Dodge City was a well fifteen feet deep,
into which the drunkards were let down and allowed to
remain until they were sober. Sometimes there were
several in it at once. It served the purpose well for a time.

Of course everyone has heard of wicked Dodge; but
a great deal has been said and written about it that is
not true. Its good side has never been told, and I cannot
give it space here. Many reckless, bad men came to
Dodge and many brave men. These had to be met by
officers equally brave and reckless. As the old saying
goes, "You must fight the devil with fire." The officers
gave them the south side of the railroad-track, but the
north side must be kept respectable, and it was. There
never was any such thing as shooting at plug hats. On
the contrary, every stranger that came to Dodge City and
behaved himself was treated with politeness; but woe
be unto the man who came seeking a fight. He was soon
accommodated in any way, shape, or form that he wished.
Often have I seen chivalry extended to ladies on the
streets, from these rough men, that would have done
credit to the knights of old. When some man a little
drunk, and perhaps unintentionally, would jostle a lady
in a crowd, he was soon brought to his senses by being
knocked down by one of his companions, who remarked,
"Never let me see you insult a lady again."

In fact, the chivalry of Dodge toward the fair sex
and strangers was proverbial. Never in the history of
Dodge was a stranger mistreated, but, on the contrary,
the utmost courtesy was always and under all circum-
stances extended to him, .and never was there a frontier
town whose liberality exceeded that of Dodge. But, while
women, children, and strangers were never, anywhere,
treated with more courtesy and respect; while such things
as shooting up plug hats and making strangers dance is

all bosh and moonshine, and one attempting such would

—-139—

have been promptly called down; let me tell you one
thing — none of Dodge's well-known residents would have
been so rash as to dare to wear a plug hat through the
streets, or put on any "dog", such as wearing a swallow-
tail or evening dress, or any such thing.

The general reputation of young Dodge City is well
described in an article entitled, "Reminiscences of Dodge,"
written in 1877, and expressing what a stranger has to
say about the town. The article runs as follows:

"By virtue of the falling off in the cattle drive to
Kansas for this year, and the large number of cattle
driven under contract. Dodge City became the principal
depot for the sale of surplus stock; buyers met drovers
at this point, purchased and received purchases without
unnecessary delay, thereby greatly facilitating business
and enabling quick returns of both owners and hands. In
the future, situated as it is upon one of the best railroads
traversing the country from east to west, the Atchison,
Topeka & Santa Fe, it will probably occupy an enviable
position as a cattle market.

"Dodge has many characteristics which prevent its
being classed as a town of strictly moral ideas and prin-
ciples, notwithstanding it is supplied with a church, court-
house, and jail. Other institutions counterbalance the
good works supposed to emanate from the first men-
tioned. Like all frontier towns of this modern day, fast
men and fast women are around by the score, seeking
whom they may devour, hunting for a soft snap, taking
him in for cash, and many is the Texas cowboy who can
testify as to their ability to follow up successfully the
calling they have embraced in quest of money.

"Gambling ranges from a game of five-cent chuck-a-
luck to a thousand-dollar poker pot. Nothing is secret,
but with open doors lipon the main streets, the ball rolls
on uninterruptedly. More than occasionally some dark-
eyed virago or some brazen-faced blonde, with a modern
sundown, will saunter in among the roughs of the gam-

—140—

bling houses and saloons, entering with inexplicable zest
into the disgusting sport, breathing the immoral atmos-
phere with a gusto which I defy modern writers to ex-
plain. Dance houses are ranged along the convenient
distances and supplied with all the trappings and para-
phernalia which go to complete institutions of that char-
acter. Here you see the greatest abandon. Men of every
grade assemble to join in the dance. Nice men with white
neckties, the cattle dealer with his good clothes, the sport
with his well-turned fingers, smooth tongue, and artisti-
cally twisted mustache, and last but not least the cowboy,
booted and spurred as he comes from the trail, his hard
earnings in his pocket, all join in the wild revel; and yet
with all this mixture of strange human nature a remark-
able degree of order is preserved. Arms are not allowed
to be worn, and any noisy whisky demonstrations are
promptly checked by incarceration in the lock-up. Even
the mayor of the city indulges in the giddy dance with
the girls, and with his cigar in one corner of his mouth
and his hat tilted to one side, he makes a charming look-
ing officer.

"Some things occur in Dodge that the world never
knows of. Probably it is best so. Other things occur that
leak out by degrees, notwithstanding the use of hush-
money. That, too, is perhaps the best. Men learn by such
means.

"Most places are satisfied with one abode of the dead.
In the grave there is no distinction. The rich are known
from the poor only by their tombstones, so the sods that
are upon the grave fail to reflect the characters buried
beneath them. And yet Dodge boasts of two burying
spots, one for the tainted whose very souls were steeped
in immorality, and who have generally died with their
boots on. *Boot Hill' is the somewhat singular title ap-
plied to the burial place of the class just mentioned. The
other is not designated by any particular title but it is
supposed to contain the bodies of those who died with a

—141—

clean sheet on their beds — the soul in this case is a sec-
ondary consideration."

So much for one view of Dodge City, but, though
common, this view was not quite universal. Sometimes
a writer appeared who could recognize a few slightly
better features in the border town, and who could look
beyond its existing lawlessness and see the possibilities
and beginnings of a higher state of things. In proof of
this ril quote an article, written in 1878, a year later than
the last, and entitled, "The Beautiful, Bibulous Babylon
of the Frontier":

"Standing out on the extreme border of civilization,
like an oasis in the desert, or like a light-house off a
rocky coast, is The Beautiful, Bibulous Babylon of the
Frontier,' Dodge City, so termed by Lewis, editor of the
^Kinsley Graphic' Dodge City is far famed, not for its
virtues, but for its wickedness; the glaring phases of its
vices stand pre-eminent, and attract the attention of the
visitor; and these shadows of Babylon are reproduced in
the gossip's corner and — in the press. It is seldom the
picture has fine embellishments; but the pen artist of the
^Graphic' put the finer touches of nature to the pen por-
trait of Dodge — 'she is no worse than Chicago.' This,
we admit, is a slight leverage in the social scale, to be
placed in the catagory of Chicago's wickedness.

"Dodge City has magnetic attractions. Few people
are attracted here by curiosity; every one has business,
except the tramps, and they have no business here. But
our visitors see it all before they leave, and they use the
same circumspection here they would under their own
vine and fig tree. Many of them are not charitable
enough to tell the unvarnished truth. In vain boast and
idle glory they recount the pilgrimage to Dodge as
though they passed through blood, rapine, and war —
fully attested their courage.

"But the 'Kinsley Graphic' pays the 'Bibulous Bab-
ylon' a high compliment, besides raising the moral

—142—

standard of Dodge to that of the immaculate virtue of
Chicago.

"Kansas has but one Dodge City. With a broad ex-
panse of territory sufficiently vast for an empire, we have
only room for one Dodge City. Without particularizing
at length, w^e v^ere most favorably impressed generally
during a brief visit at our neighboring city Tuesday.
Beautiful for situation, cozily nestled on the 'beach' of
the turbid Arkansas, w^hile on the north the palisades rise
above the busy little city, v^hich in the near future vi^ill
be ornamented with cozy cottages, modern mansions, and
happy homes. The view from the elegant brick court
house, situated above the town, is grand. The panorama
spread out west, south, and east, takes in a vast scope of
valley scenery such as only can be found fringing our
river. Seventy-five thousand head of cattle, recently
driven in from the ranges south, can be seen lazily feed-
ing on the nutritious native meadows, while the cowboys
gallop here and there among these vast herds, displaying
superior horsemanship. Five miles down the river, the
old flag floats proudly over the garrison at the military
post.

"The city proper is a busy beehive of bustle and busi-
ness, a conglomerated aggregation of every line of busi-
ness alternating with saloons. Francis Murphy don't live
in Dodge. There are a few institutions of which Dodgeites
are justly proud — the ever popular Dodge House, The
Times', the court house, the fire company. Mayor Kelley's
hounds, and the 'Varieties'. Much has been said of the
wickedness and unrighteousness of the city. If 'old Probe'
should send a shower of fire and brimstone up there, we
would not vouch for there being a sufficient number of
righteous citizens to save the city; yet with all her wick-
edness, she is no worse today than Chicago and many
other cities where the music of the chimes are daily
heard. There is but one difference, however, which is a
frontier characteristic; our neighbors do not pretend to

—143—

hide their pecuHarities. A few years hence Dodge City
will be a model of morality and a city of no mean im-
portance.

"For courtesies shown us we acknowledge our obli-
gations to Messrs. Kline & Shine of the lively Times',
Judge Gryden (who deserves to be known as Prince
Harry, and whose only fault is his rock-footed Democ-
racy), Mayor Kelley, Hon. H. M. Sutton, the popular
county attorney, E. F. Colburn, the modest city attorney,
Samuel Marshal, the portly judge, Fringer, the post-
master, Hon. R. M. Wright, Dr. McCarty, SherifiF Mas-
terson and his efficient lieutenant City Marshal Basset,
and our old friends at the signal office."

Again, under the heading, "The Wickedest City in
America," the "Kokomo, Indiana, Dispatch," of an issue
in July, 1878, refers to Dodge: "Its character as a hell,
out on the great plains, will be," said a local writer,
"maintained in the minds of traveling newspaper writers,
just so long as the city shall remain a rendezvous for the
broad and immense uninhabited plains, by narrating the
wildest and wickedest phases of Dodge City; but we
have to commend them for complimenting Dodge on its
orderly character." The "Dispatch" speaks very highly
of Dodge as a commercial point, and his letter bears many
complimentary features. We extract the following:

" 'My experience in Dodge was a surprise all around.
I found nothing as I pictured it in my mind. I had ex-
pected, from the descriptions I had read of it, to find
it a perfect bedlam, a sort of Hogathian Gin Alley, where
rum ran down the street gutters and loud profanity and
vile stenches contended for the mastery of the atmos-
phere. On the contrary, I was happily surprised to find
the place in the daytime as quiet and orderly as a country
village in Indiana, and at night the traffic in the wares
of the fickle Goddess and human souls was conducted
with a system so orderly and quiet as to actually be pain-
ful to behold. It is a most difficult task, I confess, to write

—144—

up Dodge City in a manner to do impartial fairness to
every interest; the place has many redeeming points, a
few of which I have already mentioned. It is not nearly
so awful a place as reports make it. It is not true that the
stranger in the place runs a risk of being shot down in
cold blood, for no offense whatever."

In the year 1878, the "Topeka Times" says, in a cer-
tain issue:

"During the year of 1873 we roughed it in the West.

Our first stopping place was the famous Dodge City,

at the time a perfect paradise for gamblers, cut-throats,

and girls. On our first visit the buildings in the town

were not buildings, with one or two exceptions, but tents

and dugouts. Everyone in town, nearly, sold whisky or

kept a restaurant, perhaps both. The Atchison, Topeka

& Santa Fe Railroad was just then working its way up

the low-banked Arkansas, and Dodge was the frontier

town. Its growth was rapid, in a month from the time

the railroad was completed to its borders, the place began

to look like a city; frame houses, one story high, sprang

up; Dodge became noted as the headquarters for the

buffalo hunters, and the old town was one of the busiest

of trading points, and they were a jolly set of boys there.

They carried a pair of Colt's revolvers in their belts, wore

their pants in their boots, and when they died, did so

generally with their boots on. It wasn't safe, in those

times, to call a man a liar or intimate that his reputation

for honesty was none of the best, unless you were spoiling

for a fight. In those days, *Boot Hill' was founded, and

the way it grew was astonishing to new comers and

terrifying to tenderfeet. We well remember, but now

forget the date, when a party of eastern capitalists came

out to look around with a view to locating. They were

from Boston and wore diamonds and kid gloves. The

music at one of the dance halls enticed the bald-headed

sinners thither, and what with wine and women, they

became exceedingly gay. But in the midst of their sport

—145—

a shot was fired, and another, and, in a Httle time, the
room gleamed with flashing pistols and angry eyes. This
was enough, and the eastern capitalists hurried to the
depot, where they remained until the first train bore
them to the classic shades of Boston. But with all its
wildness, Dodge could then, as it does yet, boast of
some of the best, freest, and whitest boys in the country.
We were down there again last week, and were sur-
prised in the change in the city. It has built up wonder-
fully, has a fine court house, church, good schools, large
business blocks, a good hall, first-class hotels, and two
live newspapers. The editor of the 'Times' was not in,
but we saw Honorable D. M. Frost, the editor of the
'Globe'. Dodge is coming out and is destined to be a
city of considerable size."

Another writer of the times, defending Dodge City,
says:

"There is an evident purpose to malign and create
false impressions concerning the character of Dodge City.
It is a pretty general impression that a person here is
insecure in life, and that the citizens of Dodge are walk-
ing howitzers. This is a bad impression that should, by
all means, be corrected. Having but a short residence in
this town, it is our deliberate opinion, from a careful ob-
servation, that Dodge is as quiet and orderly as any
town of its size in Kansas. We have been treated with
the utmost cordiality. We have observed officers prompt
and efficient, in the discharge of their duties. There is
an ordinance prohibiting the carrying of fire arms, which
is rigidly enforced. The citizens are cordial, industrious,
and display a business alacrity, characteristic of the fron-
tier tradesman. We are surprised to note the difference
of character of this town and the impression aimed to be
made upon us before coming here. There is a lurking
jealousy somewhere, that gives rise to false rumors, and
we trust every citizen of Dodge City will correct these
false impressions, as far as lies in his power. This, alone,

—146—

would efface bad impressions and false rumors, but for-
bearance ceases to be a virtue, and we kindly protest."

Again, the character of early Dodge was defended
by Charles D. Ulmer, of the "Sterling Bulletin," thus:

"On Friday, the party visited Dodge City, the rip-
roaring burg of the West. As we glided into the depot,
we looked anxiously along the street, expecting to see
many squads of festive cowboys, rigged out with arms
enough to equip a regiment, and ready to pop a shot at
any plug hat that might be in the crowd, but nothing of
the kind was to be observed; instead, there was a busy,
hustling little city, like many others in Kansas, with,
perhaps, a few extra saloons thrown in for variety. Dodge
City was a surprise to us. It is beautifully located — the
residence portion on the hills which command a magni-
ficent view of the country, east, west, and south. The
business portion is on the level bottom at the foot of the
hills. The railroad track is a little close to the main busi-
ness street for convenience.

"The party, on landing, instead of being received by
a howling lot of cowboys, with six-shooters and Win-
chester rifles rampant, were received by a delegation of
as gentlemanly and courteous men as can be found in
the state. During our stay in Dodge, we had the pleasure
of meeting most of the men who have been so prominent-
ly mentioned in the late trouble at that place. Instead of
low-browed ruffians and cut-throats, we found them to
be cultivated gentlemen, but evidently possessing plenty
of nerve for any emergency. Among those we met and
conversed with was Luke Short, his partner, Mr. Harris,
who is vice-president of the Dodge City bank, and Mr.
Webster. The late trouble originated in differences be-
tween Messrs. Short and Webster, and, we believe, after
both sides get together it could and should have been
settled without the hubbub made, and interference of the
state authorities. Mr. Short, Mr. Harris, and others assur-
ed us that their side, at all times, was ready and willing to

— 147--

submit their differences to the decision of the courts.
The trouble has been amicably adjusted, and no further
trouble is anticipated on the old score."

But, as has already been stated, often only the worst
side of Dodge City was written up, in a way to make the
most of it. In protest against this practice, a local writer
of early times refers to a write-up of the sort, in this wise:

"A verdant editor of the *Hays City Sentinel' visits
our brothels and bagnios. From the tone of his article,
he must have gone too deep into the dark recesses of the
lascivious things he speaks of, and went away in the con-
dition of the monkey who got his tail too near the coals.
He says: * After a long day's ride in the scorching sun,
I arrived in Dodge City. Dodge is the Deadwood of
Kansas. Her incorporate limits are the rendezvous of
all the unemployed scallawagism in seven states. Her
principal business is polygamy without the sanction of
religion, her code of morals is the honor of thieves, and
decency she knows not. In short, she is an exaggerated
frontier town, and all her consistences are operated on
the same principle. Her every day occurrences are such
as would make the face of a Haysite, accustomed as he
is to similar sights, color to the roots of his hair and
draw away disgusted. Dodge is a fast town and all of
her speedy proclivities exhibit to the best advantage.
The employment of many citizens is gambling. Her vir-
tue is prositution and her beverage is whisky. She is a
merry town and the only visible means of support of a
great many of her citizens is jocularity. Her rowdyism
has taken a most aggravated form, and was it not for the
most stringent ordinances (some of which are unconsti-
tutional), and a fair attempt to enforce them, the town
would be suddenly depopulated and very much in the
nianner that Ireland got rid of her snakes. Seventeen
saloons furnish inspiration and many people become in-
spired, not to say drunk. Every facility is afforded for

the exercise of conviviality, and no restriction is placed

—148—

on licentiousness. The town is full of prostitutes and
every other place is a brothel. Dodge by day and Dodge
by night are different towns;" and, then he goes on
with more abuse too vile and untruthful to mention. Our
brother from Hays City must indeed have been hard hit,
but must not have visited any good spot in Dodge City,
but, on the contrary, must have confined himself entirely
to the very lowest places and worst society in Dodge.
Birds of a feather, you know, will flock together. We
hope his dose was a mild one — though he does not de-
serve our sympathy.

Besides this generally sensational mode of writing
up the town. Dodge City was the theme of many lurid
stories and sulphurous jokes which tended, no less than
the write-ups, to establish her position, in the public eye,
as the "Wickedest Town in America." The following
letter is from the "Washington, D. C, Evening Star,"
January ist, 1878.

"Dodge City is a wicked little town. Indeed, its
character is so clearly and egregiously bad that one might
conclude, were the evidence in these later times positive
of its possibility, that it was marked for special Provi-
dential punishment. Here those nomads in regions remote
from the restraints of moral, civil, social, and law enforc-
ing life, the Texas cattle drovers, from the very tendencies
of their situation the embodiment of waywardness and
wantonness, end the journey with their herds, and here
they loiter and dissipate, sometimes for months, and
share the boughten dalliances of fallen women. Truly,
the more demonstrative portion of humanity at Dodge
City gives now no hopeful sign of moral improvement,
no bright prospect of human exaltation; but with Dodge
City itself, it will not always be as now. The hamlet of
today, like Wichita and Newton farther east in the state,
will antagonize with a nobler trait, at some future day,
its present outlandish condition. The denizen of little

Dodge City declares, with a great deal of confidence, that

—149—

the region around about the place is good for nothing for
agricultural purposes. He says the seasons are too dry,
that the country is good for nothing but for grazing, and
that all they raise around Dodge is cattle and hell. The
desire of his heart is the father of the statement. He is
content with just what it is, and he wants that to remain.
He wants the cattle droves and his associations and sur-
roundings to be a presence and a heritage forever."

Referring to this article, the Ford County "Globe,"
of January ist, 1878, says: "We think this correspondent
had a sour stomach when he portrayed the wickedness of
our city. But we must expect it unless we ourselves try
to improve the present condition of things. There is not
a more peaceful, well-regulated, and orderly community
in the western country;" and dien, as the office boy
entered to say that somebody wanted to see him, he
took his bowie knife between his teeth, put a Colt's new
pattern six-shooter on his desk in front of him, and then
said: "Jim, get out another coffin, a plain one this time,
and let the critter come in."

About thirty miles from Dodge the train stopped at
a little station, and a cowboy got on, very drunk, and
fully equipped in chapps, spurs, six-shooter, and quirt.
The conductor, John Bender, asked him his fare and
destination. He replied, "I want to go to hell!" Bender
said, "All right; give me a dollar and get off at Dodge."

Thus Dodge City's evil reputation became estab-
lished, whether deserved or undeserved. People living at
a distance and having no way of knowing where truth
ended and falsehood began, naturally gave credence to
all reports they saw published, until, in places remote,
the very name of Dodge became a synonym for all that
was wild, reckless, and violent. Strangers, approaching
the town for the first time, did so with dread, entered it
with fear and trembling, or passed through it with a sigh
of relief as its last roof was left behind. Tales of the

fate of tenderfeet in the border city struck terror to the

—150—

soul of many a newcomer in the community, and the
dangers apprehended by these new arrivals on the dread-
ed scene, were limited only by the amount of courage,
credulity, and imagination they possessed. To illustrate,
a young man, going west with a party of movers, wrote
a card to his father back east, just before reaching Dodge
City, not mailing it till after passing through. Here is
what he wrote while anticipating the entrance into the
dreaded town:

"In Camp Fifteen Miles from Dodge, May 7, 1877.
"Dear Father:—

"As I've a litde time I'll drop you a card, so you
can see we are all well and headed west. Have laid over
here to wait for a larger crowd so as to be perfectly safe
going through Dodge. There are nine teams now and
will be three more in the morning, so we will be safe
anyway. There are a good many coming back from
Colorado but that don't discourage us any. That is no
sign we can't do well. Everything goes on as nice as
clock work among ourselves; not a word as yet and no
hard feelings.

"HERBERT."

In somewhat sarcastic comment upon this postal card,
the 'Dodge City Times," of May 19th, 1877, says:

"The card was evidently written while awaiting
reinforcements to assist in making a charge through our
city, but not mailed until they had run the gauntlet and
halted to take a breath at a safe distance on the west side.
To the father and friends who are no doubt anxiously
waiting to know if our blood-thirsty denizens extermi-
nated the caravan, we can say that they escaped us with-
out a serious loss of life."

What made Dodge City so famous was that it was the
last of the towns of the last big frontier of the United
States. When this was settled, the frontier was gone, it
was the passing of the frontier with the passing of the
buffalo, and the Indian question was settled forever.

—151—

Here congregated people from the east, people from
the south, people from the north, and people from the
west. People of all sorts, sizes, conditions, and nationali-
ties ; people of all color, good, bad, and indifferent, congre-
gated here, because it was the big door to so vast a frontier.
Some came to Dodge City out of curiosity; others strictly
for business; the stock man came because it was a great
cattle market, and here, on the Arkansas river, was the
place appointed for the cattle going north to be classed
and passed on, for bargains to be closed, and new contracts
made for next year; the cowboy came because it was his
duty as well as delight, and here he drew wages and
spent them; the hunter came because it was the very heart
of the greatest game country on earth; the freighter came
because it was one of the greatest overland freight depots
in the United States, and he hauled material and supplies
for nearly four hundred miles, supplying three military
posts, and all the frontier for that far south and west; last
but not least, the gambler and the bad man came because
of the wealth and excitement, for obscene birds will al-
ways gather around a carcass.

Money was plentiful and spent lavishly, and here
let me say, there are different classes of men who are
producers or money-makers, and misers, up to a certain
amount. There were numbers of people, to my certain
knowledge, who would carefully save up from two hun-
dred to five hundred dollars, and then come to Dodge
City and turn it loose, never letting up until every dollar
was gone. There were others whose ambition was higher.
They would save up from five hundred to two thousand
dollars, come to Dodge City and spend it all. There were
still others who would reach out to five thousand dollars
and upwards, come to Dodge, and away it would all go,
and, strange to say, these men went back to their differ-
ent avocations perfectly satisfied. They had started out
for a good time and had had it, and went back contented.

Indeed, one man started with twenty thousand dollars

—152—

for New York, struck Dodge City, spent the most of his
twenty thousand, and went back to begin over again.
He said: "Oh, well, I did start to have a good time in
New York, but I tell you, you can make New York any-
where if you only have the money and the luxuries and
attractions are there." And these all could be had for
the price, in Dodge City. There were women, dance halls,
music, saloons and restaurants, equipped with every lux-
ury, while gambling in every conceivable form, and every
gambling device known at that time was in full blast.

I will now say something of the business of early
Dodge, which has been mentioned as being tremendous.
At that time we were often asked, "What sustains your
city?" "Where does your trade come from?" and many
such questions, which no doubt, will recur to the mind
of the reader, at the present time. First and foremost of
our industries was the cattle and stock trade, with its
buying, selling, and shipping for the whole southwestern
range, and which lasted till other railroads extended into
this territory and cut off the trade from Dodge City.
Then there was the government freight business, with
Dodge the point of supply to many military posts and
their garrisons, in the surrounding wilderness. This,
alone, was heavy traffic, while local and general freight-
ing, to ranches, inland settlements, and hunters' camps,
was an important addition to this line of business. Again,
as Dodge City was the point of supply, in all general
commodities, for so vast a section of country, the mercan-
tile business promptly assumed enormous proportions.

One of Dodge City's great industries was the bone

trade. It certainly was immense. There were great

stacks of bones, piled up by the railroad track — hundreds

of tons of them. It was a sight to see them. They were

stacked up way above the tops of the box cars, and

often there were not sufficient cars to move them. Dodge

excelled in bones, like she did in buffalo hides, for there

were more than ten times the number of carloads shipped

—153—

out of Dodge, than out of any other town in the state,
and that is saying a great deal, for there was a vast
amount shipped from every httle town in western Kansas.

The bones were a godsend to the early settler, for
they were his main stock in trade for a long, long time;
and, if it had not been for the bone industry, many poor
families would have suffered for the very necessaries of
life. It looked like a wise dispensation of Providence.
Many poor emigrants and settlers came to Kansas with
nothing but an old wagon and a worse span of horses, a
large family of helpless children, and a few dogs— noth-
ing else. No money, no work of any kind whatever to be
had, when, by gathering buffalo bones, they could make a
living or get a start. Game was all killed off and starva-
tion staring them in the face; bones were their only sal-
vation, and this industry saved them. They gathered and
piled them up in large piles, during the winter, and
hauled them to Dodge at times when they had nothing
else to do, when they always demanded a good price.
This industry kept us for many years, and gave the settler
a start, making it possible for him to break the ground
from which he now raises such large crops of wheat,
making him rich and happy. Yes, indeed! Many of our
rich farmers of today, once were poor bone pickers, but
if they hear this, it don't go. Certainly, this was a great
business, as well as a godsend, coming at a time when
the settlers most needed help. All this added to the
wealth and prosperity of Dodge, and added to its fame.
"Buffalo bones are legal tender in Dodge City," was the
strolling paragraph in all the Kansas exchanges.

As to the magnitude of the early day mercantile
business of Dodge City, the writer can speak, at any
length, from his own experience, as he followed that line,
there, for many years. As an introduction to the sub-
ject, ril give a clipping from the "Ford County Globe,"
of 1877, entitled, "Wright, Beverly & Company's Texas

Trade." Now one of the editors, Mr. Morphy, was a bitter

—154—

enemy of the writer, who was head of the firm of Wright
& Beverly, because he abused the writer so maliciously and
scandalously and lied so outrageously about him, when the
writer was running for the legislature, that the latter
whipped him on the street; for which, Morphy sued the
writer for ten thousand dollars. The jury awarded a dam-
age of four dollars and a half for the plaintiff's doctor
bill, and they hung out, for a long time against giving any-
thing, until the judge instructed them they must render
a verdict for that amount, as Mr. Morphy had clearly
proven that he had paid the doctor four dollars and a
half, as a result of the whipping; so you> can see, he
would not give the firm any too much praise, in writing
them up. He says:

"Those gentlemen do an immense business and make
a specialty to cater to the immense Texas trade. The
jingling spur, the carved ivory-handled Colt, or the suit
of velveteen, and the many, many other Texas necessaries,
you here find by the gross or cord. An upstairs room,
thirty by seventy-five feet, is devoted entirely to clothing
and saddlery. In their warehouses and yard, it is no
uncommon thing to find from sixty to eighty thousand
buffalo robes and hides. This house also does a banking
business for the accommodation of its customers. Mr.
John Newton, the portly and benevolent charge de affairs
of the office, will accommodate you with five dollars or
five thousand dollars, as the case may be. We generally
get the former amount. Mr. Samuels, who has special
charge of the shooting irons and jewelry stock, will enter-
tain you in Spanish, German, Russian, or Hebrew. The
assistance of Mr. Isaacson, the clothier, is demanded for
parrle vous, while Bob, himself, has to be called on when
the dusky and dirty 'child of the setting sun' insists
on spitting and spouting Cheyenne and Arapahoe and
goes square back on the king's EngHsh. They employed
over a dozen outside men to check off the wagons that

were loading, and their sales were on an average of a

—155—

thousand dollars a day, Sundays not excepted, or three
hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year, and several
years it was over four hundred thousand dollars." There
v^as no article you could mention we did not handle.
Our remittances to banks in Leavenworth were frequently
as high as fifty thousand dollars. This was owing to
stock men depositing their whole pile with us, and draw-
ing against it as they needed it. We have had parties
leave with us endorsed, certified checks, as high as fifty
thousand dollars each, to pay for cattle or close some deal
for them. Strange to say, there was but little currency
in circulation, and, nothwithstanding the railroad agent
was instructed to turn over his receipts of greenbacks,
and take our check for same, we had to have shipped to
us, by express, from two thousand dollars to five thou-
sand dollars in currency every few days.

The Santa Fe railroad was another great factor in
making the wealth and splendid prosperity of Dodge City.
Indeed, it was the first cause of the development of Dodge
City's greatness. It was this road, you might say, that
made us. It, at least, gavd us a big start. Hundreds
of its employees made it their home from the very begin-
ning. Dodge was not only its terminus, for awhile, but
it always has been the end of a division. The officers of
the road and the people of the town have always enjoyed
great harmony. They have treated us justly and kindly,
favoring us whenever and in whatever way they could,
and, in return and to show them gratitude, the Dodge
people have worked right in with them; and never have
they been at outs, or has the least thing ever arisen which
would lessen the friendship between them. Even yet,
(1913), the railroad company is making great improve-
ments in buildings, grades, yardage, etc., at Dodge City.

Another great feature belonging to Dodge City, and
which brought many people there at an early date, is its
beautiful, health giving climate and pure air. It was, and
is, a great resort for invalids afflicted with the white

-—156—

plague. This should be the stopping off place for all
those badly afflicted with this dread disease, as the great
change in altitude, from lowlands to mountains, is often
to sudden. I have known many people to stop off here
until they got accustomed to light air and great altitude,
and then go on to the mountains, and, in time, be com-
pletely cured. Others would stop only a short time and
take the consequences. Others, after a short stay here,
would feel so much better they would return home, think-
ing they were cured, and make a grand mistake. A
lovely lady, the wife of one of Missouri's greatest lawyers,
stopped off here a short time, and her health improved
so wonderfully that she went back to Missouri, but we
heard of her death a short time afterwards. I have
known several parties who would receive so great a bene-
fit from a short stay in Dodge, they would insist, against
the wishes of their doctor and friends, on going on to the
mountains, and come back, in a few weeks, in a box, or
return to die among their eastern friends. You see, they
did not stay in Dodge long enough to get used to the
great altitude of the mountains.

Dodge City was conspicious in the sight of news-
paper men, and complimentary notices of its business men
were often unique. For instance, the "Walnut City
Blade," says: "The gentlemen of Dodge City are whole-
souled fellows and fine business men. Although our
acquaintance was limited, we can say that Sutton, White-
law, Winnie, Gryden, Bob Wright, Shinn, Klaine, and
Frost are each a whole team with a mule colt following."

As an instance of the splendid liberality of Dodge
City in times of emergency, as already mentioned, its
response to Governor St. John's petition for the cyclone
su^erers has been given. Another instance, among any
number that might be given, was the conduct of Dodge
City toward the yellow fever situation, in Memphis, Ten-
nessee, in 1878. September loth, of that year, a mass
meeting was called for the purpose of alleviating the suf-

—157—

ferers of Memphis from the terrible yellow fever scourge.
The people only had a few hours' notice of the meeting,
but, in such short time, two or three hundred gathered.
A few speeches were made by some of our prominent citi-
zens, when Mr. P. L. Beaty jumped upon a stand and said :
"I have been a victim of this yellow fever, and know how
these people in the South suffer; here's what talks!" at
the same time throwing a ten dollar bill into the hat,
amidst wildest enthusiasm. Other speeches followed,
while contributions flowed into the hat in splendid style,
the poor bootblack dropping in his nickel, and the rich
merchant his ten dollar bill. The total amount collected
was over three hundred dollars, which was promptly for-
warded to the Howard Association of Memphis. Instances
of charity equal to that of Dodge City are as scarce on
the records as, elsewhere, the rarity of Christian charity
is plentiful. Hurrah, for little Dodge! She is still bad
in war, good in peace, and has a bigger heart, for her
size, than any town in Kansas. A short time after this
meeting, it was found that the terrible scourge of yellow
fever still held Memphis in its grip; and at another mass
meeting to relieve the suffering. Dodge City sent more
than double the former amount.

This puts me in mind of a little priest, by the name
of Father Swineberg, who was a little fellow with a big
heart, with charity for all and malice toward none, no
matter what the denomination. He was very highly edu-
cated, could speak fluently more than a half-dozen differ-
ent languages, and visited Fort Dodge to look after his
flock and minister to the wants of his people, years before
Dodge City was established. It was the writer's happy
luck to be able to accommodate him several times, in
driving him from one post to another, looking after the
needs of the church and his ministerial duties, and, in
that way, the writer and he became warm friends.

In the course of time, he called on me at the fort,
armed with letters to the commanding officer of Fort

—158—

Dodge, and instructing said officer to give Father Swine-
berg all the assistance in his power. His objective point
was way down in old Mexico, across the borders of that
unknown region, those days, of New Mexico, Arizona,
and old Mexico, a distance from Fort Elliott, his starting
point, of over one thounsand miles. It was a desert, en-
tirely unknown, in those days, without water, wood, or
habitations, or civilization of any kind. His stock of trade
was splendid maps of the region he was to traverse,
encased in an oil-cloth covered tin tube. I, being familiar
with the terrible dangers and privations he would have
to undergo, from lack of food and water, exposure to the
elements both heat and cold, as well as the terrible storms
that visited that country, and some big rivers to cross,
tried to persuade him to desist. I told him it was as
much as his life was worth — that he must not go. He
said he had to go. I asked him, why. Shrugging his
shoulders, like a Frenchman would, he said: "Because
my bishop ordered me."

The commanding officer at Fort Elliott fitted out
Father Swineberg and another priest, who was to be his
traveling companion, with two fine horses, what grub
they could conveniently carry, and blankets. They had
no arms of any kind or description except knives; they
said they didn't need any. Remarkable to relate, they
made the trip, accompHshed their object, and came back
safely. Father Swineberg told me that they enjoyed the
trip. That once, when they were in one of the greatest
straits and lost without food or water, they ran into a
very large band of Indians, who received them kindly,
and several of the band understood Spanish and some
understood French. They stayed with the Indians about
a week, preaching alternately in French and Spanish,
which a good many of the Indians seemed to understand
and enjoy and appreciate.

Now comes my yellow fever episode which reminded
me of this story. When the great call was made from the

—159—

South to the North, for aid and nurses to subdue the terri-
ble scourge, Father Swineberg, with twenty-odd other
priests, nobly responded, well knowing they were going
to their death. Very few ever returned, and Father
Swineberg was among the number that went down. His
was a noble life.

There was a society known as "The Orients," in
Dodge City, with charitable work as its real object, and
fun as a side line. A few disparaging remarks, made by a
young blood who desired membership, subjected the indi-
vidual to a "side degree," upon which lavish hand per-
formed all sorts of excruciating tricks, which were absurd
and ridiculous. When it came to ridicule, the old-timer
was not sparing in punishment.

The greatest excitement ever caused in Dodge was
the advent of an Indian, one of the principal chiefs of the
Cheyennes. In the winter of 1872, W. D. Lee, of the
firm of Lee & Reynolds, doing a large business at Supply
as freighters, government contractors, suders, and Indian
traders combined, brought this Indian to Dodge City to
show him the wonders of the railroad and impress upon
him how civilization was advancing. There happened to
be several hunters in town at that time, driven in bv a
heavy storm and snow. No sooner did the Indian make
his appearance on the street than the excitement began.
Most of the hunters hated an Indian, and not a few of
them had suffered more or less from their depredations.
Among the latter was one Kirk Jordan, a very desperate
man, whose sister, brother-in-law, and whole family had
been wiped out by the savages, and their home and its
contents burned and every vestige of stock stolen. This
had happened in the northwest part of the state. Jordan
had sworn to kill the first Indian he saw, no matter what
the consequences might be. He was a leader and a favor-
ite with the hunters, and, together with his companions,
being inflated with liquor, had no trouble in getting fol-
lowers. We ran the Indian into a drug-store and locked

—160—

-^

A. J. Anthony
One of the Seven Old Timers of Dodge City

^

the doors. There was no egress from the rear, but two
famihes occupied houses adjoining the drug-store, and
someone quickly tore off one of the upright partition
boards that separated the drug store from the dweUings
containing the famiHes, and the Indian squeezed through.
The board was quickly and neatly replaced, leaving no
trace of its having been removed; so when the crowd of
excited hunters burst into the store and could not find
the Indian, they were as puzzled a lot as ever lost a trail
upon open prairie.

That afternoon I thought things had quieted down,
and I saddled one of Lee*s finest horses (Lee had brought
up a magnificent team), and led it around to the back
door — of course the Indian had been previously instructed
to mount and make for his tribe as fast as the horse would
carry him; but before I rapped at the door I; looked
around, and from the back of the dance hall, a hundred
yards distant, there were fifty buffalo guns leveled at me.
I knew those fellows had nothing against me, but I was
afraid some of the guns might go off by accident, and
wished right there that the ground would sink down deep
enough to cover me from the range of their guns. I led
the horse back to the stable as quickly and quietly as
possible, feeling relieved when inside. I at once dis-
patched a courier to the commander at the fort, with
the request that he send up a company of cavalry, but
he wouldn't do it. As soon as it got dark, Lee and I got
in his carriage, loaded with buffalo-robes, had the Indian
rushed out, robes piled on top of him, and went out of
Dodge on the run. We met Captain Tupper's troop of
the Sixth United States cavalry about a mile out, coming
after the chief. There were no more Indians seen in
Dodge except under big escort.

The following rules were posted in one of the Dodge

City hotels for the guidance of guests (some say rules

were stolen from Mark Twain's hotel).

—161—

HOTEL RULES

"These are the rules and regulations of this hotel.

"This house will be considered strictly intemperate.

"None but the brave deserve the fare.

"Persons owning bills for board w^ill be bored for bills.

"Boarders vi^ho do not v^ish to pay in advance are
requested to advance the pay.

"Borders are requested to wait on the colored cook
for meals.

"Sheets will be nightly changed once in six months —
oftener if necessary.

"Boarders are expected to pull off their boots if they
can conveniently do so.

"Beds with or without bedbugs.

"All moneys and other valuables are to be left in
charge of the proprietor. This is insisted upon, as he will
be held responsible for no losses."

And now follows an early day market report:

DODGE CITY MARKETS
(Corrected weekly by Wright, Beverly & Company).
Dodge City, Kansas, Jan. 5th, 1878.

Flour, per 100 lbs $2.50 @ $4.00

Corn Meal, per 100 lbs 2.00

Oats, per bu 45

Corn, per bu 56

Hides, Buffalo, per lb 03%

Wolf 75

Coyote 30

Skunks 10

Chickens, dressed, per lb 10

Turkeys, per lb i2^/4

Potatoes, per bu 1.40

Apples, dried, per lb 08 @ .10

Peaches, dried, per lb 12J4

Bacon, per lb 12V2

Hams, per lb 15 @ .17

—162—

@

•04'/4

@

1.25

@

.50

@

.50

Lard, per lb 12 @ .14

Beef, per lb 08 @ .10

Butter, per lb 30 @ .35

Eggs, per doz 35

Salt, per bbl 4.50

Coffee, per lb 25 @ .26

Tea, per lb 80 @ i.oo

Sugar, per lb .12 @ .14

Coal Oil, per gal 50

Coal, per ton 9.00 @ 10.00

I give this market report to show the difference
between then, 1878, and now.

The lexicographers of today should credit Dodge
City with contributions to our language, as certain signifi-
cations or meanings of three words, now very much used,
can be traced to our early philologists. The words are
"stinker," "stiff," and "joint." These words are not con-
sidered the sweetest nor most elegant in the language,
by our institutions of learning nor in the realms of culture
and refinement, yet they are very expressive and are
warranted by sufficient use.

The word "stinker", or rather the signification in
which it is used when applied to a person in a contempt-
uous way, originated in this way. In the early days of
this country, the buffalo or bison densely populated the
plains. The killing of this noble animal for the hide
was a great industry, and it was nothing uncommon for
the buffalo hunter to get a stand on a herd and kill scores
of them in a very short time. Such occurrences were
sometimes in winter, and, before the hunters could skin
all the animals, the carcasses would freeze and he would
be compelled to leave many frozen on the prairies. When
the weather moderated and the carcasses thawed, new-
comers or "tenderfeet," as we called them, would skin
them for the hides. Natural causes and decay would

render such hides very inferior and almost worthless, and,

—163—

as these thrifty beneficiaries of the prowess of the genuine
buffalo hunter were despised by him, the name "stinker"
was originated and appHed to him, and the word has
since suppHed the vocabulary of many, when their sys-
tems were surcharged with contempt and hatred.

The word "stiff," as applied to people in a contempt-
uous way, originated in Dodge City. The readers of this
book will gather from this record of the early history of
Dodge City, the fact that the lifeless remains of people
were a common sight here, in those days, and veneration
and respect for the dead was somewhat stinted, unless
some tie of friendship or relationship existed with the
departed. As the lifeless body of a human being soon
becomes rigid, our philologists substituted the easily
spoken word "stiff" for the ghostly word "corpse," in
referring to the dead in which they had no special inter-
est, and, from this, the word received an appropriate
application to such people as suggest death or worthless-
ness, or, in other words, "dead ones."

A very common signification or meaning of the word
"joint" is easily traced to Dodge City, and I here submit
my proof. I quote from an edition of the Dodge City
Times, dated June 2nd, 1877:

"Washington, D. C, May 17, '77.
"Editor Dodge City Times:

"I trust you will not take this, from its postmark
outside, as being an appointment to a lucrative official
position.

"Such is not the case. I write to the far West seek-
ing information. I see, at times, in your sprightly paper,
the use of the term or terms, 'go to the joint,' or *gone
to the joint,' etc.

"Will you please inform me what it means?

"Yours,
INQUIRER."

"We are always willing to give the people of Wash-
ington City any information they may desire on matters

—164 —

of public interest. In order that the president and his
cabinet may get a clear idea of this grave question, we
will endeavor to be explicit. Gilmore, on municipal elec-
tions, page 77, says, "The gang got to the joint in good
shape.' This is the best authority we have. As an in-
stance more easily understood by the average Washing-
tonian, suppose Hayes and Morton should get on a bender
and put their jewelry in soak for booze, then it would be
appropriate to say they *got to the joint' by this means.
For further particulars, address,

"L. McGLUE."

I remember well the first child born in Dodge. Early
in the morning, a young doctor came into the only drug
store in Dodge, with a look of thorough disgust on his
countenance, saying, "My God! I did something last
night that I never thought is possible to fall to my lot,
and I am so ashamed that I never will again practice in
Dodge. I delivered an illegitimate child from a notorious
woman, in a house of prostitution." The druggist and I
both laughed at him and told him he must not think of
leaving the profession for such a little thing as that; he
must keep right on and fortune would sure follow, as it
was a great field for his profession, and we knew he
was fully capable; and so he did, and has become one of
the most prominent, as well as skillful physicians, not
only of Dodge City, but the whole state of Kansas.

This was in the fall of 1872. Soon after, followed
the birth of Claude, son of Dr. T. L. and Sallie McCarty;
and close after him, Jesse Rath was born, son of Charles
and Carrie Rath, who died in infancy. So Claude McCarty
can well claim the distinction of being the first legitimate
child born in the town, and the eldest native.

-165—

Chapter VIII.

Populating Boot Hill

npHE first man killed in Dodge City was a big, tall,
black negro by the name of Tex, and who, though a
little fresh, was inoffensive. He was killed by a gambler
named Denver. Mr. Kelly had a raised platform in front
of his house, and the darky was standing in front and
below, in the street, during some excitement. There was
a crowd gathered, and some shots were fired over the
heads of the crowds, when this gambler fired at Texas and
he fell dead. No one knew who fired the shot and they
all thought it was an accident, but years afterwards the
gambler bragged about it. Some say it was one of the
most unprovoked murders ever committed, and that Den-
ver had not the slightest cause to kill, but did it out of
pure cussedness, when no one was looking. Others say
the men had an altercation of some kind, and Denver shot
him for fear Tex would get the drop on him. Anyhow,
no one knew who killed him, until Denver bragged about
it, a long time afterwards, and a long way from Dodge
City, and said he shot him in the top of the head just to
see him kick.

The first big killing was down in Tom Sherman's
dance hall, some time afterwards, between gamblers and
soldiers from the fort, in which row, I think, three or four
were killed and several wounded. One of the wounded
crawled off into the weeds where he was found next
day, and, strange to say, he got well, although he was
shot all to pieces. There was not much said about this
fight, I think because a soldier by the name of Hennessey
was killed. He was a bad man and the bully of the com-
pany, and I expect they thought he was a good riddance.

Before this fight, there was "a man for breakfast,"
to use a common expression, every once in a while, and

—166—

this was kept up all through the winter of 1872. It was a
common occurrence; in fact, so numerous were the kill-
ings that it is impossible to remember them all, and I shall
only note some of them. A man by the name of Brooks,
acting assistant-marshal, shot Browney, the yard-master,
through the head — over a girl, of course, by the name of
Captain Drew. Browney was removed to an old deserted
room at the Dodge House, and his girl. Captain Drew,
waited on him, and indeed she was a faithful nurse. The
ball entered the back of his head, and one could plainly
see the brains and bloody matter oozing out of the wound,
until it mattered over. One of the finest surgeons in the
United States army attended him. About the second day
after the shooting, I went with this surgeon to see him.
He and his girl were both crying; he was crying for
something to eat; she was crying because she could not
give it to him. She said: "Doctor, he wants fat bacon
and cabbage and potatoes and fat greasy beef, and says
he's starving." The doctor said to her: "Oh, well, let
him have whatever he wants. It is only a question of
time, and short time, for him on earth, but it is astonishing
how strong he keeps. You see, the ball is in his head, and
if I probe for it, it will kill him instantly." Now there
was no ball in his head. The ball entered one side of his
head and came out the other, just breaking one of the
brain or cell pans at the back of his head, and this only
was broken. The third day and the fourth day he was
alive, and the fifth day they took him east to a hospital.
As soon as the old blood and matter was washed off, they
saw what was the matter, and he soon got well and was
back at his old job in a few months.

A hunter by the name of Kirk Jordan (previously
mentioned), and Brooks had a shooting scrape, on the
street. Kirk Jordan had his big buffalo gun and would
have killed Brooks, but the latter jumped behind a barrel
of water. The ball, they say, went through the barrel,

—167—

water and all, and came out on the other side, but it had
lost its force. We hid Brooks under a bed, in a livery
stable, until night, when I took him to the fort, and he
made the fort siding next day, and took the train for the
East. I think these lessons were enough for him, as he
never came back. Good riddance for everybody.

These barrels of water were placed along the princi-
pal streets for protection from fire, but they were big
protection in several shooting scrapes. These shooting
scrapes, the first year, ended in the death of twenty-five,
and perhaps more than double that number wounded. All
those killed died with their boots on and were buried on
Boot Hill, but few of the number in coffins, on account
of the high price of lumber caused by the high freight
rates. Boot Hill is the highest and about the most promi-
nent hill in Dodge City, and is near the center of the
town. It derived its name from the fact that it was the
burying ground, in the early days, of those who died with
their boots on. There were about thirty persons buried
there, all with their boots on and without coffins.

Now, to protect ourselves and property, we were com-
pelled to organize a Vigilance Committee. Our very best
citizens promptly enrolled themselves, and, for a while, it
fulfilled its mission to the letter and acted like a charm,
and we were congratulating ourselves on our success. The
committee only had to resort to extreme measures a few
times, and gave the hard characters warning to leave
town, which they promptly did.

But what I was afraid would happen did happen. I
had pleaded and argued against the organization for this
reason, namely: hard, bad men kept creeping in and join-
ing until they outnumbered the men who had joined it
for the public good — until they greatly outnumbered the
good members, and when they felt themselves in power,
they proceeded to use that power to avenge their griev-
ances and for their own selfish purposes, until it was a
farce as well as an outrage on common decency. They got

—168—

so notoriously bad and committed so many crimes, that
the good members deserted them, and the people arose
in their might and put a stop to their doings. They had
gone too far, and saw their mistake after it was too late.
The last straw was the cold-blooded, brutal murder of a
polite, inoffensive, industrious negro named Taylor, who
drove a hack between the fort and Dodge City. Whilst
Taylor was in a store, making purchases, a lot of drunken
fellows got into his wagon and was driving it off. When
Taylor ran out and tried to stop them, they say a man,
by the name of Scotty, shot him, and, after Taylor fell,
several of them kept pumping lead into him. This created
a big row, as the negro had been a servant for Colonel
Richard I. Dodge, commander of the fort, who took up
his cause and sent some of them to the penitentiary.
Scotty got away and was never heard of afterwards.

When railroads and other companies wanted fighting
men (or gunmen, as they are now called), to protect their
interests, they came to Dodge City after them, and here
they could sure be found. Large sums of money were
paid out to them, and here they came back to spend it.
This all added to Dodge's notoriety, and many a bunch
of gunmen went from Dodge. Besides these men being
good shots, they did not know what fear was — they had
been too well trained by experience and hardships. The
buffalo hunters lived on the prairie or out in the open,
enduring all kinds of weather, and living on wild game,
often without bread, and scarcely ever did they have
vegetables of any description. Strong, black coffee was
their drink, as water was scarce and hardly ever pure,
and they were often out for six months without seeing
inside of a house. The cowboys were about as hardy and
wild, as they, too, were in the open for months without
coming in contact with civilization, and when they
reached Dodge City, they made Rome howl. The freight-
ers were about the same kind of animals, perfectly fear-
less. Most of these men were naturally brave, and their

—169—

manner of living made them more so. Indeed, they did
not know fear, or any such thing as sickness — poorly fed
and poorer clad; but they enjoyed good pay for the pri-
vations they endured, and vv^hen these three elements got
together, vi^ith a few^ drinks of red liquor under their
belts, you could reckon there w^as something doing. They
feared neither God, man, nor the devil, and so reckless
they vi^ould pit themselves, like Ajax, against lightning,
if they ran into it.

It had always been the cowboys' boast as well as de-
light to intimidate the officers of every town on the trail,
run the officers out of town, and run the town themselves,
shooting up buildings, through doors and windows, and
even at innocent persons on the street, just for amusement,
but not so in Dodge. They only tried it a few times, and
they got such a dose, they never attempted it again. You
see, here the cowboys were up against a tougher crowd
than themselves and equally as brave and reckless, and
they were the hunters, and freighters — "bull- whackers"
and "mule-skinners", they were called. The good citizens
of Dodge were wise enough to choose officers who were
equal to the emergency. The high officials of the Santa
Fe Railroad wrote me several times not to choose such
rough officers — to get nice, gentlemanly, young fellows
to look after the welfare of Dodge and enforce its laws.
I promptly asnwered them back that you must fight the
devil with fire, and, if we put in a tenderfoot for marshal,
they would run him out of town. We had to put in men
who were good shots and would sure go to front when
they were called on, and these desperadoes knew it.

The last time the cowboys attempted to run the town,
they had chosen their time well. Along late in the after-
noon was the quiet time in Dodge; the marshal took his
rest then, for this reason. So the cowboys tanked up
pretty well, jumped their horses, and rode recklessly up
and down Front Street, shooting their guns and firing
through doors and windows, and then making a dash for

—170—

camp. But before they got to the bridge, Jack Bridges,
our marshal, was out with a big buflalo gun, and he
dropped one of them, his horse went on, and so did the
others. It was a long shot and probably a chance one, as
Jack was several hundred yards distant.

There was big excitement over this. I said: "Put
me on the jury and I will be elected foreman and settle
this question forever." I said to the jury: "We must
bring in a verdict of justifiable homicide. We are bound
to do this to protect our officers and save further killings.
It is the best thing we can do for both sides.' Some ■
argued that these men had stopped their lawlessness, were
trying to get back to camp, were nearly out of the town
limits, and the officer ought to have let them go; and if
we returned such a verdict, the stock men would boycott
me, and, instead of my store being headquarters for the
stock men and selling them more than twice the amount
of goods that all the other stores sold together, they
would quit me entirely and I would sell them nothing. I
said: "I will risk all that. They may be angry at first, but
when they reflect that if we had condemned the officer
for shooting the cowboy, it would give them encourage-
ment, and they would come over and shoot up the town,
regardless of consequences, and in the end there would be
a dozen killed." I was satisfied the part we took would
stop it forever; and so it did. As soon as the stock men
got over their anger, they came to me and congratulated
me on the stand I took, and said they could see it now
in the light I presented it.

There was no more shooting up the town. Strict

orders were given by the marshal, when cowboys rode in,

to take their guns out of the holsters, and bring them

across to Wright & Beverley's store, where a receipt was

given for them. And, my! what piles there were of them.

At times they were piled up by the hundred. This order

was strictly obeyed and proved to be a grand success,

because many of the cowboys would proceed at once to

—171—

tank up, and many would have been the kilHngs if they
could have got their guns when they were drunk; but
they were never given back unless the owners were per-
fectly sober.

In the spring of 1878, there was a big fight between
Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railroad and the Denver
& Rio Grande, to get possession of and hold the Grand
Canyon of the Arkansas River where it comes out of the
mountains just above Canon City, Colorado. Of course,
the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe folks came to Dodge
City for fighters and gunmen. It was natural for them
to do so, for where in the whole universe were there to
be found bitter men for a desperate encounter of this kind.
Dodge City bred such bold, reckless men, and it was their
pride and delight to be called upon to do such work. They
were quick and accurate on the trigger, and these little
encounters kept them in good training. They were called
to arms by the railroad agent, Mr. J. H. Phillips. Twenty
of the brave boys promptly responded, among whom
might be numbered some of Dodge's most accomplished
sluggers and bruisers and dead shots, headed by the gal-
lant Captain Webb. They put down their names with a
firm resolve to get to the joint in creditable style, in case
of danger. The Dodge City Times remarks:

"Towering like a giant among smaller men, was one
of Erin's bravest sons whose name is Kinch Riley. Jerry
Converse, a Scotchman, descendant from a warlike clan,
joined the ranks of war. There were other braves who
joined the ranks, but we are unable to get a list of their
names. We will bet a ten-cent note they clear the track
of every obstruction." Which they did in creditable style.

Shooting all along the line, and only one man hurt!
This does seem marvelous, for the number of shots fired,
yet the record is true of the story I am about to relate.
This was one of the most daring and dangerous shooting
scrapes that Dodge City has ever experienced, and God
knows, she has had many of them.

—172—

It seems that Peacock and James Masterson, a second
brother of Bat, ran a dance hall together. For some
reason, Masterson wanted to discharge their bar-keeper,
Al Updegraph, a brother-in-law of Peacock, which Pea-
cock refused to do, over which they had serious difficulty;
and James Masterson telegraphed his brother. Bat, to
come and help him out of his difficulties. I expect he
made his story big, for he was in great danger, if the
threats had been carried out. Bat thought so, at least, for
he came at once, with a friend.

Soon after his arrival, he saw Peaccok and Updegraph
going toward the depot. Bat holloed to them to stop,
which I expect they thought a challenge, and each made
for the corner of the little calaboose across the street. Bat
droppd behind a railroad cut, and the ball opened; and
it was hot and heavy, for about ten minutes, when parties
from each side the street took a hand. One side was firing
across at the other, and vice versa, the combatants being
in the center. When Updegraph was supposed to be mor-
tally wounded and his ammunition exhausted, he turned
and ran to his side of the street, and, after a little, so did
Peacock, when Bat walked back to the opposite side and
gave himself up to the officers. The houses were riddled
on each side of the street. Some had three or four balls
in them; and no one seemed to know who did the shoot-
ing, outside the parties directly concerned. It caused
great excitement, at first, but the cooler heads thought
discretion was the better part of valor, and, as both parties
were to blame, they settled the difficulties amicably, and
Bat took his brother away with him. Both parties dis-
played great courage. They stood up and shot at each
other until their ammunition was exhausted.

Though all did not contribute directly to the popula-
tion of Boot Hill, there were many deeds of violence com-
mitted in Dodge City's first ten years of life, that paral-
leled any which added a subject for interment in that

—173—

primitive burying ground. Such a case was the shooting
of Dora Hand, a celebrated actress.

The kiUing of Dora Hand was an accident; still, it
was intended for a cold-blooded murder, so was accidental
only in the victim that suffered. It seems that Mayor
James Kelly and a very rich cattleman's son, who had
marketed many thousand head of cattle in Dodge, during
the summer, had a drunken altercation. It did not amount
to much, at the time, but, to do the subject justice, they
say that Kelly did treat Kennedy badly. Anyhow, Ken-
nedy got the worst of it. This aroused his half-breed
nature. He quietly went to Kansas City, bought him the
best horse that money could secure, and brought him back
to Dodge. In the meantime, Mr. Kelly had left his place
of abode, on account of sickness, and Miss Dora Hai)d
was occupying his residence and bed. Kennedy, of course,
was not aware of this. During the night of his return, or
about four o'clock next morning, he ordered his horse and
went to Kelly's residence and fired two shots through the
door, without dismounting, and rode away. The ball
struck Miss Hand in the right side under the arm, killing
her instantly. She never woke up.

Kennedy took a direction just opposite to his ranch.
The officers had reason to believe who did the killing,
but did not start in pursuit until the afternoon. The of-
ficers in pursuit were Sheriff Masterson, Wyat Erb,
Charles Bassett, Duffy, and William Tighlman, as in-
trepid a posse as ever pulled a trigger. They went as far
as Meade City, where they knew their quarry had to pass
and went into camp in a very careless manner. In fact,
they arranged so as to completely throw Kennedy off his
guard, and he rode right into them, when he was ordered
three times to throw up his hands. Instead of doing so,
he struck his horse with his quirt, when several shots
were fired by the officers, one shot taking effect in his
left shoulder, making a dangerous wound. Three shots
struck the horse, killing him instantly. The horse fell

—174—

partly on Kennedy, and Sheriff Masterson said, in pulling
him out, he had hold of the wounded arm and could hear
the bones craunch. Not a groan did Kennedy let out of
him, although the pain must have been fearful. And
all he said was, "You sons of b — , I will get even with you
for this."

Under the skillful operation of Drs. McCarty and
Tremaine, Kennedy recovered, after a long sickness. They
took four inches of the bone out, near the elbow. Of
course, the arm was useless, but he used the other well
enough to kill several people afterwards, but finally met
his death by some one a little quicker on the trigger than
himself. Miss Dora Hand was a celebrated actress and
would have made her mark should she have lived.
- One Sunday night in October, 1883, there was a fatal
encounter between two negroes, Henry Hilton and Nig-
ger Bill, two as brave and desperate characters as ever
belonged to the colored race. Some said they were both
struck on the same girl and this was the cause.

Henry was under bonds for murder, of which the
following is the circumstances. Negro Henry was the
owner of a ranch and a little bunch of cattle. Coming in
with a lot of white cowboys, they began joshing Henry,
and one of them attempted to throw a rope over him.
Henry warned them he would not stand any such rough
treatment, if he was a nigger. He did this in a dignified
and determined manner. When one rode up and lassoed
him, almost jerking him from his horse, Henry pulled his
gun and killed him. About half of the cowboys said he
was justifiable in killing his man; it was self defense, for
if he had not killed him, he would have jerked him from
his horse and probably killed Henry.

Negro Bill Smith was equally brave, and had been
tried more than once. They were both found, locked in
each other's arms (you might say), the next morning,
lying on the floor in front of the bar, their empty six-
shooters lying by the side of each one. The affair must

—175—

have occurred some time after midnight, but no one was
on hand to see the fight, and they died without a witness.
• T. C. Nixon, assistant city marshal, was murdered by
Dave Mathers, known as "Mysterious Dave", on the eve-
ning of July 21 St, 1884. The cause of the shooting was on
account of a shooting altercation between the two on the
Friday evening previous. In this instance, it is alleged,
Nixon had fired on Mathers, the shot taking no effect.
On the following Monday evening Mathers called to
Nixon, and fired the fatal shot. This circumstance is
mentioned as one of the cold-blooded deeds, frequently
taking place in frontier days. And, as usual, to use the
French proverb for the cause, "Search the woman."

A wild tale of the plains is an account of a horrible
crime committed in Nebraska, and the story seems almost
incredible. A young Englishman, violating the confidence
of his friend, a ranchman, is found in bed with the latter 's
wife. This continues for some months until, in the latter
part of May, 1884, one of the cowboys, who had a griev-
ance against Burbank, surprised him and Mrs. Wilson in
a compromising situation and reported it to the woman's
husband, whose jealousy had already been aroused. At
night, Burbank was captured while asleep in bed, by
Wilson and three of his men, and bound before he had
any show to make resistance. After mutilating him in
a shocking manner, Burbank had been stripped of every
bit of clothing and bound on the back of a wild broncho,
which was started off by a vigorous lashing. Before morn-
ing, Burbank became unconscious, and was, therefore,
unable to tell anything about his terrible trip. He thinks
the outrage was committed on the night of May 27th,
and he was rescued on the morning of June 3rd, which
would make seven days that he had been traveling about
the plains on the horse's back, without food or drink, and
exposed to the sun and wind. Wilson's ranch is two
hundred miles from the spot where Burbank was found,
but it is hardly probable that the broncho took a direct

—176—

BO •,

course, and, therefore must have covered many more miles
in his wild journey. When fully restored to health, Bur-
bank proposed to make a visit of retaliation on Wilson,
but it is unknown what took place.

The young man was unconscious when found, and
his recovery was slow. The details, in full, of the story,
would lend credence to the tale; but this modern Mazep-
pa suffered a greater ordeal than the orthodox Mazeppa.
This story is vouched for as true, and it is printed in these
pages as an example of plains' civilization.

"Odd characters" would hardly express the meaning
of the term, "bad men" — the gun shooters of the frontier
days; and many of these men had a habitation in Dodge
City. There was Wild Bill, who was gentle in manner;
Buffalo Bill, who was a typical plains gentleman; Cher-
okee Bill, with too many Indian characteristics to be des-
ignated otherwise; Prairie Dog Dave, uncompromising
and turbulent; Mysterious Dave, who stealthily employed
his time; Fat Jack, a jolly fellow and wore good clothes;
Cock-Eyed Frank, credited with drowning a man at
Dodge City; Dutch Henry, a man of passive nature, but
a slick one in horses and murders; and many others too
numerous to mention; and many of them, no doubt,
have paid the penalty of their crimes.

Several times, in these pages, the "dead line" is men-
tioned. The term had two meanings, in early Dodge
phraseology. One was used in connection with the cattle
trade; the other referred to the deeds of violence which
were so frequent in the border town, and was an imagin-
ary line, running east and west, south of the railroad
track in Dodge City, having particular reference to the
danger of passing this line after nine o'clock of an eve-
ning, owing to the vicious character of certain citizens
who haunted the south side. If a tenderfoot crossed this
"dead" line after the hour named, he was likely to be-
come a "creature of circumstances"; and yet, there were

— 177-t-

men who did not heed the warning, and took their Hves
in their own hands.

"Wicked Dodge" was frequently done up in prose
and verse, and its deeds atoned for in extenuating circum-
stances; but in every phase of betterment the well being
was given newspaper mention, for it is stated: "Dodge
City is not the town it used to be. That is, it is not so
bad a place in the eyes of the people who do not sanction
outlawry and lewdness." But Dodge City progressed in
morality and goodness until it became a city of excellent
character.

Even the memory of the wild, wicked days will soon
be effaced, but, as yet, when one recounts their wild
stories and looks upon the scenes of that wildness and
wickedness, one can almost fancy the shades of defunct
bad men still walking up and down their old haunts and
glaring savagely at the insipidity of their present civilized
aspect. The "Denver Republican" expresses a similar
thought in a certain short poem, thus:

THE TWO-GUN MAN

The Two-Gun Man walked through the town.

And found the sidewalk clear;
He looked around, with ugly frown,

But not a soul was near.
The streets were silent. Loud and shrill,

No cowboy raised a shout;
Like panther bent upon the kill.

The Two-Gun Man walked out.

The Two-Gun Man was small and quick;

His eyes were narrow slits;
He didn't hail from Bitter Creek,

Nor shoot the town to bits;
He drank, alone, deep draughts of sin.

Then pushed away his glass
—178—

And silenced was each dance halPs din,
When by the door he'd pass.

One day, rode forth this man of wrath,

Upon the distant plain,
And ne'er did he retrace his path.

Nor was he seen again;
The cow town fell into decay;

No spurred heels pressed its walks;
But, through its grass-grown ways, they say.

The Two-Gun Man still stalks.

-179-

Chapter IX.

The Administration of Justice on the Frontier

T^HE Story of Justice Joyce, in a previous chapter, suffi-
■*" ciently proves that the interpretation of lav^ and the
proceedings of courts of justice, were, to say the least,
irregular, in their infant days on the Kansas plains.
That Joyce v^as not alone in his peculiar legal practices,
is verified by authentic accounts of similar practices in
other places, not the least of which was Dodge City.

A cattleman by the name of Peppard was one whom
the officers disliked to see come to Dodge. Invariably
rows began then, and he was in all of them. While driv-
ing up a bunch of beeves to Dodge, so the story goes,
Peppard's boss killed the negro cook. It has been said
that the boss and Peppard were great friends and chums,
and the boss killed the cook because Peppard wanted him
killed. Anyway, a short time after they arrived at Dodge,
Peppard and his boss fell out. The next morning Peppard
saw him behind a bar in one of the saloons, and straight-
way procured a shotgun loaded with buck, and turned
it loose at the boss, who dodged behind the ice chest,
which was riddled. A very narrow escape for the boss
it was. Peppard then took a man and dug up the dead
negro, chopped off his head with an ax, brought it in a
sack to within thirty miles of Dodge, when nightful
overtook them and they had to lay out. The negro had
been dead two weeks, and it was very warm weather.
Wolves were attracted by the scent, and made a most
terrible racket around the camp fire, and it was decidedly
unpleasant for the two men. Peppard's man weakened
first and said they must remove the head or the camp.
Inasmuch as the head was the easier to remove, they took
it a mile or two away. Then the wolves took it and the
sack several miles further, and they had much difficulty

—180—

in finding it. At last it was produced in court with the
bullet-hole in the skull, and the perplexing question was
sprung on the court as to its jurisdiction to hold an in-
quest when only a fractional part of the remains was pro-
duced in court. The case was ably argued, pro and con.
Those in favor of holding the inquest maintained that the
production of the head in court included the other nec-
essary parts of the anatomy, and was the best evidence
on earth of his demise, and that the bullet-hole was a
silent witness of his taking-off. The opposition argued
that if the court had jurisdiction to hold an inquest on
the head, there was no reason why the courts of Com-
anche county and other localities could not do the same
on any other fractional part of the anatomy which might
be found scattered over their bailiwick. The court, after
mature deliberation, decided to give continuance until
such time as the rest of the remains could be produced in
court. Peppard left the town disgusted with the deci-
sion, and, for all I know to the contrary, the case is still
docketed for continuance.

Here is an early day account of a proceeding in the
Dodge City Police Court:

" 'The marshal will preserve strict order,' said the
judge. 'Any person caught throwing turnips, cigar
stumps, beets, or old quids of tobacco, at this court, will
be immediately arraigned before this bar of justice."
Then Joe looked savagely at the mob in attendance,
itched his ivory handle a little to the left, and adjusted
his mustache. 'Trot out the wicked and unfortunate, and
let the cotillion commence,' said the judge.

" 'City vs. James Martin' — but just then, a complaint
not on file had to be attended to, and 'Reverent' John
Walsh, of Las Animas, took the throne of justice, while
the judge stepped over to Hoover's, for a drink of old rye
to brace him up for the ordeal to come.

"You are here for horse stealing," says Walsh. "I

can clean out the d — d court," says Martin, and the city

—181—

attorney was banged into a pigeon-hole in the desk, the
table upset, the windows kicked out, and the railing
broke down. When order was restored, Joe's thumb was
'some chawed,' Assistant Marshal Masterson's nose sliced
a trifle, and the rantankerous originator of all this trouble,
James Martin, Esquire, was bleeding from a half dozen
cuts on the head, inflicted by Masterson's revolver. Then
Walsh was deposed and Judge Frost took his seat, chew-
ing burnt coffee for his complexion.

"The evidence was brief and to the point. 'Again,'
said the judge, as he rested his alabaster brow on his left
paw, 'do you appear within this sacred realm, of which
I, and I only, am high muck-i-muck. You have disturbed
the quiet of our lovely village. Why, instead of letting
the demon of passion fever your brain into this fray, did
you not shake hands and call it all a mistake. Then the
lion and the lamb would have lain down together, and
white-robed Peace would have fanned you with her
silvery wings, and elevated your thoughts to the good and
pure by her smiles of approbation. But, no! You went
to chawing and clawing and pulling hair. It's ten dol-
lars and costs, Mr. Martin.'

" 'Make way for the witnesses,' says Joe, as he winks
at the two coons that come to the front, and plants one on
each side of Mr. Morphy who appears for the defendant.
'A thorn between two roses.'

"It was the City vs. Monroe Henderson, all being
'niggas' except the city attorney and Mr. Morphy. The
prosecuting witness. Miss Carrie, looked 'the last rose of
summer all faded and gone.' Her best heart's blood
(pumped from her nose) was freely bespattering the light
folds which but feebly hid her palpitating bosom. Her
star-board eye was closed, and a lump like a burnt biscuit
ornamented her forehead. The evidence showed that the
idol of her affections, a certain moke named Harris, had
first busted her eye, lossened her ribs, and kicked the
stuffing generally out of Miss Carrie. Carrie then got

—182—

on the warpath, procured a hollow-ground razor, flung
tin cans at the defendant, and used such naughty language
as made the judge breathe a silent prayer, and caused
Walsh to take to the open air in horror. But the fact
still remained that the defendant had 'pasted' her one
on the nose. The city attorney dwelt upon the heinous-
ness of a strong giant man smiting a frail woman. Mr.
Morphy, for the defendant, told two or three good stories,
bragged on the court, winked at the witnesses, and
thought he had a good case; but the marble jaws of justice
snapped with firmness, and it was five dollars and costs,
and the court stood adjourned.

Joe Waters tells a humorous story which is a fair
specimen of the rough verbal joking, common to early
day conservation. It was issued in 1881, is entitled,
"The Attorney for Jesus," and runs as follows, the loca-
tion being the Ford county court at Dodge City, of course;
and Waters the prosecuting attorney. The case appeared
on the docket entitled, "The State of Kansas vs. Jesus
Perea," was solemnly called by the judge, and the pro-
ceedings are in this wise, by Waters:

" The State vs. Jesus Perea,' the court now calls;
*I appear for Jesus,' Gryden bawls;
*His last name you will please to state.
Or, Harry, I will fine you, sure as fate.'

" Terea,' says Gryden, so low the court could hardly

hear,
*He is the man for whom I appear;'
Says the court, sotto voce, 'When the savior employs such

as him.
Our chances for heaven are getting quite slim." '

The wit or humor of attorney and court was not con-
fined to bench and bar, but the following is a terse argu-
ment by a lay woman:

"A good story is told of a Dodge City divorce suit.

The jury refused to grant the lady a divorce, and, when

—183—

the court inquired if she would Hke to *poll the jury,'
she said: That is just what I would delight to do if your
honor will give me a pole;' and the glance she gave the
jury made the cold chills run up and down their spinal
columns."

Dodge City had some unique characters in the judicial
harness. Bill Nye, the humorist of the Laramie, Wyom-
ing, "Boomerang," has a story about "Mcintosh on
Fees," a justice of the peace named Mcintosh furnishing
the humorist with his droll account. On one occasion, in
a case before Justice Mcintosh, the jury rendered a ver-
dict for the plaintiff who was unable to pay the fees; so
the justice promptly reversed the judgment in favor of
the defendant who made good. The plaintiff appealed
the case, but was killed one morning before breakfast,
prior to the session of the circuit court which was to
dispose of the case.

"Mcintosh on Fees" didn't know the difference
between quo warranto and the erysipelas, but he had more
dignity than the chief justice of the supreme court of the
United States. Once, however, his dignity was seriously
ruffled, when old Spangler brought to him the exhumed
head of a deceased darkey in a gunny-sack, for the in-
quest mentioned at the beginning of this chapter. The
gruesome find, with an aperature on the side of the
head, so mortified the dignity of the justice that he re-
signed his office and left the country.

The subject of the administration of justice on the
frontier would hardly be duly considered without some
reference to lynchings. But, in speaking of lynching,
in the early days of Dodge City, there was not much of
this kind of work carried on. When certain party or
parties got too obnozious to the decent part of the com-
munity, they would be notified to leave town, and, if they
did not go, the vigilants or respectable citizens would
raise up in their might and shoot them to death. There

were only two lynchings or hangings. One occurred in

—184—

the west part of town, for horse stealing. One night,
long after sundown, a small party of men rode into town,
stopped at the store, bought a piece of rope, and quietly
mounted and rode away. The next day, report reached
Dodge that three men were hanging to a big cottonwood
tree — a large lone tree, in the center of a nice little bot-
tom near the crossing of Saw Log Creek, about twelve
miles northeast of Dodge.

One of the three was a young man, about twenty-one,
Calahan by name, who had been brought up in the right
way. His father was a good Christian gentleman, and a
minister of the gospel, and it nearly broke his heart, as
well as the mother's. His uncle. Dr. Calahan, was the
leading dentist of Topeka, and stood at the head of his
profession throughout the state. Of course, they took his
remains to Topeka for decent burial. The young man
had no idea what he was getting into when he came to
Dodge a stranger, looking for work, and hired out to herd
horses for a noted horse thief, Owens by name, residing
in Dodge. But Calahan gradually drifted in with them,
and, I suppose, found the employment so fascinating and
exciting that he became one of them. But this broke up
the Owens gang here, and Owens emigrated north, where
his business was more flourishing, and soon after, his son
was hung for the same crime.

—185-

Chapter X.

The Passing of the Buffalo

From the nature and habits of the buffalo hunters as
already described, and from the fact of his having figured
so extensively in all these stories of frontier life, it w^ill
readily be seen that the buffalo hunter was closely identi-
fied w^ith every phase of existence, of that period and
locality. Indeed, for many years, the great herds of
buffalo v^as the pivot around which swung the greater
part of the thrilling activities of the plains in early days.
When the railroad appeared the shipping of buffalo hides
and meat had much to do with the immense trade that
immediately sprang up in frontier towns like Dodge City.
With the removal of the buffaloes from the range, room
was made for the cattleman who immediately followed
with his wide-stretching and important industry. And,
again, the passing of the buffalo herds, at the hands of
the white men, was one of the prime causes of Indian
hostility, and the keynote of their principal grievance
against the whites, and its resulting atrocities and blood-
shed.

In a former chapter, I endeavored to give an idea of
the size of the buffalo herds of early days. I here give
a clipping from the Dodge City Times, of August i8th,
1877, in support of my estimate of the great number of
buffaloes on the plains at that time:

TERRIBLE SLAUGHTER OF BUFFALO

"Dickinson County has a buffalo hunter by the name
of Mr. Warnock, who has killed as high as 658 in one
winter. — Edwards County Leader.

"O, dear, what a mighty hunter! Ford County has
twenty men who each have killed five times that many in
one winter. The best on record, however, is that of Tom

—186—

Nickson, who killed 120 at one stand in forty minutes,
and who, from the 15th of September to the 20th of Octo-
ber, killed 2,173 buffaloes. Come on with some more big
hunters if you have any."

This slaughter, of course was resented by the Indians
and the conflicts between them and the hunters were
fierce and frequent. In fact, the hunters were among the
most intrepid and determined of Indian fighters, and
were known as such. In John R. Cook's remarkable book,
"The Border and the Buffalo," remarkable not only for
its wonderful stories of Indian fights and terrible suffer-
ing from thirst, but remarkable also for its honest truth-
fulness, he says: "That noble band of buffalo hunters
who stood shoulder to shoulder and fought Kiowas,
Comanches, and Staked Plains Apaches, during the sum-
mer of 1877, on the Llano Estacado, or the Staked Plains
of Texas."

This refers to a body of men, largely from Dodge
City, and Charles Rath and myself among the latter, who
previously located in that country. On our arrival, we
camped on a surface lake whose waters were from a
June waterspout or cloud-burst, and now covered a
surface of about five acres of ground. Lieutenant Coop-
er's measurement. In the center of the basin it showed
a depth of thirty-three inches. Here we witnessed a
remarkable sight. At one time, during the day, could
be seen horses, mules, buffaloes, antelope, coyotes, wolves,
a sand hill crane, negro soldiers, white men, our part
Cherokee Indian guide, and the Mexican guide, all drink-
ing and bathing, at one and the same time, from this lake.
Nearly all these men were from Dodge City; that is why
I mention them, and you will hear of their heroic deeds
of bravery and suffering further along.

Outside of a tented circus, that mentioned was one
of the greatest aggregations of the animal kingdom, on
so small a space of land and water. One can imagine
what kind of water this must have been when taking into

—187—

account that nearly a month previous it had suddenly
fallen from the clouds, upon a dry, sun parched soil with
a hard-pan bottom, being exposed to a broiling hot sun
about sixteen hours of every tw^enty-four, v^hile the ther-
mometer v^as far above one hundred degrees Fahrenheit,
and an occasional herd of buffaloes standing or w^lWow-
ing in it, not to mention the ever coming and going
antelope, w^ild horse, v^olves, the snipe, curlew, cranes
and other wild fowl and animals, all of which frequented
this place for many miles around. And yet, we mixed
bread, made coffee, and filled our canteens as well as our
bellies with it. And yet again, there were men in our
party who, in six more days would, like Esau, have sold
their birthright for the privilege of drinking and bathing
in this same decoction. This was on the Staked Plains —
Llano Estacado.

The spring of 1877, the Indians had got very bold.
They raided the Texas frontier for hundreds of miles,
not only stealing their stock but burning the settlers'
homes and killing the women and children, or carrying
them into captivity which was worse than death. Cap-
tain Lee, of the Tenth cavalry, a gallant, brave officer
and Indian fighter, had rendered a splendid service by
breaking up and literally destroying a band of Staked
Plains Indians, bringing into Fort Griffin all the women
and children and a number of curiosities. As these In-
dians got all their supplies through half-breed Mexicans,
strange to say, all these supplies came from way down on
the Gulf of California, hundreds of miles overland. And
I will interpolate here, that these Indian women and
children never saw a white man before they were cap-
tured.

Captain Lee, at one time, commanded Fort Dodge,
and was stationed there a long time. While he was a
brave and daring officer and did great service, it resulted
in stirring up these Indians, making them more revenge-
ful, villainous, and bloodthirsty than ever. They now

—188—

began to depredate on the hunters, kiUing several of the
best and most influential of them, and running off their
stock. This the hunters could not stand, so they got
together at Charles Rath's store (a place they named
"Rath," and, as I said before, most of these hunters had
followed Rath down from Dodge City), and organized.
There were not more than fifty of them, but my, what
men! Each was a host within himself . They feared noth-
ing and would go anywhere, against anything wearing a
breech-clout, no matter how great the number. I do
not give the names of these brave men because I remem-
ber but a few of their names and, therefore, mention them
collectively.

This little band of brave men were treated liberally
by the stock men, those who had lost horses by the Indian
raids. They were given mounts, and these stock men also
gave the hunters bills of sale to any horses of their brand
they might capture. They knew to encourage these men
and lend them assistance was protecting their frontier.

The hunters chose Mr. Jim Harvey, I think, for their
captain, and they chose wisely and well. They organized
thoroughly and then started for the Indians. They had
a few skirmishes and lost a few men, and also went
through great hardships on account of hunger, thirst,
cold and exposure, but they kept steadily on the trail.
You see, these hardy men had all the endurance of the
Indian, could stand as much punishment in the way of
hunger, thirst, and cold, were good riders, good shots,
and superior in every way to the Indians.

Finally, they discovered about where the main camp
of the Indians was, about the middle of March, 1877. The
trail got warm, and they knew they were in close prox-
imity to the main camp at some water holes on the Staked
Plains. This country was new to the hunters and they
knew they were up against a big band of Indians. Never-
theless, they were determined to fight them, no matter at

what odds.

—189—

In the afternoon they discovered an Indian scout.
Of course, they had to kill him; if he escaped he would
warn the camp. Now then, after this happened, the
hunters were obliged to use due diligence in attacking
the camp because when the Indian scout did not turn up
in a certain time, the Indians' suspicions would be arous-
ed. The hunters expected to discover the camp and attack
just before day, but they had difficulty in finding the
camp in the night. Long after midnight, however, the
hunters' scouts got on to it, but by the time the scouts got
back to the boys and reported, nothwithstanding they
made great haste, it was after sunrise before the hunters
got to it. This frustrated all their plans, but the hunters
attacked them gallantly and rode into sure range and
opened fire. Unfortunately, nearly the first volley from
the Indians one of the hunters was shot from his horse
and another had his horse killed under him and in falling
broke his wrist, while their main guide, Hosea, was shot
through the shoulder. Thus handicapped with three badly
wounded men from their little band, one having to be
carried back on a stretcher which required three or four
men, all under a murderous fire, no wonder they had to
retreat back to the hills, but fighting every step of the
way. And, if I remember rightly, the Indians afterwards
acknowledged to Captain Lee, that they lost over thirty
men killed outright, and a much larger number wound-
ed, and they abandoned everything to get away with their
women and children. They abandoned, on their trail,
several hundred head of horses.

Now these forty hunters were fighting three hundred
warriors. It was a most wonderful fight and broke the
backbone of the Indian depredations. There were only
a few raids made after this, and I quote from Cook who
says:

"There was a bill up in the Texas legislature, to pro-
tect the buffalo from the hunters, when General Sheridan
went before that body and said: 'Instead of stopping

—190—

the hunters, you ought to give them a hearty, unanimous
vote of thanks, and give each hunter a medal of bronze
with a dead buffalo on one side and discouraged Indian
on the other. These men ^ have done more in the last
two years, and will do more in the next year to settle
the vexed Indian question, than the regular army has
done in the last thirty. They are destroying the Indians'
commissary, and it is a well-known fact that an army,
losing its base of supplies, is placed at a great disad-
vantage. Send them powder and lead, if you will, but,
for the sake of peace, let them kill, skin, and sell until
the buffalo are exterminated. Then your prairies can
be covered with cattle and the cowboy, who follows the
hunter as a second forerunner of an advanced civiliza-

tion.' "

How literally true his prediction has become !

Naturally, the affairs and movements of the hunters
was the foundation for much of the news of the day, at
this period. The following is a common newspaper item
in 1878:

"Messrs. T. B. Van Voorhis, J. A. Minor, H. L.

Thompson, Ira Pettys, George W. Taylor, Frank Van

Voorhis, Frank Harder, and D. C. Macks, all residents

of the eastern portion of Ford County, arrived in the

city last Tuesday after an absence of seven weeks on a

hunting expedition through the southern country. While

hunting on the Salt Fork of Red River the party found

a span of mules that had been stollen from Van Voorhis

last July. They were in possession of Milton Burr who

had purchased them of Chummy Jones who is now in

hell, if there is such a place. Mr. Burr, upon hearing the

evidence of the claimant promptly turned the mules over

to the owner who brought them home with him. One of

the party informed us that he saw a couple of animals

that were stolen from Mr. Hathaway but when he went

to identify them they could not be found.

"Some of the party called at Mr. Dubb's camp and
—191—

found him and Mr. Stealy doing well. They were camped
on Oakes Creek, eight miles this side of Red River and
had killed about 1,500 buffaloes. They have a nice lot
of meat and hides. Mr. Dubbs asked the party to remem-
ber him to his friends in Dodge City."

Another newspaper item very much to the point,
since it gives an excellent description of the mode of
killing and preparing the buffalo for market, is entitled,
"Slaughtering the Buffalo," and is from a "Shackelford
County (Texas) Letter to the Galveston News." It fol-
lows verbatim:

"The town of Griffin is supported by buffalo hunters
and is their general rendezvous in this section. The
number of hunters of the ranges this season is estimated
at 1,500. We saw at Griffin a plat of ground of about
four acres covered with buffalo hides spread out to dry,
besides a large quantity piled up for shipment. These
hides are worth in this place from $1.00 to $1.60 each.
The generally accepted idea of the exciting chase in buf-
falo hunting is not the plan pursued by the men who
make it a regular business. They use the needle gun with
telescope, buy powder by the keg, their lead in bulks
and the shells and make their own cartridges. The guns
in a party of hunters are used by only one or two men,
who say they usually kill a drove of thirty or forty buf-
faloes on one or two acres of ground. As soon as one is
killed the whole herd, smelling the blood, collect around
the dead body, snuffing and pawing up the ground and
uttering a singular noise. The hunter continues to shoot
them down as long as he can remain concealed or until
the last animal 'bites the dust.' The buffalo pays no at-
tention to the report of the gun, and flees only at the sight
or scent of his enemy. The others of the party then oc-
cupy themselves in 'peeling.' Some of these have become
so skillful they offer to bet they can skin a five- or six-
year-old bull in five minutes. The meat is also saved
and sent to market and commands a good price."

—192—

"Bat" Masterson

We mention this special article because these hunters
were all from Dodge City, formerly, and they drifted
south along with the buffalo.

The Llano Estacado, or Staked Plains, in Texas, which
has been mentioned as the scene of a particularly fierce
battle between Dodge City hunters and Indians, was a
great range for buffalo; and perhaps a description of it,
at that time, would be in order. A writer in a Texas paper,
in 1 88 1, treats the subject in an interesting way:

"There is something romantic about these canyons
and surrounding plains, familiarly known as the *Llano
Estacado.' One would imagine a boundless stretch of
prairie, limited, in all directions, by the horizon, a mo-
notonous, dreary waste, the Great American Desert, offer-
ing but little to invite settlement or attract interest. My
observation, from two months' surveying and prospect-
ing in this 'terra incognita,' has convinced me of the
error of any previous opinions I may have formed of this
section of the state. The canyons, hemmed in by the
plains, the latter rising some two hundred feet above
the bed of the streams in the former, are as fair and
picturesque as the famous Valley of the Shenandoah, or
the most favored sections, in this respect, in California,
affording perennial springs of pure, sweet, and mineral
waters, gypsum, salt, iron, lime, and sulphur; also, nutri-
tious grasses, green all winter, capable of sustaining suf-
ficient cattle to supply a nation.

"The breaks of the plains, corresponding to second
valley prairie, incrusted with pure white gypsum and
mica, assuming many dazzling shapes, remind one of the
battlements of an old fort or castle, or the profile of a
large city with its cathedral walls and varied habitations
of the humble and princely of a huge metropolis. Romance
lingers on the summit of these horizontal, fancifully
shaped bluffs of the Llano Estacado, so called, and the
dreamer or romancer would never exhaust his genius in
painting vivid pictures of the imagination.

—193—

"This portion of the state, having little protection
from the incursions of the Indians, has not yet been a
favorite field for settlement, and only vi^ithin the past
three or four years a icw hardy, fearless stockmen have
brought out their flocks, from the overcrov^ded ranges
of the interior, to enjoy the rich pasturage afforded here.
These pioneers, for such they are and deserve to be re-
garded as stockmen, are traduced and misrepresented,
and live in the most primitive style imaginable. A cave
in the grounds, in many instances, covered only v^ith poles
and earth, affords them shelter from the snow^ and blood-
freezing northers, w^hich come often v^ith the force and
intensity of a sirocco, from the timberless plains.

"Agriculture has not been tried here, but the soil in
this and many of the surrounding counties, a red choco-
late loam, in some instances a mold, must yield abund-
antly to the efforts of the husbandman. The immense
amount of snow^ (v^^e have it on the ground now^ five
inches deep), falling during the fall months, it seems
would prepare the soil for early spring crops of cereals;
and the volunteer plum thickets and currants indicate
that many of the fruits v^ould do v/e\\ here. The rain-
fall, so I am informed by the settlers, has averaged well
for many years past, even upon the plains; and, with
the exception of a few arid sand wastes and salt deposits,
it is fair to predict that, in time, the Great American
Desert will have followed the red man, or proved as
veritable a myth as the Wandering Jew.

"The tall sedge grass upon the plains has been burn-
ing for a week or more past, only ceasing with the recent
snowfalls, and the canyons are lit up as by the intensity
of a Syrian sun or electric light. These annual burnings
are really an advantage, fertilizing and adding strength
to the spring grasses."

Notwithstanding the possibilities of the Llano Esta-
cado and other sections of the great plains, one can
imagine what the lives of the buffalo hunters must have

—194—

been amid such wild and comfortless surroundings. For
all that, many of the hunters seemed happy in the life,
and occasionally one even waxed; eloquent, not to say
poetical, upon the subject. The following lines bear
witness to this fact, being composed in the very midst of
buffalo hunting days, by as unlikely an aspirant to efforts
at poesy as one can well imagine. The lines are not
classical, but, considering their author, they are as won-
derful production of the pen as the perfect verses of
scholarly Milton. Whatever their faults as literature,
they at least give a concise and telling picture of the
buffalo hunter's life.

THE BUFFALO HUNTER

"Of all the lives beneath the sun,

The buffalo hunter's is the jolliest one!

His wants are few, simple, and easily supplied,

A wagon, team, gun, and a horse to ride.

He chases the buffalo o'er the plains;

A shot at smaller game he disdains.

Bison hides are his bills of exchange.

And all are his that come within range;

From the wintry blast they shield his form.

And afford him shelter during the storm.

A steak from the hump is a feast for a king;

Brains, you know, are good, and tongue a delicious thing.

When the day's hunt is over, and all have had their

dinners,
The hunter lights his pipe, to entertain the skinners;
He tells of the big bull that bravely met his fate;
Of the splendid line shot that settled his mate;
Of the cow, shot too low, of another, too high;
And of all the shots that missed he tells the reason why;
How the spike stood his ground, when all but him had

fled.

And refused to give it up till he filled him with lead;

How he trailed up the herd for five miles or more,

—195—

Leaving, over forty victims w^eltering in their gore;

All about the blasted calves that put the main herd to

flight,
And kept them on the run until they disappeared from

sight.
When v^eary of incidents relating to the chase.
They discuss other topics, each one in its place;
Law^, politics, religion, and the w^eather.
And the probable price of the buffalo leather.
A tender-footed hunter is a great greenhorn.
And the poor old granger an object of scorn;
But the w^orst deal of all is reserved for hide buyers,
Who are swindlers and robbers and professional liars.
The hunter thinks, sometimes in the future, of a change in

his life.
And indulges in dreams of a home and a v^^ife,
Who w^ill sit by his side and listen to his story of the boys

and the past.
And echo his hopes of reunion in the happy hunting

grounds at last."

My old friend and former partner, Charles Rath,
was a great buffalo hunter and freighter. No one handled
as many hides and robes as he, and few men killed more
buffaloes. He was honest, true, and brave. He bought
and sold more than a million of buffalo hides, and tens
of thousands of buffalo robes, and hundreds of cars of
buffalo meat, both dried and fresh, besides several car-
loads of buffalo tongues. He could speak the Cheyenne
and Arapahoe languages, and was one of the best sign
men. He lived right among the Indians for many years
and acquired their habits; but he never gained great
confidence in them, and no man used greater precaution
to guard against their attacks.

Nearly all of the buffalo hunters, bull-whackers, cow-
boys, and bad men had a popular nickname or peculiar
title of some kind bestowed upon them, supposed to be
more or less descriptive of some peculiarity in their make-

—-196—

up, and which was often in such common use as to al-
most obscure the fact that the individual possessed any
other or more conventional name. Prairie Dog Dave,
Blue Pete, Mysterious Dave, and others are mentioned
elsewhere in these pages. In addition, might be named,
many others, some very significant and appropriate; such
as. Dirty Face Charley, The Off Wheeler, The Near
Wheeler, Eat 'Em Up Jake, Shoot 'Em Up Mike, Stink
Finger Jim, The Hoo-Doo Kid, Frosty, The Whitey Kid,
Light Fingered Jack, The Stuttering Kid, Dog Kelley,
Black Kelley, Shot Gun Collins, Bull Whack Joe, Bar
Keep Joe, Conch Jones, Black Warrior, Hurricane Bill,
and Shoot His Eye Out Jack. Women were also often
nicknamed, those of unsavory character generally taking a
title of the same sort; and the married sharing the honors
of their husbands title, as Hurricane Bill and Hurricane
Minnie; Rowdy Joe and Rowdy Kate.

Prairie Dog Dave is distinguished as being the hunter
who killed the famous white buffalo, which he sold to
the writer for one thousand dollars, in the early days
of Dodge City. So far as early settlers know, only one
white buffalo has been known. Of the thousands upon
thousands shot by the plainsmen, in buffalo hunting days,
none were ever white. Naturally, Dave's specimen, which
I had mounted and shipped to Kansas City, forty years
ago, attracted wide attention, not only in Kansas City,
but throughout the West. It was exhibited at fairs and
expositions, and Indians and plainsmen traveled for miles
to get a look at it. The specimen was loaned to the State
of Kansas, and, until nine years ago, was on exhibition
in the state capitol at Topeka.

I would feel that these sketches were incomplete
did I not give at least a brief account of the "battle of
the adobe wall," in which the handful of brave men who
fought so valiantly against the Indians were all Kansans.

Long years ago, before General Sam Houston led the
Texans on to victory, before their independence was

—197—

achieved, while the immense territory southwest of the
Louisiana purchase was still the property of Mexico, a
party of traders from Santa Fe wandered up into north-
western Texas and constructed a rude fort. Its walls,
like those of many Mexican dwellings of the present day,
were formed of a peculiar clay, hard baked by the sun.
At that time the Indians of the plains were numerous and
warlike, and white men who ventured far into their
country found it necessary to be prepared to defend them-
selves in case of attacks. Doubtless the fortress served
the purpose of its builders long and well. If the old
adobe wall had been endowed with speech, what stories
might it not have told of desperate warfare, of savage
treachery, and the noble deeds of brave men. However,
in the '70's, all that remained to even suggest these miss-
ing leaves of the early history of the plains were the out-
lines of the earthen fortifications.

In 1874 a number of buffalo hunters from Dodge
City took up headquarters at the ruins. The place was
selected, not only because of its location in the very
center of the buffalo country, but also because of its
numerous other advantages, and the proximity of a stream
of crystal, clear water which flowed into the Canadian
River a short distance below. After becoming settled at
the trading post, and erecting two large houses of sod,
which were used as store buildings, the men turned their
attention to building a stockade, which was never com-
pleted. As spring advanced and the weather became
warm, the work lagged and the hunters became careless,
frequently leaving the doors open at night to admit the
free passage of air, and sleeping out-of-doors and late in
the morning, until the sun was high.

Among the Indians of the plains was a medicine
man, shrewd and watchful, who still cherished the hope
that his people might eventually be able to overcome the
white race and check the progress of civilization. After
brooding over the matter for some time, he evolved a

—198—

scheme, in which not only his own nation, but the
Arapahoes, Comanches, and Apaches were interested. A
federation was formed, and the Indians proceeded against
the settlements of northwestern Texas and southwestern
Kansas. Minimic, the medicine man, having observed
that the old Mexican fort was again inhabited, and being
fully informed with regard to the habits of the white men,
led the warriors to attack the buffalo stations, promising
them certain victory, without a battle. He had prepared
his medicine carefully, and in consequence the doors of
the houses would be open and the braves would enter in
the early morning, while their victims were asleep, under
the influence of his wonderful charm. They would kill
and scalp every occupant of the place without danger to
themselves, for his medicine was strong, and their war
paint would render them invisible.

On the morning of the fight, some of the hunters who
were going out that day were compelled to rise early. A
man starting to the stream for water suddenly discovered
the presence of Indians. He ran back and aroused his
comrades; then rushed outside to awaken two men who
were sleeping in wagons. Before this could be accom-
plished, the savages were swarming around them. The
three men met a horrible death at the hands of the yelling
and capering demons, who now surrounded the sod build-
ings. The roofs were covered with dirt, making it im-
possible to set fire to them, and there were great double
doors with heavy bars. There were loopholes in the build-
ing, through which those within could shoot at the en-
emy.

The Indians, sure of triumph, were unusually daring,

and again and again they dashed up to the entrances,

three abreast, then suddenly wheeling their horses, backed

against the doors with all possible force. The pressure

was counteracted by barricading with sacks of flour. The

doors were pushed in by the weight of the horses, until

there was a small crevice through which they would hurl

—199—

their lances, shoot their arrows, and fire their guns as they
dashed by. Now they would renew their attack more
vigorously than ever, and dash up to the port holes by the
hundreds, regardless of the hunters' deadly aim. Saddle
after saddle would be empty after each charge, and the
loose horses rushed madly around, adding to the deadly
strife and noise of battle going on. At one time there was
a lull in the fight; there was a young warrior, more dar-
ing and desperate than his fellows, mounted on a magi-
nificent pony, decorated with a gaudy war bonnet, and
his other apparel equally as brilliant, who wanted,
perhaps, to gain distinction for his bravery and be-
come a great chief of his tribe, made a bold dash
from among his comrades toward the buildings. He
rode with the speed of an eagle, and as straight as an
arrow, for the side of the building where the port holes
were most numerous and danger greatest, succeeded in
reaching them, and, leaping from his horse, pushed his
six-shooter through a port hole and emptied it, filling
the room with smoke. He then attempted a retreat, but
in a moment he was shot down; he staggered to his feet,
but was again shot down, and, whilst lying on the ground,
he deliberately drew another pistol from his belt and
blew out his brains.

There were only fourteen guns all told with the
hunters, and certainly there were over five hundred In-
dians, by their own admission afterwards. The ground
around, after the fight, was strewn with dead horses and
Indians. Twenty-seven of the latter lay dead, besides a
number of them had been carried off by their comrades.
How many wounded there were we never knew, and they
(the Indians) would never tell, perhaps, because they
were so chagrined at their terrible defeat. After the
ammunition had been exhausted, some of the men melted
lead and molded bullets, while the remainder kept up the
firing, which continued throughout the entire day.
Minimic rode from place to place with an air of bragga-

—200—

docio encouraging his followers and making himself gen-
erally conspicuous. A sharpshooter aimed at him, in the
distance, possibly a mile, and succeeded in killing the
gaily painted pony of the prophet. When the pony went
down, Minimic explained to his followers that it was
because the bullet had struck where there was no painted
place. In the midst of the excitement, while bullets were
flying thick and fast, a mortally wounded savage fell al-
most on the threshold of one of the stores. Billy Tyler,
moved with pity, attempted to open the door in order to
draw him inside, but was instantly killed. The struggle
lasted until dark, when the Indians, defeated by fourteen
brave men, fell back, with many dead and wounded. The
hunters had lost four of their number, but within a few
days two hundred men collected within the fortifications,
and the allies did not venture to renew the conflict. Old
settlers agree that the "battle of adobe wall" was one of
the fiercest fought on the plains.

Such is a brief account, founded on the author's per-
sonal knowledge, of the "adobe wall fight," in the Pan-
handle of Texas, just due south of Dodge, all who were
engaged in it being formerly citizens of Dodge. In addi-
tion I herewith give the story of one of the participants:

"Just before sunrise on the morning of June 27th,
1874, we were attacked by some five hundred Indians.
The walls were defended by only fourteen guns. There
were twenty-one whites at the walls, but the other seven
were non-combatants and had no guns. It was a thrilling
episode, more wonderful than any ever pictured in a dime
novel, and has the advantage over the average Indian
story in being true, as several of the leading men of Dodge
City can testify, who were present at the fight, among
them being Mr. W. B. Masterson, sheriff of our county.

"About three o'clock in the morning of the fight,

several parties sleeping in the saloon of Mr. James Haner-

han were awakened by the falling in of part of the roof

which had given way. The men awakened by the crash

—201 —

jumped up, thinking they had been attacked by Indians,
but, discovering what was the matter, proceeded to make
the necessary repairs. It was about daylight when
through, and Billy Ogg went out to get the horses which
were picketed a short distance from the house. He dis-
covered the Indians, charging down from the hills, and
immediately gave the alarm and started for the building.
The Indians charged down upon the little garrison in
solid mass, every man having time to get to shelter except
the two Sheidler brothers and a Mexican bull-whacker,
who were sleeping in their wagons a short distance
from the walls, and who were killed and their bodies
horribly mutilated. They were just about to start for
Dodge City, loaded with hides for Charles Rath & Com-
pany.

"The red devils charged right down to the doors and
port holes of the stockade, but were met with such a
galling fire they were forced to retire. So close were they
that, as the brave defenders of the wall shot out of their
portholes, they planted the muzzles of their guns in the
very faces and breasts of the savages, who rained a per-
fect storm of bullets down upon them. For two terrible
hours did the Indians, who displayed a bravery and reck-
lessness never before surpassed and seldom equalled, make
successive charges upon the walls, each time being driven
back by the grim and determined men behind, who fired
with a rapidity and decision which laid many a brave
upon the ground. But two men were killed in the stock-
ade, Billy Tyler, who was trying to draw in a wounded
Indian, mortally wounded and lying groaning against the
door, which, when Tyler opened it, he was shot. The
Indian who gave Tyler his death wound was scarcely
fifteen feet from him at the time. A man, by the name of
Olds, was coming down the ladder from the lookout post,
with his gun carelessly in front of him, and the hammer
caught on something, the ball entering his chin and com-
ing out the top of his head.

—202—

"After two hours' hard fighting, the Indians with-
drew to the hills but kept up a bombardment on the stock-
ade for some time afterwards. In the afternoon, while
the bullets were coming down on them like hailstones,
Masterson, Bermuda, and Andy Johnson came out and
found ten Indians and a negro dead; but when the sav-
ages were driven in by General Miles, they acknowledged
to seventy being killed, and God knows how many were
wounded.

"The Comanches, in the adobe wall fight, were led
by Big Bow; the Kiowas by Lone Wolf; and the Chey-
ennes by Minimic, Red Moon, and Gray Beard. The
Indians, shortly afterwards, were completely subdued by
that indefatigable Indian trailer and fighter, the gallant
General Miles. The Miles expedition started from Dodge
on the 6th of August, and on the 30th fought the redskins
on Red River. Masterson, who participated in the adobe
wall fight, went out with the expedition as a scout under
Lieutenant Baldwin, of the gallant old Fifth Infantry,
and was with Baldwin at the time of the capture of the
Germain children."

As an example of fighting of a different sort, I must
here relate the story of a little fight between the Indians
and hunters. Charles Rath & Company loaded a small
mule train, belonging to the hunters, with ammunition
and guns for their hunters' store at adobe walls. When
about half way, on the old Jones and Plummer trail, they
were suddently rushed by a band of Indians five times
their number. The hunters hastily ran their wagons into
corral shape, and turned loose on them. The Indians were
only too glad to skedaddle, leaving several dead horses
behind. The hunters pulled into the trail and went on,
without losing a moment's time. The Indians killed a
favorite buffalo pony, which was the only injury the
hunters sustained, and they saw no more of Mr. Redskin.

While much of the history connected with the buf-
falo is nothing but a record of hardships, fighting, and

—203—

slaughter of various sorts, there is a brighter tinge to it,
now and then, and sometimes its incidents are even laugh-
able, as the story of Harris' ring performance v^ith the
bull buffalo, in another chapter, can testify. In many
ways, the buffalo was much like domestic cattle in their
nature. They could be tamed, handled, and trusted to
the same extent. At one time, in Dodge City's early days,
Mr. Reynolds had two very tame, two-year-old buffaloes.
They were so exceedingly tame and docile that they
came right into the back yards, and poked their noses
into the kitchen doors, for bread and other eatables.

There came a large troupe to Dodge City, to play
a week's engagement at our nice little opera house, just
built. They had a big flashy band of about twenty-four
pieces, their dress was very gaudy, indeed — like Jacob's
coat, made up of many colors — and their instruments,
as well as their uniforms, were very brilliant; so much
so that they attracted great attention, and I presume their
flashy appearance also attracted the attention of the two
tame buffaloes, who took exceptions to the noise and ap-
pearance, and they took their time and opportunity to
resent it.

The band leader was a great tall man, and he had a
big bear-skin cap, a baton, and all the shiny regalia
they generally wear. Now, as this big bang was strung
out, coming down Bridge Street, playing for all that was
out, those two buffaloes were listening in their back yard,
and began to snort and show other signs of restlessness.
The band leader stepped out of the ranks, shook his
baton, and flourished it right in the buffaloes' faces. This
was too much — or more than the buffaloes could stand,
and they made a vicious charge at the fellow. With heads
lowered, they made for him, and of course he ran right
into his band, the buffaloes following with nostrils dis-
tended and blood in their eyes. The waterworks had
the street all torn up, a big ditch full of water in the

middle of the street, and a picket fence on each side.

—204—

On charged the buffaloes, horning and plunging into
everything in sight. The big bass drum was thrown up
into the air, and, as it came down, the buffaloes went for
it, as well as for the members of the band, and such a
scatterment you never saw. Some took the fence; some
took the ditch; all threw away their instruments; some
had the seats of their pants torn out; the drum major
lost his big hat; and there were those who took the fence,
roosting there on the pickets, holloing like good fellows
to be rescued.

Now this might have been the last of it; but that
night, when the buffalo charge had been forgotten, and
the band was drawn up in the street, playing in front
of the opera house before the performance, some mis-
chievous persons led the two buffaloes down, and turned
them loose in the rear of that band, with a big send off,
driving them right into the thickets of the band. This
was enough. They not only threw away their instru-
ments, but took to their heels, shouting and holloing,
almost paralyzed with fear.

—205—

Chapter XI.

]o\ing with Powder and Ball

A S has been said, the well-behaved stranger, visiting
•*^ Dodge City in the old days, v^^as alv^ays treated
courteously and never molested; on the other hand, how-
ever, the stranger entering town in quarrelsome, patroniz-
ing, critical, or any other boldly flaunted mood, distaste-
ful to the resident citizens, was quite likely to receive a
swift and severe check to his propensities, by being made
the butt of some prank, designed to cure him forever of
his offensive quality. In like manner, if one of the resi-
dent citizen chanced to assume undue airs or otherwise
conduct himself in a way not strictly in accordance with
the popular idea of what was comely, he was a certain
candidate for some practical joke which would speedily
show him the error of his ways, and even punish him
for it. That such pranks and jokes were neither gentle
nor considerate of the feelings of the victims, need not be
said. Indeed, the humor of those wild days was often
almost as startling and nerve-testing, as its warfare was
desperate and its adventures were thrilling.

Our boys were in possession of a great many Indian
trophies which they had captured at the adobe wall fight.
Among them were war bonnets, shields, bows and arrows,
and quivers; and when twenty or more of them would
don these costumes and mount their horses, also decorated
with Indian fixings, at a short distance, they appeared like
the Simon-pure stuff.

If a young man came to Dodge, bragging that he
would like to participate in an Indian fight, he would
surely get it. Once a young man, who is now a merchant
in Kansas City, arrived, and expressed himself as eager
to meet hostile Indians. The boys invited him to an ante-
lope hunt. Antelope were plentiful then. Young men

—206—

in Indian costume quietly slipped out ahead. A dozen
or more went along with the visitor. After proceeding
ten or twelve miles his companions commenced to brace
the stranger up by saying: "We had better keep a sharp
lookout. Indians have been in this vicinity lately, and
they say they are the 'dog soldiers,' the worst on the
plains." Then they told him a few blood curdling stories
about horrible atrocities, just to keep up his courage. At
this junction from out of the arroyo came the most un-
earthly yells, and at the same time the twenty men dashed
out. The boaster fled precipitately, coming into town on
the dead run, yelling to every one he saw to get his gun;
the town would soon be attacked by a thousand Indians;
all the other boys were killed and he had a narrow escape;
to send at once to the fort for the Gatling gun and the
soldiers to defend the town, as he was sure they would
take it if they didn't get assistance. This young man was
easily scared; but one time they got the wrong rooster.
When they ran up close to him and commenced firing
at short range, (and this man Pappard) of whom I spoke
before, was one of those who did it), he found his horse
could not outrun the others and stopped and commenced
firing back. Peppard said he heard one bullet whiz right
by his head, and had enough and quit. After Peppard
got in, he said it was a put-up job to get him killed, and
wanted to murder the whole outfit.

Above Dodge, and nearly adjoining thereto, was a
large marsh grown up with brush and high grass. Many
times was the unsuspecting stranger and the young unso-
phisticated traveling man invited to a snipe hunt, and
with sack and lantern trudged away with bounding hopes
and a stomach fairly yearning for the delicious feast
awaiting him next morning at breakfast, instead of the
tough buffalo meat. When they got to the swamp, they
would place the traveling man on a path leading into the
swamp, tell him to spread his sack open with a hoop, and

have his lantern at the mouth of the sack. The snipe

—207—

would see the light and run right into the sack; and as
soon as the sack was full, it was to be closed. In the
meantime, they would go up and beat all around the
swamp and drive the snipe down to his trap. Of course,
they would come home and leave the traveling man hold-
ing the sack. Some of the hunters would find their way
back that same night; others came in in the morning.

Along in the early years of Dodge City's existence,
a doctor from the east, a specialist in venereal and private
diseases, wrote persistently to our postmaster and others,
to know if it was not a good field for his practice. Some
of the gang got hold of his letters and wrote him that the
town was overrun with disease, that even our ministers
were not free, and that more than half the people were
suffering. Anyhow, they made out a frightful condition
our people were in and that it had got beyond our physi-
cians, and to come at once if he wanted to make a for-
tune. They signed one letter, "Sim Dip, Ed Slump";
and another, "Blue Pete".

Now, if the man had had any gumption, he would
have known these were fictitious names, but he took the
bait and away he came. On his arrival he hunted up
Sim Dip and Blue Pete. Of course he was introduced to
these gentlemen. They came to me for the key and the
loan of the Lady Gay Theater, a large old building. At
first I refused, but they promised to do no harm, or only
to scare the fellow and have some fun. They printed and
put out their notices and in the afternoon started two
boys with bells to ring up the town, which they did
effectually, judging by the crowd assembled that night.
The house was crammed and jammed from the door to
the stage. Bat Masterson was on one side of the doctor
and Wyat Erb on the other, with Jack Bridges and other
gun men sitting around on the stage in chairs.

The doctor had only got on a little way in his lecture
when some on in the audience called him a liar. He
stopped and said to Bat, "What is that.? I don't under-

—208—

fcJD

Q O

d ^.

OS

stand." Bat got up, pulled his gun in front, and said:
"I will kill the first man that interrupts this gentleman
again." The lecturer had not gone much farther when
some one again called him a vile name. Bat and Wyat
both got up and said: "This gentleman is a friend of
ours, you want to understand that, and the next time he
is interrupted we will begin shooting and we will shoot
to kill." He had not gone much further in his talk when
some one in the audience said, "You lie, you s — of a b — !"

Bat, Wyat, and Bridges all arose and began shooting
at the same time. First they shot out the lights and my!
what a stampede began. The people not only fell over
each other, but they tumbled over each other, and rolled
over, and trampled each other under foot. Some reached
the doors, others took the windows, sash and all, and
it was only a short time till darkness and quiet reigned
in the Lady Gay. Only the smell of powder and a dense
smoke was to be seen, coming out the windows and doors.

There was a broken-down, tin-horn gambler by the
name of Dalton, a total wreck from morphine and
whisky, whose avocation was a sure-thing game, and his
specialty was robbing the stiffs (as the dead bodies were
called), and he was an expert at this. Dalton happened
to be asleep when this occurred, in a room back of the
stage, but the noise and shooting awakened him. He lo-
cated the place at once from the pistol smoke coming
through the windows, and was sure there must be stiffs
in the building after so much shooting.

I must interpolate here, there was scarcely any one
of that big audience who were wise to the lecture, but
nearly all thought everything was straight and, when the
shooting began, thought, as a matter of course, it was a
genuine shooting scrape, and they could not get away
from the scene of action fast enough or far enough, but
kept on running in the opposite direction and never look-
ing back. Now this lecturer thought as the audience did

—209—

and, as soon as the firing began, he ducked down under
a table in front of the platform and there he lay, as still as
a mouse, for fear someone would find him and kill
him yet.

Mr. Dalton crawled along the floor on his belly,
hunting the stiffs. When he came to the table, of course
he felt the stiff underneath and proceeded to divest him
of his wealth. But the lecturer gave one mighty spring,
threw Dalton over to one side, and jumped up and ran
for dear life holloing, "Murder! Thieves!" and everything
else, as loud as he could bawl. Dalton, equally scared to
have a stiff come to life and pitch him off, just as he
was about to rob him, took to his heels the other way.
That was the last seen of the lecturer that night; he
sneaked off and hid out.

The next morning Sim Dip and Blue Pete waited on
him and told him a fine story — how sorry they were, but
if he would stay over that night, they would assure him a
fine audience and ample protection to his meeting, and
he, never dreaming but what it was all on the square,
stayed.

The gang wanted to know of me if ten pounds of
powder would hurt him. I told them a pound would kill
him if it was rightly confined. This put me on my guard
and, just before dark, I found out they were going to
place a big lot of powder under the box on which he
was going to lecture, and I knew it would blow him up
and maybe kill him. So I sent to him privately and said:
"My friend, you don't know what you are up against.
Get on the local freight, which leaves here inside an hour,
and never stop until you get back to your own Illinois,
because you are not fit to be so far away from home
without a guardian." When the gang was certain he was
gone, they touched a match to the fuse they had con-
nected with the powder under the box, and blew it to
kingdom come. It went way up in the air and came down

—210—

a mass of kindling wood. When the boys saw the result,
they were glad they did not carry the joke any further.

Soon after the little town of Jetmore, the county seat
of Hodgeman County, twenty-five miles north of Dodge
City, was started, a man who resided in that neighbor-
hood walked to Dodge. He said he came to see the sights,
the rows, and ructions, which he had heard of, that were
a daily occurrence in Dodge.

After "his ting" in a few big drinks that the boys had
treated him to, he was full of Dutch courage, said he
was wild and woolly and hard to curry, that he could
whip his weight in wildcats, and the gang could not start
anything too rough for him, and the sooner he got action
the better it would suit him. He was a tall, lank, slab-
sided galoot — one of those overgrown, loose-jointed speci-
mens of humanity, without muscle, brawn, or brains, all
blow and bluster, and a weak coward one could see by his
looks.

The gang saw at once there was more chance for fun
than a fight, and they took him in hand and treated him
accordingly. He was very poorly dressed, his pants stuck
down in his old boots, an old, flap-down, dirty white hat,
and a long, dirty, drab duster for a coat. This duster had
once been white, but was now so ragged and dirty you
could scarce tell what color it had been. Well, it was not
worth two bits, and his old wollen shirt was no better.
The boys soon found him a freak from way back, and, as
usual, the gang was flush, and you never struck a more
liberal crowd when they had money. It was, "Come on
boys! brace up to the bar and name your poison," and it
was their especial delight to entertain strangers.

The man from Jetmore was no exception. As fast

as one would treat him another would step to the front,

but it was just like pouring water down a rat hole; and,

while he was drinking, someone would set his duster on

fire, and I expect a dozen times they came near burning

him up, until the old duster was completely used up. Of

—211—

course, the man would rave and swear and go on at a
terrible rate, threatening the ones who set the fire with
all kinds of punishment, if he only knew who they were.
They then bought him a new duster, but he took it so
hard and raised such a row that this duster shared the
same fate as the old one, until they had bought him three
or four. Besides burning his duster, they had all sorts
of fun with him — had gun plays with blank cartridges,
but of course the man didn't know they were blank, and
they frightened him nearly to death.

When they found there was no fight in him at all,
they persuaded him to have these parties arrested, and,
sure enough, they made several arrests for the man, ap-
pointed a sheriff, empaneled a jury, and held court that
night in one of the principal saloons. There were several
bright young lawyers in Dodge, and they were anxious
for the play, and let me say right here, there was much
wit and argument and repartee displayed on both sides.
It was really a great treat to hear the witty arguments
that each side put up, as well as the eloquence that flowed
spontaneously from these lawyers over nothing. The
twelve jurors were selected with all the decorum a regular
court would exact. They were seated in chairs on a
raised platform, they erected a rostrum for the judge, a
box for the prisoner, and a seat for the witness. When-
ever a good point was made by either side, someone pro-
posed a drink for all hands; judge, jury, prisoner, and
witness, as well as the general crowd, all planted their
stomachs up to the bar and were helped.

Soon, with the constant drinking, the crowd began to
get hilarious, and began to pelt the witness, the prisoner,
the sheriff, and the jury with eggs. They were fresh,
(they could get no bad ones), and they kept that crowd
dodging. First one and then another, and then the
sheriff, the witness, and the jury would get it all together.
I tell you, the eggs fell around there as thick as hail, and
no one would seem to be hit who was looking; they were

—212—

always taken by surprise. Thq judge sat there on his
platform and just shook with laughter until the tears
came out of his eyes. I never did see a more tickled man.
He just enjoyed that fun more than anyone in the crowd.
He was nicely dressed and well gotten up for the occasion,
very slow and dignified, except when he gave way to
laughter.

When the egging had been going on some time, I
took several of the boys outside and said: "This is too
good for the judge; why not give him some of the
chicken pie? We're not giving him a fair deal. It is a
shame to neglect him; he might feel offended. He ought
to have his share of the hen fruit." The idea caught and
they went back loaded. The judge was giving in his
wise opinion on a point when, whang! an egg took him
in the forehead and then another came. He took out
his fine, large, white silk handkerchief and said: "This
may be real funny to you, but d — d if I see any fun
in it. You all think yourselves mighty smart!" This was
too much and they just showered him, pelted him from
head to foot. He got down, put on his hat, and walked
out as mad as a bull, and never more was seen down
town after night. It cured him completely of playing
his jokes. He had been, up to that time, one of the
greatest jokers Dodge City ever had, but, while he de-
lighted in playing them on others, it made him hot to
have jokes played on him. He was one of those who
couldn't stand a joke. He caught the writer asleep one
day, and succeeded in handcuffing him, and I had to
get the services of a blacksmith. Still, he was an all
around good fellow, God bless his soul! and was beloved
by every one who knew him.

Among the first signal officers sent to Dodge was
Sergeant W. W. Wimberg, an innocent, nice, polite gen-
tleman, but what a greenhorn! and he richly deserved
the name — as green as a gourd. The gang soon got on

to this, and what pranks they did play on him!

—213—

He was taking a young lady, on whom he was much
struck, home from a dance one night, to the west part
of the town, when the boys jumped out of a hollow and
began firing their guns. The young lady, I think, was
wise to the job, but Wimberg never bade that young
lady goodnight; he stood not on the question of going,
but, without looking to the east or west, he turned tail
and just flew.

Mr. A. B. Webster took it upon himself to avenge
the insult to the lady, said his conduct was unbecoming
an officer and a gentleman, and next day challenged the
sergeant. He — the sergeant — took the matter up before
the commanding officer at Fort Dodge, who was onto
the joke and in with the boys. He promptly told Wim-
berg he must accept the challenge and fight Webster.
He said the dignity of the army must be maintained at
all hazards, but referred him to General Pope, the Com-
mander of the Department of the Missouri, at Fort Leav-
enworth, saying he must consult the general by wire.
The gang had the operator fixed, so when Wimberg tele-
graphed General Pope, of course the message never went,
but General Pope's answer was prompt and to the point:
"You must fight, by all means. The dignity of the army
must be maintained, or resign at once." Of course, the
poor fellow was in a great dilemma, and of the two evils
he chose the least and wrote out his resignation, when
mutual friends interfered and stopped the duel.

They had charades at Dodge, and the sergeant was
generally head man. They got him to deliver a darkey
speech, and of course he had to black up for the occasion,
so they put shellac or some kind of substance into the
blacking, which, when dried, could not be rubbed off
nor washed off, and this poor fellow had to keep his
room until the blacking wore off his face.

Once they were moving a house, just outside the back

door of which there was a large sink hole, filled with vile

filth, and this sink was lightly covered up to stop the

—214—-

smell. An idea struck the gang, and they got Wimberg
next to this door, while right across the street opposite
the back door they started to shooting. Some one threw
open the back door, exclaiming, "There is murder going
on!" Wimberg was very excited, and this was enough
for him. He made a big jump and landed in that vile
filth, up to his neck, and he could not get out without
assistance. He always was neatly dressed, but this day,
I think he had on a white suit. He was so hounded by
these rough jokes that he asked to be changed, and the
boys lost their game, much to their sorrow.

Once upon a time, a long while ago, when Dodge
was young and very wicked, there came a man to town,
an itinerant preacher. In the present age you would call
him an evangelist. Well, anyway, he possessed a wonder-
ful magnetic power, he was marvelously gifted that way;
he would cast his spell over the people, and draw crowds
that no one ever dreamed of doing before, in fact he
captured some of the toughest of the toughs of wicked
Dodge, and from the very first he set his heart on the
capture of one Dave Mathews — alias. Mysterious Dave —
who was city marshal at the time, said to be a very
wicked man, a killer of killers. And it was and is an
undoubted fact that Dave had more dead men to his
credit, at that time, than any other man in the west.
Seven by actual count in one night, in one house, and
all at one sitting. Indeed he was more remarkable in
his way than the preacher was in his.

Well, as I said, he set his heart on Dave, and he went

after him regularly every morning, much to the disgust

of Dave. Indeed he was so persistent, that Dave began

to hate him. In the meantime, the people began to feel

the power of the preacher,, for he had about him an

unexplainable something that they could not resist, and

the one little lone church was so crowded they had to

get another building, and this soon would not hold half

the audience. Finally they got a large hall known as

—215—

the "Lady Gay Dance Hall" and fitted it up with boards
laid across empty boxes for seats. There was a small
stage at the rear of the building, and on this was placed
a goods box for a pulpit for the preacher. Now whether
or not Dave had become infected by the general com-
plaint that seized the people, or whether the earnest
persistence of the preacher had captured him I know not.
Anyhow, certain it was, he promised the preacher to
attend the meeting that night, and certain it was, Dave
would not break his word. He was never known to do
that. If he promised a man he would kill him, Dave was
sure to do it.

It was soon noised around by the old "he pillars" of
the church, and the "she pillars" too that Dave was
captured at last, and what a crowd turned out that night
to see the wonderful work of God brought about through
the agency of the preacher — the capture of Mysterious
Dave.

Soon the hall was filled to its utmost capacity, and
Dave, true to his promise, was seen to enter. He was at
once conducted to the front, and given the seat of honor
reserved for him in front of the preacher, and Oh! how
that preacher preached straight at him. He told how
wonderful was the ways of Providence in softening the
heart of wicked Dave Mathews, and what rejoicing there
would be in heaven over the conversion of such a man.
Then he appealed to the faithful ones, the old "he pillars"
of the church, and said to them, now he was ready to die.
He had accomplished the one grand object of his life.
He had converted the wickedest man in the country, and
was willing now and at once to die, for he knew he
would go right straight to heaven. Then he called upon
the faithful ones to arise and give in their experience,
which they did, each one singly, and said, they too, like
the preacher, were willing to die right now and here, for
they knew that they, too, would go right straight to heav-
en for helping to carry out this great work. In fact, most

—216—

of them said, like the preacher, that they wanted to die
right now so they could all go to heaven rejoicing to-
gether. Dave sat their silent with bowed head. He told
me afterwards, he never in all his scrapes was in such a
hot box in his life. He said he would much rather to
have been in a hot all around fight with a dozen fellows
popping at him all at once, than to have been there. He
said he would have been more at ease, and felt more at
home, and I expect he told the truth.

Finally he raised to his feet and acknowledged he
had been hard hit and the bullet had struck a vital spot,
and at last religion had been poured into him; that he
felt it tingling from his toes through his whole body,
even to his finger tips, and he knew he had religion now,
sure, and if he died now would surely go to heaven, and
pulling both of his six shooters in front of him, he said
further, for fear that some of the brothers here tonight
might backslide and thereby lose their chance of heaven
he thought they had better all die tonight together as
they had so expressed themselves, and the best plan he
said would be for him to kill them all, and then kill
himself. Suddenly jerking out a pistol in each hand, he
said to the preacher, "I will send you first," firing over
the preacher's head. Wheeling quickly he fired several
shots into the air, in the direction of the faithful ones.

The much-frightened preacher fell flat behind the
dry-goods box, as also did the faithful ones who ducked
down as low as they could. Then Dave proceeded to shoot
out the lights, remarking as he walked towards the door,
"You are all a set of liars and frauds, you don't want to
go to heaven with me at all." This broke up the meeting,
and destroyed the usefulness of that preacher in this
vicinity. His power was gone, and he departed for new
fields, and I am sorry to relate, the people went back to
their backsliding and wickedness.

Notwithstanding the general tone of these stories, all
the joking of early days did not revolve around the six

—217—

shooter and cartridge belt. Sometimes a widely differ-
ent instrument of administration was choosen, though the
methods of administrating never varied; it was ever di-
rect, vigorous, and practically merciless.

In the first years of Dodge City a merchant in the
town had a government hay contract. He was also sutler
at the fort. There was also a saloon keeper who kept the
best billiard hall in the town, an Irishman, and a clever
fellow, whom the officers preferred to patronize, by the
name of Moses Waters. Now, this Waters was full of
jokes, and a fighter from away back. The officers made
his saloon their headquarters when they came to Dodge,
but, as a general thing, upon their arrival, they sent for
the sutler and had him go the rounds with them — a
chaperon they deemed essential, lest they might get into
difficulties, and the sutler was as eager to have their
company as they were to have him along. One evening
about dark the post sutler came into Dodge from his hay
camp to purchase a suit of clothes suitable for camp
service. Waters, in passing along Front street, saw the
suder trying on the suit, and an idea struck him. He
went immediately to his saloon, wrote a note to the sutler,
as he had often seen the officers do, presenting his com-
pliments, and requesting his presence at once at his
saloon. The buildings on Front street were all low, frame
shanties with porches. On the corners of the porch roofs
were placed barrels of water in case of fire, and the
sutler had to pass under these porches to get to Water's
saloon. As soon as he was properly rigged out in his
new outfit, he hurried to Water's saloon to meet his of-
ficer friends, as he supposed, not suspecting any danger,
of course. But no sooner had he passed under one of
these porches on the corner, than a barrel of water was
dashed over him, nearly knocking him down, wetting
him to the skin, and nearly drowning him. He knew
as soon as he had recovered his breath, and as he heard
the parties running over the roof to the rear of the build-

—218—

ing and jumping to the ground, what had happened and
what was up.

When he reached Water's saloon there was a crowd,
looking as innocent as could be, and saying, "Come in
and wet your new clothes," which was a common custom.
"Yes," the sutler said, "I will wet them. Barkeep, set up
the drinks. It is all right, and I am going to get even."
There were, of course, no officers in sight.

Some time previous to this. Waters, who had a lot of
horses, and some fine ones by the way, had built him a
large barn and painted it blood red. He took great pride
in this barn, more on account of its color than anything
else. He had cut out in front of each stall a place large
enough for a horse to get his head through, to give the
horse air and light. Waters had an Englishman, a very
fine hostler, to attend his horses. One day, soon after the
incident mentioned above, a tall, finely built young Mis-
sourian came to th^ sutler, as was frequently the case,
and asked for work. The sutler said, "Yes, I can give
you work. Can you white wash?" He said, "I can beat
the man who invented whitewashing." The sutler got
two old-fashioned cedar buckets, holding about three
gallons each, and two whitewashing brushes, a short and
a long-handled one. "Now," said the sutler, "I want you
to mix these buckets full and thick, and go down to that
red stable (showing him the stable), and plaster it thick
with whitewash. I painted it red, but everyone seems to
dislike the color, and I want it changed. But, say, there
is a crazy Irishman, by the name of Waters, who imagines
he owns the stable. He may come around and try to give
you some trouble. If he does, don't give him any gentle
treatment. Use him as rough as you can. Smash him
with your whitewash brush, and if you can put a white-
wash bucket over his head and nearly drown him, I will
pay you two dollars extra. Try and do this anyway, and
I will pay you more for it than for doing the job of

whitewashing."

—219—

Soon after the talk, off went the big Missourian with
his whitewash buckets and brushes. There was a strong
west wind blowing, so he commenced on the east side of
the barn. lie went at it like he was mauling rails, and
was doing a fine job. The Englishman was shut up in-
side, giving the horses their morning scrubbing. At last
he was attracted by the continual knocking of the brush
against the stable. In the meantime quite a crowd had
gathered, looking on at the curious spectacle of the big
Missourian whitewashing the stable. At last the English-
man poked out his head, demanding of the Missourian:
"What the bloody 'ell are you doing, anyway?" Down
comes the Missourian's brush on the face and head of the
Englishman, while at the same time he said that the man
who gave him the job told him that an ignorant Irishman
would try to stop him. This was too much for the
Englishman, who went across the street to Water's room,
dripping all over with whitewash.

Waters being a saloonkeeper and compelled to be up
late at night, slept late in the morning, and was still in
bed. Waters could hardly believe the Englishman's story,
that anyone would dare whitewash his beautiful red barn.
But he put on his pants, slippers, and hat, and went over
to see. Waters was a fighter — in fact, he was something
of a prize-fighter, and was a powerful and heavy-set man,
and did not think he could be whipped. The reason the
Missourian got such an advantage of him. Waters told me
afterwards, was because he was trying to get up to him as
close as possible so that he could give him a knock-out
blow. But the Missourian was too quick for him. Waters
approached the Missourian very slowly and deliberately,
talking to him all the while in a very mild and persuasive
way, but when he was almost within striking distance the
Missourian put the bucket of whitewash over his head.
It almost strangled Waters, and he had to buck and back
and squirm to shake the bucket off. When he did, and
had shaken the whitewash out of his eyes, nose, and

— 220—

mouth, what a fight began. The young Missourian was a
giant, but Waters was more skilled by training. Still
they had it, rough and tumble, for a long time, first
Waters on top and then the Missourian. Finally, the
Missourian found that Waters was getting the best of it,
and, with a desperate effort, threw Waters to one side,
tore loose, and made for the government reservation,
only a few hundred yards distant, followed closely by
Waters, amid great cheering by the crowd. It was indeed
laughable, the Missourian in the lead, beating the ground
with his big feet and long legs, with all the vim and
energy he possessed, and as if his life depended on the
race (and perhaps it did), followed by the low, squatty
figure of Waters in his shirt sleeves and slippers, minus
hat and coat with the whitewash dripping from him at
every point, and tearing down with equal energy, as if
his life, too, depended upon the race. The race of the
two men presented a most laughable scene, too ludicrous
for anything. They both seemed determined on the issue,
but the long legs of the Missourian were evidently too
much for Water's short ones, and he finally abandoned
the chase.

There is nothing further to the story, except that the
sutler had to hide out for a few days, until mutual friends
could bring in a white flag and agree upon terms of
peace.

I have related enough to show that the spirit of
practical joking and raillery was very prevalent in south-
western, frontier days. Most of it was good natured and
meant to be harmless; but I must confess that there was
scarcely anything too sacred to be made the butt of a
joke, if the trend of inclination turned that way. Even
love, instead of being a serious matter, was often treated
as a joke and laughed into materialization or renuncia-
tion, as the case might be. The following love letter of

—221—

the times might have been written en route on the Texas
drive, or by the camp fire in a buffalo hunter's camp:

"Dearest:—

"My love is stronger than the smell of coffee, patent
butter, or the kick of a young cow. Sensations of exquisite
joy go through me like chlorite of ant through an army
cracker, and caper over my heart like young goats on a
stable roof. I feel as if I could lift myself by my boot
straps to the height of a church steeple, or like an old
stage horse in a green pasture. As the mean purp hankers
after sweet milk, so do I hanker after your presence. And
as the goslin' swimmeth in the mud puddle, so do I
swim in a sea of delightfulness when you are near me.
My heart flops up and down like cellar doors in a country
town; and if my love is not reciprocated, I will pine away
and die like a poisoned bed-bug, and you can come and
catch cold on my grave."

-222—

Chapter XII.

When Conviviality Was the Fashion and the Rule

'T^HOSE were days of hard drinking as well as hard rid-

ing and hard fighting. The man who did not drink
in some degree, was regarded as something of a freak, and
as lacking the social spirit. Stories innumerable, tragic,
pathetic, humorous, may be told of Dodge City and her
people, showing the place that intoxicants filled in the
life of the time and place, and with their plots centering
around the glass and the bar of the frontier saloon.

In the early days of Dodge, the town was often visited
by a traveling man whom we will call Thomas Smith,
who is now a very wealthy Christian gentleman, worth a
million, and now making amends for his early debauches
by charitable work, teaching poor boys the way they
should go. This salesman would always put up at the
Dodge House, and when he had finished his rounds
among his customers and finished his work, he would
proceed to get on his usual drunk. His firm would wire
Mr. Cox, proprietor of the hotel, to take care of him until
he recovered from his spree and send them his bill. Of
course he had hosts of friends, as he was a fine fellow as
well as salesman, when sober.

The hotel was built clear through to the other street
and, in building back, the floor at the rear was below the
surface of the ground, as it was a little up-hill from the
front of the house, and this placed the windows of the
back part level with the ground. Now, Tom was in one
of these rooms with the window level with the ground,
and of course the window was exposed. Tom was getting
a little over his spree. He had been seeing snakes.

Mr. Kelly had a large black bear, a tremendous fel-
low. He had broken his chain in the night, and crawled
into Tom's window and gotten under the bed. Tom

—223—

had been given an opiate the night before, and of course
he was dead to all noises until the effects of the drug
wore off. But about breakfast time, Mr. Bear turned
over and groaned. This raised Tom up in the bed and,
at the same time, the bear's chain rattled. Tom said to
himself, "My God! have I got 'em again?" But Mr.
Bear made another move which lifted Tom up again.
This was too much. He jumped out of bed, hastily lifted
the bed clothes, and there was Mr. Bear, staring him in
the face, yawning, and rattling his chain. Tom gave one
tremendous scream and rushed for the dining room.

Breakfast was in full blast at the time, the room
crowded with guests, and with six girl waitresses. When
Tom rushed in in his nightgown, he tripped and fell
over one of the girls, with a waiter full of dishes. Of
course they both went down together, and of all the
screaming and holloing, and rushing out of that dining
room, was a caution.

Another time Tom got on one of his sprees at Cald-
well, Kansas, another wild and woolly cattle town like
Dodge, and the boys hired a trained monkey, from an
organ grinder, and put it in his room one morning be-
fore day. Tom was convalescing and they thought a big
scare would do him good and maybe break him of his
sprees. Tom was awakened about breakfast time, with the
monkey sitting right over him at the head of his bed,
where the boys had placed him, chattering away and
cutting up all kinds of monkey tricks. Tom said he was
sure he had them again. But recollecting his six-shooter,
he went to his suitcase, got it out, and said: "Old fellow,
if you ain't a monkey, I am in a bad fix; but if you are a
monkey, you sure are in a h — 1 of a fix." Then he took
good aim and fired. Down came Mr. Monkey, and the
boys lost a hundred dollars and the joke was on them.

Bobby Gill was one of the most notorious characters

and was the best all-around "sure thing" man that ever

struck Dodge City. He was up-to-date in all the tricks

—224—

of the trade, and was capable of working all the various
devices known to the brotherhood, from the opening of
a spring match safe to the gold brick proposition. He
had the brains to use them all, but whisky was what
caused his downfall. He could not keep away from it.
At one time, he abstained from drinking for a week. He
came across the "dead line," where he had been staying
to keep from drinking, and was very "blue", down-
hearted, and nervous. When he reached the precincts of
the "gang", he was subjected to the ridicule, "kidding",
and taunts of the fellows. It was a cold snowy morning,
and the river was out of its banks and full of immense
cakes of floating ice and a quarter of a mile wide. Bobby
said to the "jokesmiths", "Kid as much as you please,
but it takes more nerve to stop drinking when in the con-
dition in which I have been, than it does to go down to
the river now, strip, and swim across to the other bank."
I believed him. I can sympathize with such a man be-
cause I have been in the same condition myself. He was
right and I knew he told the truth.

One of the many times he was before the police court
was due to hard luck. He was clear down and out of
pocket and friends. One could discover a kindly feeling
for him, for, as a general thing, when a man plays in
such hard luck, no matter what his antecedents, one can't
help pitying him. One's heart goes out to him, and so it
was in this case. The sentence was twenty dollars and
costs. The marshal said, "Well, so far as I am concerned,
I am willing to throw off my costs;" the clerk said, "I
will do the same;" and the judge said, "So will I. Mr.
Gill, what have you got to say for yourself?" He prompt-
ly jumped up and, quick as a flash, and said, "Your
Honor, I never was yet out-done in generosity, and I will
not be in this case; I will throw off the fine." It is need-
less to say that he never paid any fine.

One day Bobby was in the Long Branch saloon sleep-
—225—

ing ofif a big drunk. There was a ledge of wood all
around the room about three and a half feet from the
floor. Bobby had his chair tilted back and his head
resting on this ledge, with a broad-brimmed Stetson hat
half over his face. We put a line of powder along on
this ledge, from the door to where Bobby was sleeping
(which was quite a distance from the door), and near his
head we placed a full quarter pound of the powder,
pulled his hat well over his face to thoroughly protect it,
and stationed several men in the saloon with six-shooters,
and the large tin pan, used for making large quantities of
"Tom and Jerry", was so placed that the most noise
possible could be made when it was hit with a club by a
man. The signal was given and the powder touched off,
the six-shooters were fired, and the clubbing of the tin
pan began while the bar and tables were hammered with
billiard cues. Imagine the noise and confusion.

The smoke from the burned powder was so dense
that one could scarcely see. Bobby made a dive for the
door and cleared the way before him. There were some
men sitting around the big stove; Bobby ran right over
them and, when he encountered a chair, he just threw it
over his shoulder and continued his flight. He said af-
terwards he had been dreaming about fire and, when the
racket began, he imagined that he was in a burning build-
ing, from which all but himself had escaped, and he could
see the burning rafters falling down upon him. He never
opened his eyes but once, and never stopped running until
he was home, on the other side of the railroad track. This
was one good treatment for him and his complaint, and
he was not over on the north side again for a month. He
was afraid we would kill him and he actually believed so.

Bobby himself was great practical joker. Once he
secured a large queens ware crate that would just com-
fortably fill a wagon box, and standing some four feet
high. In this crate, with the assistance of Kinch Riley,
he placed Jim Dalton, a notorious booze fiend, who was

—226—

in a helpless state of intoxication. They covered this
crate with an ample tarpaulin, entirely concealing the
contents from view. Attaching a team of mules to the
wagon, they drove up Main Street, stopping in front of
each saloon for exhibition purposes.

Bobby acted as crier and opened the proceedings by
shouting: "Come, everybody! this is the golden oppor-
tunity. We have here on exhibition, concealed under
this tarpaulin, the greatest living curiosity — the only liv-
ing specimen of man and brute combined, captured in
the wilds of the Ozark mountains in infancy, and reared
to his present physical state on the bottle, which has been
the only nourishment he was ever known to take. For
countless centuries, scientists have searched in vain for a
living specimen of this lost link. Gentlemen, it has been
the good fortune of my scientific co-worker. Professor
Riley, to discover, hidden in the sand hills, this long-
sought specimen. We have a living proof of the Darwin-
ian theory of the origin of man, and it is my pleasure,
gentlemen and ladies (if you are ladies), to be in a posi-
tion to prove to you, by ocular demonstrations, the truth-
fulness of my assertions, for the small sum of one iron
dollar — four quarters, two halves, or ten dimes turn the
trick, and, while I pass the hat around. Professor Riley
will take the pole and stir up this monstrosity."

Kinch would then stagger around to the ofif-side and
proceed to stir up the living specimen by vigorously prod-
ding him, in the mid-section, with a broom stick. The
sports would "chip in," and soon the necessary dollar was
raised, the tarpaulin would be removed, and the fun
would begin. Bobby would order a "whisky sour" for
himself and Kinch, and they would slowly sip the nectar,
in plain view of poor parched Dalton, who would plead
for just a taste.

After going through this program at several of the
booze resorts, Dalton became frantic with thirst — as crazy

—227—

as a loon. Bobby was deaf to his pleadings for a long
while; in fact, he didn't relent until the last saloon had
been worked. Then, in a maudlin tone, he ordered Kinch
to feed the specimen. Kinch had an empty tobacco bucket
handy, and a small force pump with hose attached. Turn-
ing this on poor Dalton, he soused him with several
buckets of water.

The performance then closed, and Bobby and Kinch
mounted the wagon and started over the "dead line"
with their living curiosity. Their frequent libations of
"lemon sours" had all but knocked them out, and they
were much worse off than Dalton, who, through their
heroic treatment, was now in a fairly sober condition. In
crossing the railroad track, Dalton worked a bottom
board loose and dropped to the road, the wheels miracu-
lously missed him, and he got up none the worse for the
drop. Bobby and Kinch were slowly plodding along, ig-
norant of Dalton's escape, when, suddenly, they were
brought to a realization of the situation by a bombard-
ment of rocks, at short range, from Dalton. In dodging
the missies so ruthlessly hurled at them, they lost their
balance, and both fell off the wagon, and the mules pro-
ceeded leisurely on their way to their barn.

Bobby had thoughtfully provided himself with a
bottle of whisky, from the proceeds of the show, and,
instantly regaining his feet, he produced the bottle and
called for an armistice. Holding the bottle aloof, he
served notice on Dalton that, if hostilities did not cease
immediately, he would place the bottle in range of the
flying missies, and there would be a wanton waste of
valuable property; but if Dalton would call off the at-
tack, they would adjourn to the Green Front and proper-
ly appropriate the contents of the bottle in their usual
good old convivial way. It is needless to say that hostili-
ties ceased at once, and a happy reconciliation was effected
aiiiong the three.

Of a somewhat different nature from the treatment
—228—

accorded Dalton, but equally heroic, was a "Dodge City
Keeley Cure," administered to one of the convivial citi-
zens.

In the bright, halcyon days of Dodge City, there
dv^elt a lavi^yer in our midst, v^ho v^as quite badly crip-
pled, but he had a bright mind and v^as a good lav^yer.
He, unfortunately, v^as addicted to the liquor habit, and
his earnings were spent for whisky. He neglected his
wife and children, and his conduct was such as to be-
come a disgrace to the civilization of Dodge City, so the
boys concluded to put a stop to it.

One bright summer morning, this lawyer was drink-
ing heavily, in one of the principal and most public sa-
loons in the town, on Front Street, where everyone could
see inside, as they passed, as there was a door on each
street, the saloon being on the corner of two streets.

The fellows that decided to administer this dose of the
"Dodge City Keeley Cure" to the lawyer, waited until he
was surcharged with booze, which they knew would soon
be accomplished. He attempted to leave the bar, but fell
in a drunken stupor. The boys then procured a coffin,
attired him in a conventional shroud, prepared him as
carefully as though they were preparing him for the long
sleep, except embalming him, powdered his features to
give him the ghastly appearance of death, tide his jaws
together, and then placed him in the coffin and placed
the coffin on a table between the two doors, where he lay
"in state", and in view of passersby.

Many persons thought he was really dead and pla-
carded him with these emotional and reverential lines:

"Judge Burns is dead, that good old soul.

We ne'er shall see him more.

We never more shall see his face,

Nor hear his gentle roar (in police court), saying,

^Guilty, your Honor!' "

He remained in the coffin, in full view, for several

hours before he awakened. He was a hideous sight, and,

—229—

after looking in the mirror, he went home completely dis-
gusted with himself, sobered up, and was never known
to take a drink in Dodge City afterwards. He became
one of our most respected citizens, and held several offices
of honor and trust. This was a profitable lesson to him,
and proved very beneficial to his family and the com-
munity.

While the above is highly recommended to those
needing the Keeley cure, it is not guaranteed to cure all
cases. It depends on the mental and physical make-up of
the individual. We tried the same treatment on a prom-
inent hotel man, the best landlord Dodge City ever had,
but it was not successful in his case. When he recovered,
he jumped out of his coffin, shook off his winding sheet,
and proceeded to the bar, with an invitation to all the
boys to have a drink.

Truth is stranger than fiction, and, to illustrate, the
following story of early days in Dodge is related. Every
word of this is positively true.

In the last palmy days of Dodge, when the end of her
magnificent career of wealth, gambling, dance halls,
gilded houses of ill fame, fascinating music, and the
quick, sharp bark of the six-shooter were about over, there
still clung to her a shadow of her past greatness. Mr.
Charles Heins was one of the leaders, and what a great
caterer he was, to the palates of those who had wealth
and were willing to purchase. There was nothing too
good or too rich for his larder, and he found customers,
lots of them, at outrageous prices for the goods, of course.
Among other things of the past, he still kept up his bar
and magnificent stock of liquors, although to do so was
almost certain imprisonment. He hid his bar, from the
officers of the law, in every conceivable place, and the
ingenuity he displayed in keeping out of their clutches
was wonderful. At last he placed his bar in a dark cellar,
but he had exhausted his supply of barkeepers, so he had

—230—

to resort to most anyone, until he got a Frenchman who
could speak no English.

The gang soon got on to the ignorance of the bar-
keeper, and played many a prank on him, and they final-
ly got to passing counterfeit dollars, some a good imita-
tion made of lead. Now Skinner and Kelly had opened
up an opposition joint, around the corner, a few doors
below Heins' place. Heins had a natural hatred for Skin-
ner, and when he opened up in opposition, Heins' hatred
was much greater.

By the way. Skinner set a fine "Dutch lunch", every
day, from eleven o'clock to two p.m. This proceeding
Heins hated cordially. Once in awhile I would go down
to Skinner and Kelly's for my lunch and a glass of beer,
instead of going home for my dinner. One rainy, cold
day, I started for my Dutch lunch and glass of beer about
one o'clock, and saw Heins standing in his door, tossing
up a counterfeit silver dollar. I said to Heins: "Give
me that, and I will go down cellar and pass it on your
Frenchman." "Not on your life," he said, "The French-
man has had lots of them passed on him, and this is one
of his take-ins." "Well," I said, "I will take it down and
pass it on Bill Skinner." "My God!" he said, "if you will
do that, come back and I will set up the drinks for the
whole house."

Kelly had been tending bar while Skinner went to
dinner, and, just as I got in, Kelly was shifting his bar
apron and handing it to Skinner to put on, preparatory
for Skinner to go on duty behind the bar. I noticed that
all the Dutch lunch was gone, and I said: "What has
become of your lunch?" Kelly spoke up and said, "Why,
old John Shults came in, wet and almost frozen to death,
said he had beat his way from Garden City to Dodge in
a leaky box car, and was as wet as a drowned rat. He got
a few glasses of beer, and ate everything in sight, but
still said he was hungry, and inquired for a restaurant. I

—231—

don't suppose he had eaten anything since he left here last
night."

I invited the house up, and they all took beer, and I
handed Skinner the counterfeit. He served the beer, and,
w^ithout looking at the dollar, threw^ it on the back bar
v^ith the day's receipts, and gave me the change. I sat
and talked v^^ith them for aw^hile, and invited the crowd
to drink again, then w^ent back to Heins, who was tickled
to death about it, and we went below and got our beer.
Just before starting back up, however, the bell boy came
after Heins, saying there was a Dutchman upstairs who
insisted on seeing him on particular business. Heins said,
"Stay, and I will be back soon."

Now it seemed the night before, a short time before
the passenger went west, John Shults cam in pretty full
of booze, as was his normal condition when in Dodge
City, and asked Charley Heins to change a five dollar bill.
Heins had four good silver dollars and this same counter-
feit dollar. Heins said to Shults, "I can't do it — haven't
got the change." "Oh, yes, you have," said Shults, "I
see five dollars in your drawer." "Yes, but," Heins said,
"one of those is counterfeit." Of course, Shults thought
he was joking, and said, "Heinsy, I know you would not
give me a counterfeit." Heins replied, "No, that is the
reason I can't change your bill." Shults said, "Give it
to me anyway; now I know you would not cheat me."
Heins said, "Well, if you insist on it, here goes," and gave
him the four good dollars and the counterfeit. You see,
Shults had made several trips to Garden, having business
with the land office there, and he had learned to work the
conductor. The fare to Garden was one dollar and a half,
and Shults would give the conductor a dollar and swear
that was all the money he had, and he was such an
"onery" looking cuss, the conductor would believe him
and take him on. This was the reason Shults was so

—232—

anxious to get the bill changed; he would save half a
dollar.

Heins came back laughing and tickled to death. He
said to the bar keeper, "Set them up to the house again,
for this is too good; I have heard from the counterfeit
already." When he went up, John Shults was there, hold-
ing the same old counterfeit in his hand, and he said:
"Hensy, you know last night you gave me a counterfeit,
didn't you?" Heins said, "Yes, but John, a little after
you gave me the bill to change, you came back, and I took
back the counterfeit and gave you a good dollar in its
place, didn't I?" "Yes, but Heinsy, how the h— did I
get dot?" showing the counterfeit in his hand. "Heinsy,
there could not have been two of them, could there?"
"No, John, only one, only one." "Well, Heinsy, you
couldn't give me a good one for this now, could you?"
"No, John, I could not." "Well, Heins, what's de mad-
der wid it, anyhow? I know you gave me dis dollar."
"Yes, I did, but I gave you a good one in place of it."
And Heins said he begged so hard to have one that he had
to leave him, or he was afraid he would give him a good
dollar.

It seems, after Heins changed the bill for Shults, the
night before, Shults went down to Skinner's joint and
ordered a glass of beer, offering this same counterfeit
dollar in payment. Skinner was very angry, because he
had been a victim of counterfeit dollars himself, and he
took his knife and put a private mark on the dollar, and
gave it back to Shults, with a big cussing, and warned
him not to try to pass one on him again or he would beat
him to death.

Kelly had been tending bar while Skinner went to

dinner, as I said before, and, when I left, Skinner began

to look over the receipts of the day, on the back of the

bar, and discovered this counterfeit. He at once blamed

Kelly, and said: "Here, Kelly, you have taken in a bad

—233—

dollar." "Yes," said Kelly, "that is so. I am not fit to
do business any more in here; I make a failure of every-
thing." "Who was in here?" said Skinner. "Why,"
Kelly said, "No one; it is a very bad day, and there has
been no trade." "Why," Skinner said, "who ate up all
that lunch?" Kelly said, "By the hokey, old John Shults,
and he gave me a silver dollar." Skinner said, "Where
did he go ? I want to get at him. He is the drunken bloat
who tried to pass in on me last night. It is the same
dollar; see where I marked it? And I told him then I
would beat him to death, if ever he attempted to pass it
on us again. Where did you say he went?" "Over to
your brother's restaurant upstairs," replied Kelly.

Skinner rushed out without coat or hat, and caught
Shults just as he was about to get down from one of those
very high chairs, they have for counter lunches. He
caught him by the back of the collar and hurled him vio-
lently again the floor. Before the man could get up.
Skinner was on him, kicking and stomping him with
both feet. Shults was helpless, and so completely taken by
surprise it paralyzed him, but this did not stop Skinner,
who kicked, stomped, and beat until he was worn out.
The beating he got would have killed a common man, but
old John was as tough as a pine knot and soon got over
it. They say it was amusing to hear John holler and
plead. "Ho (lam) ! (Ho (lam) !" he said. "You got the
wrong man! I do nottings to you! Why you do dot?
Ho (lam)! Ho (lam)! Stop it! I quit you; stop it! I
tell you, I quit you!" Skinner would answer, "You see
that dollar?" "Yes, I see; I know where you get him."
"You know where I get him ?" And he would go after him
again, and, when he was completely worn out, he handed
Shults the dollar and called for a good one, which request
Shults was too glad to comply with, for fear of another
beating. As a matter of fact, if Shults had only had the

courage and had known it, he could have turned in and

—234—

beat Skinner just as hard, as Skinner acknowledged after-
wards that he had completely worn himself out.

These stories, in connection with other passages in
this book, will give some idea of the position strong drink
occupied in the early life of southwestern Kansas, and the
almost universal popularity which the social glass enjoyed.
Eventually, it was my fortune to become representative
of this section in the state legislature, in which I was
serving when the prohibition bill was introduced, in 1881.
I must say that I think that prohibition has proved a
good thing for the state, but, at that time, with such
constituents behind me, I could not consistently support
the temperance bill. I soon saw, however, that it was
going through and that it was useless to fight it, so I con-
tented myself with having the consoling "last word,"
on the subject, my short speech being the last made before
the bill was put to vote. My remarks were not intended
as argument, but merely as a mildly satirical fling at the
opposing faction, and put a flavor of the burlesque upon
the situation. But the threat to secede, while not meant
seriously, was not without point, as the territory in
sympathy with that I represented, forming one section for
judicial purposes, comprising thirty-eight of our present
counties. The "Topeka Daily Commonwealth," of Feb-
ruary i6th, 1881, says, "Honorable R. M. Wright delivered
the following witty speech on the temperance bill in the
House yesterday," and reports it thus:

"Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen of the Committee:
"I feel that I would be doing my constituents a grave
injustice were I to remain silent at this most portentous
juncture in the history of our legislation. I cannot re-
frain, therefore, from raising my feeble voice in protest
against this monstrous measure. I do not oppose this
bill because of my own love for the distilled nectar of
the cornfield, nor yet for the purple ambrosia of the vine-
yard. I admit that I like a glass of either now and then,

—235—

but I am not a slave to the demon of the cup, and I can
look upon the wine when it is red without necessarily
beiUjg^ bitten by the adder which is alleged to be lurking
at the bottom of the said utensil. In fact, Mr. Chairman,
so great is my virtue in this direction, that I have gone
three, aye four days, without my whisky, and I am proud
to relate without any special disturbing effects upon my
physiological structure, but it is a dangerous experiment,
and should not be tried too often. Sir, I have been a resi-
dent of this great state for seventeen years and I have
learned to know it, and to know it is to love it. I know
no other home. I love its broad prairies, its rich soil, its
pure air, its beautiful streams, and last, but not least,
its liberal people. But alas, sir, if this bill becomes a law,
I am afraid I shall cease to be one of the citizens of this
proud commonwealth, as the county which I have the
honor to represent on this floor threatens to secede and
take with it all the unorganized counties attached to it
for judicial purposes. Now, sir, under the peculiar cir-
cumstances of their situation, have they not a just and
equitable cause for their professed action .^^ Sir, this com-
mittee well knows, or if there are any of its members who
do not I deplore their ignorance, that the section of the
country in which I live is essentially the habitation of
that most poisonous of all reptiles of the genus Crotalus,
or in common parlance, as he is familiarly known to the
cowboys — the rattlesnake. This insect, gentlemen of the
committee, is not the phantasmagorial creature, if I may
use the term, which perhaps many of you have seen when
you have "histed" to much rock and rye on board, but
a genuine tangible nomad of the prairie, whose ponderous
jaws, when once fastened on the calf of your leg, you will
realize is no creature of the disordered brain. This octo-
pod, this old man of the prairie, if you will permit me to
indulge in a metaphor, has all his life obeyed the spiritual
injunction (I am sorry I have not my little pocket Bible

—236—

here to prove this, as many of the members of this com-
mittee have done in discussing this question) to increase
and multiply, and accordingly he multiplyeth extraordi-
narily, and he doeth this without irrigation either, and
in fact every farmer has an abundant crop v^ithout the
trouble of cultivation. Now^, sir, the only known pre-
ventive, the only known antidote to the venom of this
venomous beast, is pure unadulterated corn juice, vul-
garly called whisky. Aye, sir, men who have imbibed
freely of the corn juice have been bitten, and the snake
has always been known to die instead of the man, so you
see it is not only a sure cure for the bite but is a speedy
means of getting rid of the snake also.

"Ponder, oh, gentlemen of the committee, and hesi-
tate before you take away from us that which saves life.
Are you aware of what you are about to do? Do you
propose in this arbitrary manner not only to deprive us
of a source of solace but even to take our very lives ? My
people, sir, will never submit, never (No Pinafore here.)
(This was in the days of Pinafore.)

"Now, sir, the only way out of this labyrinth of pro-
posed injustice is to exclude Dodge City as well as all
that region west of the one-hundreth meridian from the
provisions of this bill. If you do this it will not only be
an act of justice guaranteed by the constitution upon
stern necessity, but will receive the righteous judgment
of all the citizens of Dodge; harmony will again prevail
upon the border, the scouts will be called in, and future
generations of cowboys will arise and call you blessed."

In the spring of 1885, preparations were made for the
enforcement of the Prohibitory Liquor Law in Dodge
City, and the sale of eighty barrels of four-year-old whis-
ky, besides other liquors and bar fixtures was announced by
Henry Sturm, the well-known purveyor of the city. The
prohibition law put a different character on liquor sales,
many of the saloons being transformed into "drug stores."

—237—

Chapter XIII.

Resorts Other than Saloons, and Pastimes
Other than Drinking

T TNDER the heading, "A Bloody Prize Fight in Dodge
^ City," the Dodge City Times of June i6th, 1877, gives
a characteristic account of the thrilHng encounter as fol-
lows:

"On last Tuesday morning the champion prize fight
of Dodge City was indulged in by Messrs. Nelson Whit-
man and the noted Red Hanley, familiarly known as 'the
Red Bird from the South.' An indefinite rumor had been
circulated in sporting circles that a fight was to take
place, but the time and place was known only to a select
few. The sport took place in front of the Saratoga saloon
at the silent hour of 4:39 a. m., when the city police were
retiring after the dance hall revelry had subsided and the
belles who are in there were off duty. Promptly at the
appointed time, the two candidates for championship
were at the joint. Colonel Norton acted as rounder-up and
whipper-in for both fighters while Bobby Gill ably per-
formed the arduous task of healing and handling and
sponging off. Norton called time and the ball opened
with some fine hits from the shoulder. Whitman was the
favorite in the pools but Red made a brilliant effort to win
the champion belt.

"During the forty-second round Red Hanley im-
plored Norton to take Nelson off for a little while till
he could have time to put his right eye back where it
belonged, set his jawbone and have the ragged edge
trimmed off his ears where they had been chewed the
worst. This was against the rules of the ring so Norton
declined, encouraging him to bear it as well as he could
and squeal when he got enough. About the sixty-fifth
round Red squealed unmistakably and Whitman was

—238—

declared winner. The only injury sustained by the loser
in this fight were two ears chewed off, one eye busted
and the other disabled, right cheek bone caved in, bridge
of the nose broken, seven teeth knocked out, one jaw-
bone mashed, one side of the tongue bit off, and several
other unimportant fractures and bruises. Red retires
from the ring in disgust."

A shade worse than the prize fight was a bout at
lap-jacket, as described in the "Dodge City Times," of
May 1 2th, 1877.

"We, yesterday, witnessed an exhibition of the Afri-
can national game of lap- jacket, in front of Shulz' harness
shop. The game is played by two colored men, who each
toe a mark and whip each other with bull whips. In the
contest yesterday, Henry Rogers, called Eph, for short,
contended with another darkey for the championship and
fifty cents prize money. They took heavy new whips,
from the harness shop, and poured in the strokes pretty
lively. Blood flowed and dust flew and the crowd
cheered until Policeman Joe Mason came along and sus-
pended the cheerful exercise. In Africa, where this
pleasant pastime is indulged in to perfection, the contest-
ants strip to the skin, and frequently cut each other's
flesh open to the bone."

Dodge City is especially distinguished as the only
town in the state, or the whole United States, for that
matter, that ever conducted a bullfight. To use the
vernacular of the time, Dodge City "pulled off" a genuine
bull fight, according to Mexican rules and regulations,
under the auspices of the Driving Park and Fair Associa-
tion, on the fourth and fifth of July, 1884. The bull-
fighters were full-bloods of Mexico, and the "Globe"
mentioned them as "some of the best citizens of the City
of Chihuahua, Mexico, and as intelligent a party of men

as any person would wish to meet. Their redeeming trait

— 239—

is that they cannot be forced to drink a drop of strong
Hquor."

To give local zest and character to the occasion, the
bulls, which were of local origin — untamed animals of
these plains — were given names purely provincial, the
local cognomens of several Dodge citizens being evident
For instances, Ringtailed Snorter, Cowboy Killer, Iron
Gall, Lone Star, Long Branch, Opera, Ku Klux, Sheriff,
Doc, Rustler, Jim, and Eat-em Richard, were the twelve
male bovines to snort at the red flag and other means of
provoking anger.

An apology or explanation is given of the bullfight,
previous to the occurrence, by the manager in charge of
the "distinguished party," so-called, which he says is
"largely misconstrued and misunderstood. Instead of be-
ing a cruel and barbarous proceeding, it is quite the
reverse. While the animal is provoked and tantalized to
fury, no cruelty to the animal is indulged in; and when
the animal is to be dispatched, it is instantly done, and
in less cruel and tortuous manner than if a butcher had
slaughtered one for the block. The term, *bull fighting,'
is wrongly interpreted."

The manner of the bullfight is given, but the reader
is interested in the event as it signalled Dodge City's
superiority in entertainment. There were five matadors,
four on foot and one on horseback, each dressed in gaudy
costume. The weapons used were "bandarillos," or taste-
fully ornamented darts, which were placed on the
animal's neck and shoulders, as he would charge upon the
matadors. The attractive garbs of the bullfighters, in-
censed the bulls, and the fight was earnest, each bull
being dispatched in order. The account closes the scene
with the statement that the excitement was now at its
height. An infuriated bull and a slightly injured matador,

whose blood was up to fever heat, made short work of the

—240—

gS§^llS>gppl:«»ilil

SouLE College

closing exercises. With much parleying, the animal was
dealt a fatal blow.

During the excitement just before our great bull-
fight, the only one, as has been said, ever to take place
in the United States, the boys were cutting out and try-
ing the bulls, to find which would be the most vicious
and the best fighters. A gentleman, whom we will call
Brown, said it was all nonsense about shaking a red flag
in a bull's face; that he knew it would not make him fight
because he had tried it. A gentleman, overhearing the
remark, said: "Brown, I will bet you a fifty-dollar suit
of clothes you can't shake a red rag in a bull's face
without his fighting, and you have the privilege of select-
ing the most docile bull in this lot of fighters."

The bet was soon made, and Brown got a red shirt
and climbed down into the corral. The bull was looking
as calm as a summer morning, and Brown went towards
the animal, keeping the red shirt well behind him. As he
came close to the brute, he suddenly produced the shirt
and flirted it in the bull's face. The beast jumped back
in astonishment and kept his eye on Brown while Brown
waved the old vermilion garment vigorously. Then the
bull shook his head several times, as if he declined to have
anything to do with that business, and Brown turned
towards us and put his thumb to his nose and made a sign
of victory.

Just then an idea seemed to strike that bull. He put

his head down and moved swiftly forward. Brown, at

first, thought there had been an earthquake. Upon his

descent, he thought he would try to run, but the old

long horn was inserted in the seat of his trousers, and

again he went up, high enough to take a bird's-eye view

of the surrounding country. On the twenty-fifth descent,

he fell on the other side of the corral, and we picked him

up. His mouth was full of grass and sand. We asked

him if his views about bulls had undergone any change;

—241—

but he walked silently along. We wanted to know how
he enjoyed the scenery, the last time he went up; but he
would not say. He merely went into the cook-house,
filled up both barrels of his gun with old nails and screws
and scrap iron, and he went to interview that bull.

Hokey-pokey (or in scientific phrase. Bisulphite of
Carbon), was the means of great sport among the gang in
early days. If the stuff was applied to any animal with
hair, it had a wonderful effect. For the time being, the
animal just went crazy, and it seemed the more sleepy
and good for nothing the horse was, the better he would
perform under the effects of his medicine. All you had
to do was to drop a few drops on the horse, any place,
and almost instantly it would take effect.

One of our most prominent lawyers used to drive,
to a fine buggy, one of the most dilapidated pieces of
horseflesh. The boys would josh this lawyer about driv-
ing such a woe-begone, sleepy animal. They thought they
would give him a lesson, and maybe he would take the
hint and get a good horse. The old horse's name was Dick.
Mr. Lawyer hitched Dick in front of his office one day,
and the boys were ready. They said: "Colonel, what is
the matter with Dick? He acts so funny — looks like he
is going mad. Has he been exposed to the bite of a mad
dog?" Just then the circus began. Old Dick went up
in the air, came down, kicking first one foot, then both,
then all together, and away he would go, Mr. Lawyer hold
of his bridle, holloing, "Whoa, Dick! Whoa Dick! What
is the matter with you, Dick?" But Dick paid no heed.
He just kept at it all the harder until he had kicked
himself out of the shafts, and then kicked the harness
all to pieces, and cut all sorts of shines and capers. He
would lift the lawyer right off his feet, until he had to
let go the bridle and give old Dick full sway, and I think
he was one of the most astonished men I ever saw. But he

-—242—

never got on to their racket until the gang presented him
with a new set of harness and told him the joke.

I have seen cowboys, who prided themselves on their
horsemanship, ride into town, and the boys would dope
a horse. The rider would stay with him a long time, but,
at last, he had to go. Never yet did I see a man who
could retain his seat on a doped horse.

A poor little traveling preacher rode into town, one
Sunday, and rode up to a crowd that had gathered on the
street, on account of some excitement. Some little urchin
got to him with the hokey-pokey, and away went that
little preacher. The horse bolted right into the crowd,
scattering it right and left, and kicking and squalling and
bawling. First, the preachers' stovepipe hat went up
into the air; next, his saddle-bags; and then, the poor
fellow himself went sprawling over the pony's head. He
got up and brushed the dust off, saying, "Some ungodly
person has done something to my horse!"

One day a real, typical horseman rode into town, on

one of the finest saddlers I ever saw. The man on this

horse was a perfect picture of a centaur. He rode up to

where a horse auction was in progress and said: "Mr.

Auctioneer, I am going east and have no use for this

horse, or I would not part with him. He is all that he

appears to be, has all the gaits of a saddler, is sound as a

dollar, and gentle as a dog. He never ran away, will

stand without hitching, and was never known to buck,

plunge, or kick." He rode up and down the street a

time or two, and came back, and then they doped the

horse. Now, of all the running and bucking and pitching

and kicking you ever saw, that horse did it, right there.

The man stayed with him a long time, and the gang

began to think, "Well, here is a man that a horse can't

throw." But just then, off he went, and a little further

on the horse stood still. The man caught him, led him

back, and apologized to the crowd. He said: "Gentle-

—243—

men, I beg your pardon, f lied to you, but upon my
word I never saw this horse act badly before, in any
way. I withdraw him from the market. The horse is not
for sale." I don't think this man ever did know what ailed
the horse.

There was an old man who picked bones and hauled
them to Dodge. He had two very old, bony horses. They
did not seem to have any life whatever, and the gang
thought they would have fun out of the old man, so they
asked him if his horses were for sale. Well, he would
sell the horse but didn't want to sell the mare. They
asked him if they had ever been locoed or would eat
the loco weed. "No, indeed, sir! my horses were never
known to touch it." "You have no objection to our
trying them?" "No, indeed, sir; try them all you want
to." So they took the horse out of the wagon, and some
one held a bunch of loco weed to the horse's head while
another applied the hokey-poky. Now that old horse,
like all the balance, just went crazy, and some one got
around and applied the medicine to the mare, also, who
was still hitched to the wagon. She took wagon, harness
and everything along with her kicked out the front end
of the wagon, and they liked never to have got her
stopped, the way she turned that wagon around. The
gang gave the old fellow a ten dollar bill, and he collected
his scattered pieces of wagon and went after more bones,
wondering what could have ailed the horses and made
him lose a good sale.

The gang surely had great sport, until things got so
bad there was an ordinance passed, prohibiting the sale of
hokey-pokey.

One day two dagoes came to town, leading a very
large bear. The bear sure was a good one, and performed
many cute tricks. For such a tremendous animal, he was
very active. When the gang had seen all they wanted of
the bear's tricks, they hokey-pokied him, and we thought

—244—

he was active before but we hadn't seen any of his activ-
ity. That bear rolled and ran and squalled just like a
human, and he cut up all manner of didoes. The Italians
tried their best, at first, to soothe down his pain by
petting him, but the bear would have none of it and
carried on so outrageously that the Italians got afraid
of him and retreated to a safe distance. Every once in
awhile that bear would spy them and rush towards them,
seeking relief, I suppose, but when the dagoes would see
him coming with his mouth wide open and his eyes roll-
ing they would turn and fly. They were afraid of his
company, thinking he had gone mad. Well, when the
effects wore off, Mr. Bear looked pretty sheepish, and the
dagoes caught him by the chain and led him off out of
sight into a cut, got a railroad tie, and the way( they
rubbed that bear's stomach, one on each side, until the
sweat poured down their faces! I don't suppose they
ever worked so hard before. You see, they thought the
bear had eaten something that did not agree with him
and he had the stomachache. When they got tired rub-
ing, they brought him back, but Mr. Bear, as soon as
he saw the crowd, jerked away and climbed a telegraph
pole and sat there among the wires until the crowd dis-
persed. He had more sense than his owners — he would
not be hokey-pokied again.

Among the many favorite amusements, pastimes,
and fun of the gang was to scare a greenhorn with a big
stuffed bull snake. A party who kept a large establish-
ment to entertain the thirsty and gratify the sports with
billiards, cards, dice, and, in fact, it was a great and
favorite resort for the lovers of fun; also, in his back yard
he had a large wire cage, filled with big rattlesnakes.
More than a dozen of these venomous reptiles occupied
the cage and lived in peace and harmony, up to the fatal
day which I shall tell about farther on.

Now then, it was the duty of some loafer or hanger-
—245—

on around the saloon to go out and hunt up a greenhorn,
invite him to a drink, then tell him about the big den
of rattlers, and take him out and show him the snakes,
relating an interesting history of this big rattler and
that rattler, how they had bitten a man who died. When
he had his auditor absorbed in the story, with his eyes
bulged out, and attending to nothing else but the story of
the big snakes, the story teller would suddenly say:
"Bend your neck and look down there at that monster;"
and when his man would bend his head and stoop over,
someone would place the enormous stuffed snake on his
neck, its tail and its head almost touching the ground
from either side. Mr. Man, feeling the snake and, at the
same time, seeing it, would give an ungodly whoop, bend
his head, and keep jumping up and down, trying to shake
it off over his head, instead of straightening up, as he
ought to have done, when the snake would have dropped
off his back. Then there would be a seance. The crowd
would whoop and hollo, and the poor fellow would join
them from fear and keep jumping up and down, until,
finally, he would get rid of the terrible snake — it would
drop off.

Now negroes fear snakes worse than any race of
people on earth, and no sooner would the darkey get over
his fright (when the victim chanced to be a darkey),
than he would go out into the street and bring in another
darkey to go through the same performance as himself.
This was his mode of revenge.

One day an old fellow came along, traveling back

east to his wife's folks, and he proved to be an easy

victim of the gang, but in the end, it was an expense to

them. After going through the same performance as the

negro, they found he had a prairie dog in his wagon,

which the boys persuaded him to let them put into the

cage with the snakes, and they told the old man the dog

would whip the snakes. They had no idea he would, but

—246—

the little fellow made a gallant fight, I tell you. He made
the attack and began the fight himself, as soon as he was
placed with them, and, my! how he did fight. He just
went for those snakes like a little tiger, would grab one
in his teeth, lift it almost off the floor, and shake it sav-
agely; and he just kept on until he got all those snakes
so riled up, he set them crazy, and they all got to fighting
and biting each other. The litde dog would get so tired
he would rush up the side of the cage and hold on for a
little while, until he regained his wind, and then he
would jump down and at 'em again, harder than ever.
He did make a gallant fight and a long one. It surprised
us all that he could last so long, but, finally, the little
fellow began to weaken, and the old man declared the
fight off. The prairie dog died soon after they took him
out of the cage, but he got his revenge; next day there
was not on of those dozen big rattlers alive. They must
have poisoned each other in the fight. Anyhow, they
were all dead — not one left alive to tell of the fight; the
little prairie dog took them all with him to the happy
hunting grounds. It was a fit ending for such a gallant
fight as the little fellow made.

—247-

Chapter XIV.

Where the Swindler Flourished and Grew Fat

T^TITH its cosmopolitan crowds and free and easy life
^ " • "with the broad frontier for refuge close at hand, it
was natural that Dodge City, in its early days, should be a
fruitful field for the street fraud and professional swindler
of every description. Probably, there was not a confidence
game nor a fake proposition known, at that time, that was
not worked to the full on the streets of Dodge City, and
even the open-hearted kindness and liberality which so
characterized the town in cases of distress and need, was
often made material for dishonest manipulation, and the
foundation for ill-gotten gains, by unprincipled individu-
als.

So proverbial had the liberality of the citizens of
Dodge City become that it was known for miles up and
down the old Santa Fe trail. Unprincipled immigrants
and strangers took advantage of it. For instance, a strong,
hearty, middle-aged man, bronzed from exposure to the
weather, and having other appearances of an honest, hard
working, industrious man who was taking Horace
Greeley's advice and moving west to better his condition,
came into Dodge, one afternoon, hitched in harness by
the side of a poor, old raw-boned horse, drawing a wagon
in which was the younger portion of his family. The
others were barefooted and walking. He claimed that
his other horse got alkalied and died some distance down
the river, which was a likely story, as they were lots of
alkali pools in the river bottom. Some sympathetic per-
sons went around with a hat in their hands and his hard-
luck story on their tongues, and soon enough money was
raised to buy him a good span of horses, grub for his
family, and to pay his expenses for some time. He went
on his way, saying in his heart, "What fools these people

—248—

be! They have much more generosity than sense," for he
had sent his hired man around north of town with two
good horses, and we heard he was fairly well to do.

Another time, a poor family, with a dilapidated
wagon and horses to match, the wagon full of children,
rolled into Dodge and exhibited a dead baby and a sick
mother. No money, no clothes, no food, and, as a Mexican
says, "no nather." This was a piteous sight to behold, and
soon the generous feeling, always slumbering in the hearts
of the good people of Dodge, was aroused and they raised
a subscription for a coffin and buried the little one, and
gave the mother quite a snug little sum of money, and
bought groceries for the family. That night they dug
up the corpse and took it and the coffin to the next town,
after filling up the grave. You see, it was a wax baby —
a good imitation. We heard of them playing the same
trick on other towns.

One morning in the early days of Dodge City, two
gentlemen, elegantly dressed and groomed, made their
appearance at the Long Branch saloon. One could see at
a glance they were educated and refined, and both men
had lovely manners and exceedingly great persuasive
powers. They were quiet and unassuming, both were lib-
eral spenders as well as drinkers, but they never were
under the influence of liquor. It was only a short time
until they had captivated a lot of friends, and I among
the number. They were admirable story tellers. One
we will call Doc Holiday, the other Creek. They had
traveled all over Europe, spoke several languages, and
the doctor had diplomas from several colleges in Europe,
having finished his education in Heidelberg.

They and I soon became very intimate. Of course,
before our friendship ripened, I took them to be what I
thought them, elegant gentlemen; but, to my surprise,
under a promise from me not to betray them, they told me
they were big crooks and gold brick men. The first year

—249—

of the great boom at Leadville, they gold-bricked an
Ohio banker. The banker came to Leadville with scads
of ready money, hunting soft snaps. Their stool pigeons
soon discovered him and brought them together. The
gold brick men claimed they w^ere the last of a gang of
mountain bandits w^ho robbed the Deadv^ood stage. Most
of these gold bricks, they said, belonged to the govern-
ment and w^ere being shipped to the mint at Denver when
they were captured. The government had a record of the
number of the bricks and the actual weight of each brick,
so they could be identified, which was the reason they
were making such a sacrifice, for they, themselves could
not possibly dispose of the bricks, to get anywhere near
their value.

The price was soon fixed at about twenty thousand
dollars, but then came the test. The old banker thought
he was very cunning. They brought a brick and had the
banker file it at the ends, center, and middle, took the
filings to an isolated spot in a fine, white silk handker-
chief, and applied the acid. The filings stood the test
because they had exchanged handkerchiefs, substituting
genuine gold filings for the base metal. The banker then
demanded to see all the bricks. They had them sunk in
a little lake in the mountains, with a gravelly bottom.
They dove down and brought up a brick which the bank-
er filed the same as the other, and took the filings, that
night after dark, to an old log cabin on the outskirts of
the town. When they were about to make the acid test
again, someone knocked. They blew out the light and
made the grand change again, and told the banker to take
the filings himself to a jeweler, and apply the acid. Of
course, the test was approved by the jeweler and the bank-
er, because the dust was genuine gold dust.

Now then. Creek stayed with the banker, at his re-
quest, as far as Chicago. This was playing into their
hands, of course. The banker was anxious to have Creek

—250—

at the final test in Chicago, but Creek had no such notion.
Of course, these men were disguised, and had their own
plans, and were in constant communication with each
other. At some large city east of the Missouri River, an
officer came on board, put his hand on the banker's'
shoulder, and said: "I arrest you as an accomplice in a
theft of government gold, which I have reason to believe
you have with you, and, if you promise to behave, I won't
put the handcuffs on you." The officer who made the
arrest said to his deputy who stood behind him, "Look
out for this man and his partner, too (meaning Creek) ;
while I go out and get us some lunch, as I don't intend
they shall leave this train until it pulls into Chicago."
As soon as the officer was gone. Creek said to the deputy,
"Please go with me to the closet." When they returned,
Creek said to the banker, "The deputy wants to talk to
you privately." The deputy said, "Why not buy off this
United States marshal? You will not only lose your
bricks, but you will be disgraced forever, and may go to
the penitentiary for a long term. Try him when he gets
back." Of course, at first, the United States marshal was
very indignant, but finally said he would turn the banker
loose on the payment of fifteen thousand dollars, and he
got the money soon after reaching Chicago. It is needless
to say the United States marshal was no one else but Doc
Holiday.

The last I saw of the two, they were starting south,
overland, in a buckboard, with tent, cooking utensils, and
camp equipage of all kinds. They had along a race horse,
a prize fighter, a fighting bulldog, and two prize-win- •
ning game cocks. They were sports, every inch of them,
if they were crooks, and both were dead shots with the
six-shooter. These men were in Dodge City under cover,
and stayed all summer, or until the hunt for them had
been abandoned. Dodge was the hiding place for a great
many crooks of every description. They even say Jesse

—251—

James was here, for a short time, under cover, and Bob
Ford, his murderer, was also.

On one occasion, word reached Dodge City several
days in advance, of the arrival of a large band of Gypsies,
headed for Dodge City. Large bodies move slowly, and
so it was with this band, so the "gang" had plenty of
time to prepare a proper reception for them. This band
was the most filthy set of vagabonds imaginable, and their
animals and outfit were worse, if such a thing could be.

They anticipated a rich harvest here, as they had
heard of the liberality and generosity of our people and
expected large returns from fortune telling, horse racing,
horse trading, begging, and all the tricks in which they
are proficient. They began business with horse racing,
but the gang "hokey-pokied" their horses, and the result
was the throwing of the riders over the horses' heads,
and the bucking, kicking, and pitching of the animals,
until they got to camp. The second day, the women
brought in their chimpanzees, and they had some mon-
sters, but they were mangy, skinny, and repulsive, and
their monkeys, bears, parrots, and other animals were in
the same condition. They were a scabby looking lot.

For shelter, the Gypsies had a hundred little low dog
tents, black with smoke, dirt, and filth, and their wagons
were dilapidated, wabbly, and of all sizes and descrip-
tions, from a wheelbarrow and dog cart to a two-horse
wagon.

Their chimpanzees were intelligent and well trained
and understood their business, but they did not under-
stand their trouble when they received a liberal applica-
tion of "hokey-pokey" from the gang, and it made them
vicious and crazy. They had sense enough, however, to
know who applied it to them, and they went after the
fellows and very nearly caught some of them. What a
fight and struggle the women had to control these ani-

—252—

mals, and it certainly was an interesting and amusing
diversion to see them.

There was a large, smooth, piece of ground, just out-
side the town limits, where they camped, expecting to
stay a long time. They had one very large, ferocious
bear, and twenty or thirty dogs of all kinds and varieties,
with which they would gi\e their big show or "principal
attraction." This attraction they would not put on unless
they got their price. Their big performance was to tie
a rope, several hundred feet long, to this big, half-starved
bear, give him a large beef bone, then turn in the whole
pack of half-starved dogs with him. Now this was a
fight, as they say here, "for your whiskers." They an-
nounced their first exhibition for Saturday evening, it
was soon advertised all over town, and another exhibition
was announced for the following morning.

It was a beautiful summer morning, and I do not
think that many went to church that day, judging from
the crowd on the grounds. The boys were posted from
the exhibition of the evening before, and were ready to
make a slight change in the program. Just as the bear
was turned out, with the rope attached, he received an
application of the "hokey-pokey" and he was doped
plentifully. At the same time, every cage containing a
wolf, coyote, bear, monkey, or chimpanzee, which had
been previously assigned to some member of the gang
for attention was carefully attended to, and all of the
animals were doped. The work was perfectly done, and
the results were highly satisfactory. The bear just simply
went crazy, and he struck the dogs right and left, as they
came to him, and every lick sent a dog some distances in
some direction. The dogs were just as determined and
industrious as the bear, and would come at him more
fiercely than ever, but they made no impression on him.
He wanted to get away from something, he did not know
what. He would run the whole length of the rope, when

—253—

the men at the other end of the rope would check him.
He would then take a swing in some other direction, and
the people would fall all over each other and in every
direction. The bear had the right of way and used it.
Our marshal, Low Warren, was busy, trying to keep the
people out of the way of the bear and danger, and to
restore order, but, notwithstanding he was perhaps the
largest man in the county, he might as well have tried to
stop the flow of the Arkansas river. In an attempt to get
some women and children out of the way, he went
sprawling down and took several more with him.

As here related, all the animals were doped at the
same time, and the effect was the same on all, and at the
same time. The howling, screaming, moaning, and acro-
batic performances of people and animals were certainly
worth the price of admission, and such confusion I never
saw. When the Gypsies could come to a realization of
what had happened, the women made a charge on the
gang, armed with sticks, stones, and everything that
would serve as a weapon of offensive warfare. The dis-
regard for polite language was very noticeable, and the
confusion of tongues was bewildering.

As a fitting climax to this unique entertainment, a
young fellow named Gibson, rode up to the outskirts of
the camp, on a fiery young colt, and was viewing the
results of the performance, when some member of the
fraternity slipped up behind the colt and doped him.
Gibson and the colt parted company immediately, and the
colt took his departure, giving an excellent exhibition of
pitching and bucking through the camp, scattering the
women and children of the Gypsies, and adding fuel to
their already consuming passions and rage. They con-
cluded that Dodge City was certainly the capital of all
the demons in existence, and, the next day, they folded
their tents and departed for more congenial parts. Dodge
City was too much for them.

—254—

A unique but decidedly significant warning to the
swindlers and crooks infesting Dodge City, was made by
a newly elected mayor, A. B. Webster, who, upon assum-
ing office, issued the following proclamation:

"To all whom it may concern: All thieves, thugs, con-
fidence men, and persons without visible means of sup-
port, will take notice that the ordinances, enacted for
their special benefit, will be rigorously enforced after April
7th, 1881."

—255—

Chapter XV.

The Cattle Business and the Texas Drive

"C^OR a few of Dodge City's earliest years, the great
herds of buffalo were the source from which sprung a
large share of the business activity and prosperity of the
place. As has been virtually stated, buffalo hunting was
a regular vocation, and traffic in buffalo hides and meat
a business of vast proportions. But after a time, the source
of this business began to fail, and something to take its
place was necessary if a gap were not to be left in Dodge
City's industrial world. A substitute, in the form of a
new industry, was not wanting, however, for immediately
in the wake of the buffalo hunter came the cowboy, and
following the buffalo came the long-horned steer. As
the herds of the former receded and vanished, the herds of
the latter advanced and multiplied, until countless num-
bers of buffaloes were wholly supplanted by countless
numbers of cattle, and Dodge City was surrounded with
new-fashioned herds in quite the old-fashioned way. Be-
ing the border railroad town, Dodge also became at once
the cattle market for the whole southwestern frontier, and,
very shortly, the cattle business became enormous, being
practically all of that connected with western Kansas,
eastern Colorado, New Mexico, Indian Territory (now
Oklahoma), and Texas. Cattle were driven to Dodge, at
intervals, from all these points for sale and transportation,
but the regular yearly drive from the ranges of Texas
was so much greater in numbers and importance than the
others, that they were quite obscured by it, while the
Texas drive became famous for its immensity.

The "Kansas City Indicator," and other reliable
papers and estimates, place the drive north from Texas,
from 1866 to 1878, at 3,413,513 head. The "San Antonio

Express" says of the enormous number: "Place a low

—256—

i ^

^^'

average receipt of seven dollars per head, yet we have the
great sum of $24,004,591.00. Not more than half of this
vast amount of money finds its way back to the state, but
much the larger portion is frittered away by the reckless
owner and more reckless cowboy." Of this money, a con-
temporary writer says: "Of course Dodge receives her
portion which adds greatly to the prosperity of the town
and helps build up our city. The buyers pay on an average
of eight dollars per head for yearling steers and seven
dollars for heifers. They place these yearling steers on
ranches, both north and south of us, and market them
in two years, when they net in Kansas City, Chicago, and
other markets at twenty-five dollars, making the net
profit of two hundred per cent on their investments or
doubling their capital twice over, as their losses are not
more than two or three per cent, and the cost of running
them for two years are very light."

They paid no taxes; they paid no rent for their
ranches; and their ranges were free. The cost of living
was very light, and all they were out were the men's
wages. You can readily see how all those engaged in
the stock business quickly made fortunes, and the business
was the cleanest, healthiest on earth.

The cattle drive to Dodge City first began in 1875-

1876, when there were nearly two hundred and fifty

thousand head driven to this point. In 1877, there were

over three hundred thousand, and the number each year

continued to increase until the drive reached nearly a

half million. We held the trade for ten years, until 1886,

when the dead line was moved to the state line. There

were more cattle driven to Dodge, any and every year that

Dodge held it, than to any other town in the state, and

Dodge held it three times longer than any other town,

and, for about ten years. Dodge was the greatest cattle

market in the world. Yes, all the towns that enjoyed the

—257—

trade of the Texas Drive, Dodge exceeded greatly in
number, and held it much longer.

In corroboration of this assertion, I give a quotation
from the "Kansas City Times," of that period, thus:
"Dodge City has become the great bovine market of the
world, the number of buyers from afar being unprece-
dently large this year ( ), giving an impetus to
the cattle trade that cannot but speedily shov^^ its fruits.
The v^onderfully rank growth of grasses and an abun-
dance of water this season has brought the condition of
the stock to the very highest standard, the ruling prices
showing a corresponding improvement. There are now
upwards of one hundred thousand head of cattle in the
immediate vicinity of Dodge City, and some of the herds
run high into the thousands. There is a single herd
numbering forty thousand, another of seventeen thou-
sand, another of twenty-one thousand, and several of five
thousand or thereabouts. On Saturday, no less than
twenty-five thousand were sold. The Texas drive to
Dodge this year will run close to two hundred thousand
head."

A "Kansas City Times" correspondent, in a letter
headed, "Dodge City, Kansas, May 28th, 1877," writes
up the subject as follows:

"Abilene, Ellsworth, and Hays City on the Kansas
Pacific railroad, then Newton and Wichita, and now
Dodge City on the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe road,
have all, in their turn, enjoyed the 'boil and bubble, toil
trouble' of the Texas cattle trade.

"Three hundred and sixty-seven miles west from
Kansas City we step off at Dodge, slumbering as yet
(8:30 a.m.) in the tranquil stillness of a May morning.
In this respect Dodge is peculiar. She awakes from her
slumbers about eleven, a. m., takes her sugar and lemon
at twelve m., a square meal at one p. m., commences biz

—258—

at two o'clock, gets lively at four, and at ten it is hip-hip-
hurrah! till five in the morning.

"Not being a full-fledged Dodgeite, v^e breakfasted
with Deacon Cox, of the Dodge House, at nine o'clock,
and meandered around until we found ourselves on top of
the new and handsome courthouse. A lovely prairie
landscape was here spread out before us. Five miles to
the southeast nestled Fort Dodge, coyly hiding, one would
think, in the brawny arm of the Arkansas. Then, as far
as the eye could reach, for miles up the river and past the
city, the bright green velvety carpet was dotted by thou-
sands of long-horns which have, in the last few days,
arrived, after months of travel, some of them from be-
yond the Rio Grande and which may, in a few more
months, give the Bashi Bazouks fresh courage for chop-
ping up the Christians and carrying out the dictates of
their Koran. But we are too far off. We have invaded
Turkey with Texas beef, and, though a long-horned sub-
ject must be somewhat contracted here.

"Dodge City has now about twelve hundred inhabi-
tants— residents we mean, for there is a daily population
of twice that many; six or seven large general stores, the
largest of which. Rath & Wright, does a quarter o£ a
million retail trade in a year; and the usual complement
of drug stores, bakers, butchers, blacksmiths, etc.; and
last, but not by any means the least, nineteen saloons —
no little ten-by-twelves, but seventy-five to one hundred
feet long, glittering with paint and mirrors, and some of
them paying one hundred dollars per month rent for the
naked room.

"Dodge, we find, is in the track of the San Juanist,
numbers of which stop here to outfit, on their way to
the silvery hills.

"We had the good luck to interview Judge Beverly
of Texas, who is the acknowledged oracle of the cattle
trade. He estimates the drive at two hundred and eighty-

—259—

five thousand, probably amounting to three hundred
thousand, including calves. Three-quarters of all will
probably stop at Dodge and be manipulated over the
Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe, by that prince of railroad
agents, J. H. Phillips, Esq. Herbert, as he is familiarly
called, is a graduate of Tammany Hall and is understood
to wear in his shirt front the identical solitaire once worn
by Boss Tweed. It is hinted that Herbert will buy every
hoof destined for the Kansas Pacific road, at four times
its value, rather than see them go that way. He would
long, long ago have been a white-winged angel, playing
on the harp of a thousand strings, were it not for the
baneful associations of Frazer, Sheedy, Cook, et al. You
can hear more about 'cutting out,' 'rounding up,' etc., in
Dodge, in fifteen minutes, than you can hear in small
towns like Chicago and St. Louis in a lifetime."

In the same year, another newspaper representative,
G. C. Noble, who visited Dodge, describes his impressions
as follows:

"At Dodge City we found everything and everybody
busy as they could comfortably be. This being my first
visit to the metropolis of the West, we were very pleas-
antly surprised, after the cock and bull stories that lunatic
correspondents had given the public. Not a man was
swinging from a telegraph pole; not a pistol was fired;
no disturbance of any kind was noted. Instead of being
called on to disgorge the few ducats in our possession, we
were hospitably treated by all. It might be unpleasant
for one or two old time correspondents to be seen here,
but they deserve all that would be meted out to them.
The Texas cattlemen and cowboys, instead of being armed
to the teeth, with blood in their eye, conduct themselves
with propriety, many of them being thorough gentlemen.

"Dodge City is supported principally by the immense
cattle trade that is carried on here. During the season
that has just now fairly opened, not less than two hundred

—260—

thousand head will find a market here, and there are
nearly a hundred purchasers who make their head-
quarters here during the season. Mr. A. H. Johnson, the
gentlemanly stock agent of the Atchison, Topeka & Santa
Fe Company, informs us that the drive to this point, dur-
ing the season, will be larger than ever before.

"From our window in the Dodge House, which by
the way, is one of the best and most commodious in the
west, can be seen five herds, ranging from one thousand
to ten thousand each, that are awaiting transportation.
The stock yards here are the largest west of St. Louis,
and just now are well filled.

"Charles Rath & Company have a yard in which are
about fifty thousand green and dried buffalo hides.

"F. C. Zimmerman, an old patron of the *Champ-
ion,' runs a general outfitting store, and flourishes finan-
cially and physically. Many other friends of the leading
journal are doing business, and are awaiting patiently
the opening up of the country to agricultural purposes.

"In the long run. Dodge is destined to become the
metropolis of western Kansas and only awaits the devel-
opment of its vast resources.

One more brief extract from a visitor's account of
his visit "among the long-horns", and the extent and
importance of Dodge City's early cattle trade will have
been sufficiently established to permit my proceeding to
some of the peculiar phases of that trade and the life of
the stockmen and cowboys. This visitor sees the facetious
side of the Dodge cattle traffic:

"This is May, 1877, Dodge City boiling over with
buyers and drivers. 'Dodge City!' called the brakeman,
and, with about thirty other sinners, we strung out to the
Dodge House to command the register with our auto-
graphs, deposit our grip-sacks with Deacon Cox, and
breakfast. But what a crowd is this we have elbowed

our reportorial nose into? and bless your soul, what a

—261—

sight! It just looks like all Texas was here. We now
learn that everybody not at the Dodge House is at the
Alamo. The Alamo is presided over by a reformed
Quaker from New York, and it is hinted that the man-
ner in which he concocts a toddy (every genuine cattle-
man drinks toddy) increases the value of a Texas steer
two dollars and seventy-five cents. There is about seven-
ty-five thousand head around town. Everybody is buying
and selling. Everything you hear is about beeves and
steers and cows and toddies and cocktails. The grass is
remarkably fine; the water is plenty; two drinks for a
quarter, and no grangers. These facts make Dodge City
the cattle point."

Notwithstanding the regularity of the great drives
into Dodge, their magnitude, and the general popularity
of the cattle trade as a business, the life of the cowboys
and drovers was, by no means, an easy one. It was
beset on every hand by hardship and danger. Exposure
and privation continually tried the man who was out
with the great herds; accidents, stampedes, and other
dangers continually threatened his life; horse and cattle
thieves continually harassed him with fears for the safety
of his mounts and his charge.

A little item which appeared in the "Dodge City
Times", of April 6th, 1878, read like this: "Mr. Jesse
Evans and his outfit, consisting of fifty men and five
four-mule teams and a number of saddle horses, started
for the southwest yesterday. They go to New Mexico to
gather from the ranges about twenty thousand cattle that
Mr. Evans has purchased and will bring to Dodge City
for sale and shipment." This expedition appeared simple
and easy enough, from the tone of the item, but it gave
no idea at all of the real facts in the case.

The fifty men were picked up in Dodge City. They
were all fighters and gun-men, selected because they were
such, for, in gathering these twenty thousand head of

.262 —

cattle, they did so from under the very noses of the worst
set of stock thieves and outlav^s ever banded together,
who were the Pecos River gang, with the famous "Billy
the Kid" as leader. But they took the catde without
much fighting, and delivered them safely at Jesse Evan's
ranch just southeast of Dodge.

These men suffered incredible hardships on the drive
up. Before they were halfway back, winter overtook
them, and their horses necessarily being thin from the
terrible work they had done, could not survive the cold
storms, but lay down and died. There was scarcely a
mount left. The men were all afoot, and barefooted at
that, and had to often help draw the mess wagon by hand.
They lived for weeks on nothing but fresh beef, often
without salt; no sugar, no coffee, no flour, no nothing,
but beef, beef, all the time, and they were the most woe
begone, ragged, long-haired outfit I ever saw — scarcely
any clothing except old blankets tied around them in
every fashion; no shoes or hats; indeed, they were almost
naked. But I tell you what they did have a plenty; it
was "gray-backs". With their long hair and long beards,
these little "varmints" were having a feast, and the men
bragged about these little pests keeping them alive and
warm, for, in scratching so much, it gave good circulation
to their blood. But notwithstanding their long hair and
naked, dirty, lousy bodies, the men were in splendid
health. They wandered into Dodge, one and two at a
time, and, in this manner, it was two days and nights
before they all straggled in.

Perhaps the most dangerous, most dreaded, and most
carefully guarded against phase of cattle driving was the
stampede, where all the skill, nerve, and endurance of the
drivers were tested to the limit. A common dark lantern
was often a feature at such times. The part it played in
quelling and controUing a stampede, as well as some

— 263 —

feature of the stampede itself, is well described, by a
writer of cattle driving days, in this wise:

"One of the greatest aids to the cowboys during a
stampede, on a dark stormy night, is the bull's-eye lan-
tern, and it so simple and handy. We all know when a
stampede starts it is generally on a dark, stormy night.
The cowboy jumps up, seizes his horse, and starts with
a bound to follow the noise of the retreating herd, well
knowing, as he does, the great danger before him; often-
times encountering a steep bank, ten to twenty and some-
times thirty feet high, over which his horse plunges at
full speed, to their certain death. For he knows not where
the cattle, crazed by fear, will take him, but he does
know it is his duty to follow as close as the speed of his
horse will take him. This friend of his, the bull's-eye
lantern, was discovered by accident. The flash of the
lantern, thrown upon the bewildered herd, restores it to
its equilibrium, and, in its second affright, produces a
reaction, as it were, and, being completely subdued, the
stampede is stopped, during the most tempestuous raging
of the elements. The old-fashioned way was to ride to
the front of the herd and fire their guns in the faces of
the cattle. Now, they throw the flash of the lantern across
the front of the herd and flash the bull's-eye into their
faces, which is much more effective. The courage of
the cowboy is demonstrated frequently on the long trail,
but few of the cowboys are unequal to the emergencies."

As a result of the widespread stealing of cattle and
horses, especially horses, which went on in connection
with the great cattle traffic, the papers of the day abound-
ed with notices like the following from the "Dodge City
Times", of March 30th, 1878.

"Mr. H. Spangler, of Lake City, Comanche County,
arrived in the city last Saturday in search of two horses
that had been stolen from him last December. He de-
scribed the stolen stock to Sheriff Masterson who immedi-

—264—

ately instituted search. On Monday he found one of the
horses, a very valuable animal, at Mueller's cattle ranch
on the Saw Log, it having been traded to Mr. Wolf. The
horse was turned over to the owner. The sheriff has
trace of the other horse and will endeavor to recover it."

Many were the stories, of many different sorts, told
about stock stealing and stock thieves. Some of these
even took a humorous turn. One such, as told in early
days, though funny was, nevertheless, true, and some do
say that the man only took back what was taken from
him, and it was (honestly or dishonestly) his horse. The
reader may form his own opinion after perusing the story,
as follows:

"Mr. O'Brien arrived in Dodge City last Sunday,
August 30th, 1877, with the property, leaving, as we stated,
our hero on the open prairie.

"We can picture in our minds this festive horse-thief,
as he wandered over this sandy plain, under the burning
sun, bereft of the things he holds most dear, to-wit: his
horse, his saddle, and his gun. His feet became sore, his
lips parched, and he feels, verily, he is not in luck. At
last he can hold his pent-up passion no longer. A pale
gray look comes into his face, and a steel gray look into
his eye, and he swears by the great god of all horse-
thieves (Dutch Henry) that he will show his oppressors a
trick or two — that he will show them an aggrieved knight
of the saddle knows no fear. His resolve is to recapture
his horse or die in the attempt. A most noble resolve.
The horse is his own by all laws known to horse-thieves
in every land. It is his because he stole it. Now, be it
known that this particular horse was a good horse, a
horse whose speed was fast and whose wind was good,
so to speak. This horse he loved because he was a fast
horse and no common plug could run with half as much
speed. Seated in the saddle on the back of this noble

animal, our hero feared not even the lightning in its rapid

—265—

career. As we said before, his determination was fixed
and his eye was sot. He would recapture the noble beast
or he would die in the attempt. It was a go on foot and
alone. He struck out. At the first hunters' camp he
stole a gun, a pair of boots, and a sack of flour. He stole
these articles because he had to have them, and it was a
ground-hog case. On he came toward our beautiful city.
His knowledge of the country led him direct to the farm
of a rich farmer. As he approached he primed his gun,
dropped lightly on hands and knees, and, with the demon
glowing in his eye, stole silently through the tall buffalo
grass to the house. Just at this time Mr. O'Brien happened
to be riding out from town. He was riding directly by
the place where our hero was concealed, and his first in-
timation of the presence of anyone was the sight of the
man he met the Sunday before, with his gun cocked and
pointed at him. Throw up your hands,' said the horse-
thief; you have a small pistol in your belt — throw that
down.' Mr. O'Brien obeyed. 'Now march to the stable
before me, get my saddle and gun, and curry and saddle
my horse which is picketed yonder, and await further
orders.'

"Now, it so happened that the wealthy farmer was
walking out that evening with his shotgun on his arm.
He came to the stable, but, just as he turned the corner,
the muzzle of a gun was placed near his head, and the
word, 'Halt!' uttered. The rich farmer said, 'What do
you want?' 'My horse, saddle, and bridle.' 'What else?'
'Nothing.' The farmer made a move as if he would use
his gun. The horse-thief said, 'Do not move or you will
be hurt.' Silence for a moment, then, 'Lay down your
gun.' The gun was laid down. By this time, Mr. O'Brien
came out with the saddle and gun, the gun being strapped
in the scabbard. Keeping them both under cover of his
rifle, the horse-thief ordered them to walk before him

to his horse and ordered Mr. O'Brien to saddle and bridle

—266—

the horse, which he did. Our hero then mounted his brave
steed and told his reluctant companions that if they pur-
sued him their lives v^ould be worthless, and then he sped
off like the wind." Reader, "such is life in the far west."

Besides stock thieves and stealing, the cattle trade of
early Dodge was attended by many other desperate char-
acters and irregular practices, that were long in being
stamped out. No better way of describing these desperate
characters and irregular practices is at hand than by
introducing a few specimens, for the reader's considera-
tion.

Two of the greatest gamblers and faro-bank fiends,
as well as two of the most desperate men and sure shots,
were Ben and Billy Thompson. Every year, without fail,
they came to Dodge to meet the Texas drive. Each
brothers had killed several men, and they were both dead
shots. They terrorized Ellsworth county and city, the
first year of the drive to that place, killed the sheriff of
the county, a brave and fearless officer, together with
several deputies, defied the sheriff's posse, and made
their "get away".

A large reward was offered for them and they were
pursued all over the country; but, having many friends
among the big, rich cattlemen, they finally gave them-
selves up and, through the influence of these men who
expended large sums of money in their defense, they were
cleared. Ben told the writer that he never carried but
one gun. He never missed, and always shot his victim
through the head. He said, when he shot a man, he look-
ed the crowd over carefully, and if the man had any close
friends around or any dangerous witness was around, he
would down him to destroy evidence. The last few years
of his life, he never went to bed without a full quart bottle
of three-star Hennessey brandy, and he always emptied
the bottle before daylight. He could not sleep without it.

Ben was a great favorite with the stockmen. They
— 267 —

needed him in their business for, be it said to their shame,
some of them employed killers to protect their stock and
ranges and other privileges, and Ben could get any reason-
able sum, from one hundred to several thousand dollars,
with v^hich to deal or play bank.

Ben Thompson w^as the boss among the gamblers and
killers at Austin, and a man whose name I have forgotten.
Bishop, I think, a man of wealth and property, who
owned saloons and dance halls and theaters at San An-
tonio, was the boss of the killers of that town. Great rival-
ry existed between these two men, and they were deter-
mined to kill each other. Word was brought to the San
Antonio gent that Ben was coming down to kill him, so
he had fair warning and made preparations. Ben arrived
in town and walked in front of his saloon. He knew Ben
was looking for the drop on him and would be sure to
come back the same way, so he stationed himself behind
his screen in front of his door, with a double-barreled
shotgun. Whether Ben was wise to this, I do not know,
but when Ben came back, he fired through this screen,
and the San Antonio man fell dead with a bullet hole in
his head, and both barrels of his gun were discharged
into the floor.

Ben was now surely the boss, and numerous friends
flocked to his standard, for "nothing succeeds like suc-
cess". Some say that this victory made Ben too reckless
and fool-hardy, however.

Some time after this, the cattlemen gathered in
Austin at a big convention. At this convention, Ben
was more dissipated and reckless than ever, and cut a big
figure. There was a congressman who resided at Austin,
who was Ben's lawyer and friend (I won't mention his
name). After the convention adjourned, thirty or forty
of the principal stockmen and residents of Texas re-
mained to close up business and give a grand banquet
(and let me say right here, these men were no cowards).

—268—

That night, Ben learned that they had not invited his
congressman, to which sHght he took exceptions. The
plates were all laid, wine at each plate, and just as they
were about to be seated, in marched Ben with a six-
shooter in his hand. He began at one end of the long
table and smashed the bottles of wine, and chinaware
as he came to it, making a clean sweep the jentire length
of the table. Let me tell you, before he got half through
with his smashing process, that banquet hall was deserted.
Some rushed through the doors, some took their exit
through the windows, and in some instances the sash of
the windows went with them and they did not stop to
deprive themselves of it until they were out of range.

This exploit sounded Ben's death knell, as I remarked
at the time that it would, because I knew these men.

Major Seth Mabrey was asked, the next day, what
he thought of Ben's performance. Mabrey had a little
twang in his speech and talked a little through his nose.
In his slow and deliberate way, he said: "By Ginneys!
I always thought, until last night, that Ben Thompson
was a brave man, but I have changed my mind. If he
had been a brave man, he would have attacked the whole
convention when we were together and three thousand
strong, but instead, he let nearly all of them get out of
town, and cut off a little bunch of only about forty of us,
and jumped onto us."

After this, the plans were laid to get away with Ben.

He was invited to visit San Antonio and have one of the

good old-time jamborees, and they would make it a rich

treat for him. He accepted. They gave a big show at

the theater for his especial benefit. When the "ball" was

at its height, he was invited to the bar to take a drink,

and, at a given signal, a dozen guns were turned loose on

him. They say that some who were at the bar with him

and who enticed him there were killed with him, as they

had to shoot through them to reach Ben. At any rate,

—269—

Ben never knew what hit him, he was shot up so badly.
They were determined to make a good job of it, for if
they did not, they knew the consequences. Major Mabrey
was indeed a cool deliberate, and brave man, but he ad-
mitted to outrunning the swiftest of them.

Major Mabrey would hire more than a hundred men
every spring, for the drive, and it is said of him, that he
never hired a man himself and looked him over carefully
and had him sign a contract, that in months after he
could not call him by name and tell when and where he
had hired him.

The Major built the first castle or palatial residence
on top of the big bluff overlooking the railroad yards
and the Missouri River, in Kansas City, about where
Keeley's Institute now stands.

One of the most remarkable characters that ever
came up the trail, and one whom I am going to give more
than a passing notice, on account of his most remarkable
career, is Ben Hodges, the horse-thief and outlaw.

A Mexican, or rather, a half-breed — half negro and
half Mexican — came up with the first herds of cattle that
made their way to Dodge. He was small of stature, wiry,
and so very black that he was christened, "Nigger Ben."
His age was non-come-at-able. Sometimes he looked
young, not over twenty or twenty-five; then, again, he
would appear to be at least sixty, and, at the writing of
this narrative, he is just the same, and still resides in
Dodge City.

Ben got stranded in Dodge City and was minus
friends and money, and here he had to stay. At about
the time he anchored in Dodge City, there was great
excitement over the report that an old Spanish grant was
still in existence, and that the claim was a valid one and
embraced a greater part of the "Prairie Cattle Com-
pany's" range.

While the stock men were discussing this, sitting on
—270—

a bench in front of my store (Wright, Beverly & Com-
pany) Nigger Ben came along. Just as a joke, one of them
said: "Ben, you are a descendent of these old Spanish
families; why don't you put in a claim as heir to this
grant?" Ben cocked up his ears and listened, took the
cue at once, and went after it. As a novice, he succeeded
in a way beyond all expectations. By degrees, he worked
himself into the confidence of newcomers by telling them
a pathetic story, and so, by slow degrees, he built upon
his story, a little at a time, until it seemed to a stranger
that Ben really did have some sort of a claim on this big
grant, and, like a snowball, it continually grew. He im-
pressed a bright lawyer with the truthfulness of his story,
and this lawyer carefully prepared his papers to lay claim
to the grant, and it began to look bright. Then Judge
Sterry of Emporia, Kan., took the matter up- and not
only gave it his time but furnished money to prosecute it.
Of course, it was a good many years before his claim re-
ceived recognition, as it had to be heard in one of our
highest courts. But, in course of time, years after he began
the action, it came to an end, as all things must, and the
court got down to an investigation and consideration of
the facts. It did not last but a moment, and was thrown
out of court. Not the least shadow of a claim had Ben,
but it was surprising how an ignorant darkey could make
such a stir out of nothing.

Now, while this litigation was going on. Nigger Ben
was not idle, for he started lots of big schemes and deals.
For instance, he claimed to own thirty-two sections of
land in Gray county, Kansas. About the time the United
States Land Office was moved from Larned to Garden
City, Kansas, the Wright-Beverly store at Dodge burned,
and their large safe tumbled into the debris in the base-
ment, but the safe was a good one and nothing whatever
in it was destroyed by the fire. This safe was used by

the Texas drovers as a place in which to keep their money

—271—

and valuable papers. Ben knew this, and, when the
government land office was established at Garden City,
Ben wrote the officials and warned them not to take any
filings on the thirty-two sections of land in Gray county,
minutely describing the land by quarter sections. He
told them that cowboys had filed on and proved up all
these tracts and sold them to him, and that he had placed
all the papers pertaining to the transactions in Wright,
Beverly & Company's safe, and that the papers were all
destroyed by the fire. Now, to verify this, he had written
to the treasurer of Gray County to make him a tax list
of all these lands, which he did, and Ben would show
these papers to the "tenderfeet" and tell them he owned
all this land, and instanter attached them as supporters
and friends, for no man could believe that even Ben
could be such a monumental liar, and they thought that
there must surely be some truth in his story.

He went to the president of the Dodge City National
Bank, who was a newcomer, showed him the letter he
received from the treasurer of Gray County, with a state-
ment of the amount of tax on each tract of land, and,
as a matter of course, this bank official supposed that he
owned the land, and upon Ben's request, he wrote him a
letter of credit, reciting that he (Ben) was said to be the
owner of thirty-two sections of good Kansas land and
supposed to be the owner of a large Mexican land grant
in New Mexico, on which were gold and silver mines,
and quite a large town. He then went to the presidents
of the other Dodge City banks and, by some means,
strange to say, he got nearly as strong endorsements. As
a joke, it is here related that these letters stated that Ben
was sober and industrious, that he neither drank nor
smoked; further, he was very economical, his expenses
very light, that he was careful, that he never signed any
notes or bonds, and never asked for like accommodations.

On the strength of these endorsements and letters, he
—272—

H. L. SiTLER

One of the Seven Old Timers of Dodge City

^

bargained for thousands of cattle, and several herds were
delivered at Henrietta and other points. Cattle advanced
in price materially that spring, and the owners were
glad that Ben could not comply with his contracts to
take them.

Quite a correspondence was opened by eastern cap-
italists and Omaha bankers with Ben, with a view to
making him large loans of money, and, in the course of
the negotiations, his letters were referred to me, as well
as the Dodge City banks and other prominent business
men for reports, here.

It is astounding and surprising what a swath Ben cut
in commercial and financial circles. Besides, he success-
fully managed, each and every year, to get passes and
annual free transportation from the large railroad sys-
tems. How he did it is a mystery to me, but he did it.
If he failed with one official, he would try another,
representing that he had large shipments of cattle to
make from Texas and New Mexico, Indian Territory,
and Colorado. He could just print his name, and he got
an annual over the Fort Worth & Denver, and the writing
of his name in the pass did not look good enough to Ben,
so he erased it and printed his name in his own way.
This was fatal; the first conductor took up his pass and
put him off the train at Amarillo, Texas, and Ben had to
beat his way back to Dodge City.

John Lytle and Major Conklin made a big drive, one
spring, of between thirty and forty herds. They were
unfortunate in encountering storms, and on the way, a
great many of their horses and cattle were scattered.
Each herd had its road brand. Mr. Lytle was north, at-
tending to the delivery of the stock; Major Conklin was
in Kansas City, attending to the firm's business there;
and Martin Culver was at Dodge City, passing on the
cattle when they crossed the Arkansas River. Mr. Culver

offered to pay one dollar per head for their cattle that

—273—

were picked up, and two dollars per head for horses; and
he would issue receipts for same which served as an order
for the money on Major Conklin. Ben Hodges knew all
this and was familiar with their system of transacting
business. Ben managed to get to Kansas City on a stock
train, with receipts for several hundred cattle and a
great many horses, supposed to be signed by Culver.
(They were forgeries, of course). The receipts were for
stock on the firm's different road brands, and Major
Conklin was astonished when he saw them. He did not
know Ben very well and thought he would speculate a
little and offered payment at a reduced price from that
agreed upon. He asked Ben what he could do for him to
relieve his immediate necessities, and Ben got a new suit
of clothes, or, rather, a complete outfit from head to foot,
ten dollars in money, and his board paid for a week. In
a few days Ben called for another ten dollars and an-
other week's board, and these demands continued for a
month. Ben kept posted, and came to Conklin one day
in a great hurry and told him that he must start for Dodge
City at once, on pressing business, and that he was losing
a great deal of money staying in Kansas City, and should
be on the range picking up strays. The Major told Ben
that Mr. Lytle would be home in a few days and he
wanted Lytle to make final settlement with him (Ben).
This was what Ben was trying to avoid. John Lyde was
the last person in the world that Ben wanted to see. He
told Conklin this was impossible, that he must go at
once, and got twenty dollars and transportation to Dodge
City from Conklin.

A few days afterwards, Lytle returned to Kansas
City, and, in a crowd of stock men, at the St. James
Hotel, that were sitting around taking ice in theirs every
half hour and having a good time. Major Conklin very
proudly produced his bunch of receipts he had procured
from Ben in the way of compromise, as above related, and

—274—

said: "John, I made a shrewd business deal and got
your receipts for several hundred cattle and horses for
less than half price, from Ben Hodges." Enough had
been said. All the cattlemen knew Ben, and both the
laugh and the drinks were on Conklin. He never heard
the last of it and many times afterwards had to "set up"
the drinks for taking advantage of an ignorant darkey.
He was completely taken in himself.

One time Ben was in a hot box. It did look bad and
gloomy for him. The writer did think truly and honestly
that he was innocent, but the circumstantial evidence
was so strong against him, he could hardly escape. I
thought it was prejudice and ill feeling towards Ben, and
nothing else, that induced them to bring the suit; and,
what was worse for Ben, his reputation as a cattle thief
and liar was very bad.

Mr. Cady had quite a large dairy, and one morning
he awoke and found his entire herd of milch cows gone.
They could get no trace of them, and, after hunting high
and low, they jumped Ben and, little by little, they wove
a network of circumstantial evidence around him that
sure looked like they would convict him of the theft
beyond a doubt. The district court was in session, Ben
was arrested, and I, thinking the darkey innocent, went
on his bond. Indeed, my sympathies went out to him,
as he had no friends and no money, and I set about his
discharge under my firm belief of his innocence.

I invited the judge down to my ranch at the fort to

spend the night. He was a good friend of mine, but I

hardly dared to advise him, but I thought I would throw

a good dinner into the judge and, under the influence of

a good cigar and a bottle of fine old wine, he would

soften, and, in talking over old times, I would introduce

the subject. I said, "Judge, I know you are an honest,

fair man and want to see justice done; and you would

hate to see an innocent, poor darkey, without any money

—275—

or friends, sent to the pen for a crime he never com-
mitted." And then I told him why I thought Ben was
innocent. He said, "I will have the very best lawyer at
the bar take his case." I said, "No, this is not at all what
I want; I want Ben to plead his own case." So I gave
Ben a few pointers, and I knew after he got through
pleading before that jury, they would either take him
for a knave or a fool.

I was not mistaken in my prophecy. Ben harangued
that jury with such a conglomeration of absurdities and
lies and outrageous tales, they did not know what to
think. I tell you, they were all at sea. He said to them:

"What! me? the descendent of old grandees of Spain,
the owner of a land grant in New Mexico embracing mil-
lions of acres, the owner of gold mines and villages and
towns situated on that grant of whom I am sole owner,
to steal a miserable, miserly lot of old cows? Why, the
idea is absurd. No, gentlemen; I think too much of the
race of men from which I sprang, to disgrace their
memory. No, sir! no, sir! this Mexican would never be
guilty of such. The reason they accuse me is because they
are beneath me and jealous of me. They can't trot in my
class, bcause they are not fit for me to associate with
and, therefore, they are mad at me and take this means
to spite me."

Then he would take another tack and say: "I'se a
poor, honest Mexican, ain't got a dollar, and why do they
want to grind me down? Because dey know I am way
above them by birth and standing, and dey feel sore over
it." And then he would go off on the wildest tangent
you ever listened to.

You could make nothing whatever out of it, and
you'd rack your brains in trying to find out what he was
trying to get at; and you would think he had completely
wound himself up and would have to stop, but not he.
He had set his mouth going and it wouldn't stop yet, and,

—276—

in this way, did he amuse that jury for over two hours.
Sometimes he would have the jury laughing until the
judge would have to stop them, and again, he would have
the jury in deep thought. They were only out a little
while, when they brought in a verdict of not guilty.

Strange to say, a few days afterwards that whole
herd of milch cows came wandering back home, none the
worse for their trip. You see, Ben had stolen the cattle,
drove them north fifty or sixty miles, and hid them in a
deep canyon or arroya. He had to leave them after his
arrest and there came up a big storm, from the north,
which drove the cattle home. I was much surprised
when the cattle came back, for I knew, then, what had
happened and that he was guilty.

I could fill a large book with events in the life of
this remarkable fellow, but want of space compels me
to close this narration here.

The life of the cowboy, the most distinguished deni-
zen of the plains, was unique. The ordinary cowboy, with
clanking spurs and huge sombrero, was a hardened case,
in many particulars, but he had a generous nature. Allen
McCandless gives the character and life of the cowboy in,
"The Cowboy's Soliloquy," in verse, as follows:

"All o'er the prairies alone I ride.

Not e'en a dog to run by my side;

My fire I kindle with chips gathered round (*),

And boil my coffee without being ground.

Bread, lacking leaven, I bake in a pot.

And sleep on the ground, for want of a cot.

I wash in a puddle, and wipe on a sack.

And carry my wardrobe all on my back.

My ceiling's the sky, my carpet the grass.

My music the lowing of herds as they pass;

My books are the brooks, my sermons the stones,

My parson a wolf on a pulpit of bones.

But then, if my cooking ain't very complete,

—277—

Hygienists can't blame me for living to eat;

And where is the man who sleeps more profound

Than the cowboy, who stretches himself on the ground.

My books teach me constancy ever to prize;

My sermons that small things I should not despise;

And my parson remarks, from his pulpit of bone,

That, The Lord favors them who look out for their own.'

Between love and me, lies a gulf very wide,

And a luckier fellow may call her his bride;

But Cupid is always a friend to the bold.

And the best of his arrows are pointed with gold.

Friends gently hint I am going to grief;

But men must make money and women have beef.

Society bans me a savage, from Dodge;

And Masons would ball me out of their lodge.

If I'd hair on my chin, I might pass for the goat

That bore all the sin in the ages remote;

But why this is thusly, I don't understand.

For each of the patriarchs owned a big brand.

Abraham emigrated in search of a range.

When water got scarce and he wanted a change;

Isaac had cattle in charge of Esau;

And Jacob *run cows' for his father-in-law —

He started business clear down at bed-rock.

And made quite a fortune, watering stock;

David went from night herding, and using a sling,

To winning a battle and being a king;

And the shepherds, when watching their flocks on the

hill.
Heard the message from heaven, of peace and good will."

(*) "Chips" were dried droppings of the cattle. Buf-
falo "chips" were used as fuel by the plainsmen.

Another description of the cowboy, different in char-
acter from the last, but no less true to life, is from an
exchange, in 1883.

"The genuine cowboy is worth describing. In many
—278—

respects, he is a wonderful creature. He endures hard-
ships that would take the Hves of most men, and is, there-
fore, a perfect type of physical manhood. He is the finest
horseman in the world, and excells in all the rude sports
of the field. He aims to be a dead shot, and universally
is. Constantly, during the herding season, he rides sev-
enty miles a day, and most of the year sleeps in the open
air. His life in the saddle makes him worship his horse,
and it, with a rifle and six-shooter, complete his happiness.
Of vice, in the ordinary sense, he knows nothing. He is
a rough, uncouth, brave, and generous creature, who
never lies or cheats. It is a mistake to imagine that they
are a dangerous set. Anyone is as safe with them as
with any people in the world, unless he steals a horse
or is hunting for a fight. In their eyes, death is a mild
punishment for horse stealing. Indeed, it is the very
highest crime known to the unwritten law of the ranch.
Their life, habits, education, and necessities have a ten-
dency to breed this feeling in them. But with all this
disregard of human life, there are less murderers and cut-
throats graduated from the cowboy than from among
the better class of the east, who come out here for venture
or gain. They delight in appearing rougher than they
are. To a tenderfoot, as they call an eastern man, they
love to tell blood curdling stories, and impress him with
the dangers of the frontier. But no man need get into
a quarrel with them unless he seeks it, or get harmed
unless he seeks some crime. They often own an interest
in the herd they are watching, and very frequently become
owners of ranches. The slang of the range they always
us to perfection, and in season or out of season. Unless
you wish to insult him, never offer a cowboy pay for any
little kindness he has done you or for a share of his rude
meal. If the changes that are coming to stock raising
should take the cowboy from the ranch, its most interest-
ing features will be gone."

—279—

Theodore Roosevelt gave an address, once, up in
South Dakota, v^hich is readable in connection v^ith the
subject in hand. "My friends seem to think," said Roose-
velt, "that I can talk only on tv^o subjects — the bear and
the covs^boy — and the one I am to handle this evening is
the more formidable of the two. After all, the cov^boys
are not the ruffians and desperadoes that the nickel
library prints them. Of course, in the frontier tow^ns
where the only recognized amusements are vices, there is
more or less of riot and disorder. But take the cowboy
on his native heath, on the round-up, and you will find in
him the virtues of courage, endurance, good fellowship,
and generosity. He is not sympathetic. The cowboy
divides all humanity into two classes, the sheep and the
goats, those who can ride bucking horses and those who
can't; and I must say he doesn't care much for the
goats.

"I suppose I should be ashamed to say that I take the
western view of the Indian. I don't go so far as to think
that the only good Indian is the dead Indian, but I be-
lieve nine out of every ten are, and I shouldn't like to
inquire too closely into the case of the tenth. The most
vicious cowboy has more moral principle than the aver-
age Indian. Take three hundred low families of New
York and New Jersey, support them, for fifty years, in
vicious idleness, and you will have some idea of what the
Indians are. Reckless, revengeful, fiendishly cruel, they
rob and murder, not the cowboys who can take care of
themselves, but the defenseless, lone settlers of the plains.
As for the soldiers, an Indian chief once asked Sheridan
for a cannon. 'What! do you want to kill my soldiers with
it?' asked the general. *No,' replied the chief, 'Want to
kill cowboy; kill soldier with a club.'

"Ranch life is ephemeral. Fences are spreading all
over the western country, and, by the end of the century,
most of it will be under cultivation. I, for one, shall be

—280—

sorry to see it go; for when the cowboy disappears, one
of the best and healthiest phases of western life will dis-
appear with him."

Probably every business has its disadvantages, and
one of the great pests of the cattleman and cowboy
was the loco weed. This insiduous weed, which baffled
the skill of the amateur, was a menace to the cattle and
horse industry. The plant was an early riser in the spring
season, and this early bloom was nipped as a sweet
morsel by the stock. Once infected by the weed, stock
never recovered. The government chemist never satisfac-
torily traced the origin of the supposed poison of the
weed. Stock allowed to run at large on this weed, with-
out other feed, became affected by a disease resembling
palsy. Once stock acquired a taste for the weed, they
could not be kept from it, and never recovered, but, by
degrees, died a slow death.

Like its disadvantages, every business probably has
its own peculiar words and phrases, and in this the cattle
business was not deficient. For instance, the word, "ma-
verick", is very extensively used among stock men all
over the country, and more particularly in localities where
there is free or open range. I am told the word originated
in this way. A gentleman, in very early times, soon after
Texas gained her independence, moved into Texas from
one of our southern states, with a large herd of cattle and
horses, all unbranded. He was astonished to see every-
one's stock branded and ear-marked, which was not the
custom in the country he came from; so he asked his
neighbors if they all branded. Oh, yes, they all branded
without an exception. So he said, "If everyone brands
but myself, I will just let mine go, as I think it is a cruel
practice, anyway, and you all will know my stock by its
not being branded." His neighbors thought that was a
good idea, but it did not work well for Mr. Maverick, as

—281—

he had no cattle, to speak of, after a few years; certainly,
he had no increase.

The "dead line" was a term much heard among stock-
men in the vicinity of Dodge City. As has been stated,
the term had two meanings, but when used in connection
with the cattle trade it was an imaginary line running
north, a mile east of Dodge City, designating the bounds
of the cattle trail. Settlers were always on the alert to
prevent the removal or extension of these prescribed
limits of driving cattle, on account of danger of the
Texas cattle fever. An effort being made to extend the
line beyond Hodgeman county, was promptly opposed
by the citizens of that county, in a petition to the Kansas
legislature.

The long-horned, long-legged Texas cow has been
dubbed the "Mother of the West". A writer sings the
song of the cow and styles her, "the queen", and, in the
"Song of the Grass", this may be heard above the din that
"cotton is king". A well-known Kansari has said that
grass is the forgiveness of nature, and, truly, the grass
and the cow are main food supplies. When the world has
absorbed itself in the production of the necessaries of
food and clothing, it must return to the grass and the
cow to replenish the stock exhausted in by-products.

At Dodge City now, however, the open range and the

cattle drive have been supplanted by the wheat field

and the grain elevator. In the early times, cattlemen

and grangers made a serious struggle to occupy the lands.

But destiny, if so it may be called, favored the so-termed

farmer, "through many difficulties to the stars." The

time and the occasion always affords the genius in prose

and rhyme. The literary merit is not considered, so that

the "take-off" enlivens the humor of the situation; so

here is "The Granger's Conquest", in humorous vein,

by an anonymous writer:

—282—

"Up from the South, comes every day,
Bringing to stockmen fresh dismay.
The terrible rumble and grumble and roar,
Telling the battle is on once more.
And the granger but twenty miles away.

"And wider, still, these billows of war
Thunder along the horizon's bar;
And louder, still, to our ears hath rolled
The roar of the settler, uncontrolled,
Making the blood of the stockmen cold.
As he thinks of the stake in this awful fray,
And the granger but fifteen miles away.

"And there's a trail from fair Dodge town,
A good, broad highway, leading down;
And there, in the flash of the morning light.
Goes the roar of the granger, black and white
As on to the Mecca they take their flight.
As if they feel their terrible need.
They push their mule to his utmost speed;
And the long-horn bawls, by night and day.
With the granger only five miles away.

"And the next will come the groups

Of grangers, like an army of troops;

What is done ? what to do ? a glance tells both.

And into the saddle, with scowl and oath;

And we stumble o'er plows and harrows and hoes,

As the roar of the granger still louder grows,

And closer draws, by night and by day,

With his cabin a quarter-section away.

"And, when under the Kansas sky

We strike a year or two that is dry.

The granger, who thinks he's awful fly,
—283—

Away to the kin of his wife will hie;
And then, again, o'er Kansas plains,
Uncontrolled, our cattle will range,
As we laugh at the granger who came to stay.
But is now a thousand miles away."

—284—

(Chapter XVI.

Distinguished Sojourners at Fort Dodge
and Dodge City

"M'OW I want to tell you something of the great of-
"^"^ ficers who came to Fort Dodge in the early days.
General Phillip Sheridan first came to Fort Dodge in
the summer of 1868. He pitched his camp on the hill
north of the fort and next to my house. I saw a good
deal of him while fitting out his command against the
Indians, and he dined with me several times, together
with the officers of the post. On one of these occasions,
about noon, on the hills to the southwest, we saw with
strong field-glasses what seemed to be a body of horse-
men or a bunch of buffalo. But they moved so straight
and uniformly that we finally came to the conclusion that
they must be Indians. As the apparition came nearer we
discovered that it was but one ambulance with a long
pole lashed to it, with a wagon-sheet attached to the pole
for a flag of truce. It was the largest flag of truce ever
used for such purpose. The driver proved to be Little
Raven, chief of the Arapahoes, who had come in to have
a peace talk with General Sheridan. As a result of the
long talk, Little Raven badly out-generaled Sheridan (as
has been related in another chapter). He said all the
time he wanted was two sleeps to bring in the whole
Arapahoe tribe. General Sheridan said to take a week and
see that all came in. The old chief insisted that he only
wanted two sleeps. He started out the next morning
loaded down with bacon, beans, flour, sugar, and coffee.
Little Raven told me afterwards it was a great ruse to
avoid the soldiers until they could get the women and
children out of danger. When Little Raven set out for
Dodge, the women and children had started south, to

get into the broken and rough country that they knew

—285—

so well, and with which our soldiers were so little ac-
quainted at that day. It was really laughable to hear his
description of how he disposed of his ambulance after
getting back to the tribe. He said the soldiers followed
the tracks of the ambulance for days, so his rear-guard
would report at night. The other Indians were for burn-
ing it or abandoning it; but Little Raven said he prized
it so highly that he did not want to lose it. So they took
off the wheels, and hung them in some very high trees,
and concealed the body in a big drift in the river, cover-
ing it with driftwood.

The last visit General Sheridan made at Dodge was
in 1872. He brought his whole staff with him. General
Forsyth was his aide-de-camp, I think, and his brother,
Mike, was along. I had known Mike for some time before
this, when he was captain in the Seventh Cavalry. I was
also well acquainted with the other brother, who held a
clerkship at Camp Supply — a most excellent gentleman.
During his stay. General Sheridan and his staff, with the
officers of the post, were dining at my house. They had
all been drinking freely before dinner of whisky, brandy,
and punch, except Mike Sheridan. These liquors wc:re
all left in the parlor when we went in to dinner, and there
was an abundance of light wine on the dinner-table.
When dinner was nearly over an important dispatch
came. The General read it and handed it to General For-
syth, requesting him to answer it. With that Captain
Sheridan jumped up and said to General Forsyth: "You
are not half through your dinner yet, and I am; so let me
answer, and submit to you for review." He then request-
ed me to get paper and pen and go with him to the parlor.
As soon as we reached the parlor the Captain grabbed me
by the arm, and said, "For God's sake, Wright, get me
some of that good brandy, and say not a word about it."
I replied, "There it is. Help yourself." He took two gen-
erous glasses and then wrote the dispatch.

— 286—

The last time I had the pleasure of seeing General
Sheridan was at Newton. I was on my way to Kansas
City, and stopped there to get supper. I was told that
General Sheridan was in his private car. I called on him
as soon as I got my supper. He knew me in a minute and
received me most graciously. Not so with the brother,
Captain Mike, whom I had taken care of many times and
seen that he was properly put to bed. He pretended not
to know me. "Why," said the General, "You ought to
know Mr. Wright. He was the sutler at Fort Dodge,
and so often entertained us at his home." I responded to
the General that I was surprised that he knew me so
quickly. "I knew you as soon as I saw you," he replied,
and then began to inquire about all the old scouts and
mule drivers, and wanted to know what they were doing
and where they had drifted, including many men whom
I had forgotten, until he mentioned their names. He
said that he had been sent down by President Cleveland
to inquire into the Indian leases entered into by the cattle-
men. We talked about old times and old faces way into
midnight, and even then he did not want me to go.

In the fall of 1868 General Alfred Sully took com-
mand of Fort Dodge and fitted out an expedition for a
winter campaign against the Plains Indians. He was one
of the grand old style of army officers, kind-hearted and
true, a lover of justice and fair play. Though an able
officer and a thorough gentleman at all times, he was a
little too much addicted to the drink habit. When Gen-
eral Sully had gotten the preparations for the expedition
well under way, and his army ready to march. General
Custer was placed in command by virtue of his brevet
rank, and the old man was sent home. This action, as I
am told, broke General Sully's heart, and he was never
again any good to the service.

General Custer carried out the winter campaign, per-
sistently following the Indians through the cold and snow

—287—

into their winter fastnesses, where never white man had
trod before, not even the trusted trader, until he surprised
them in their winter camp on the Washita, south of the
Canadian. There was a deep snow on the ground at the
time. The scouts had come in soon after midnight with
the report of a big camp. "Boots and saddles" was
sounded, and soon all were on the march. The command
reached the vicinity of the Indian camp some time before
daylight, but waited until the first streak of day, which
was the signal for the charge. Then the whole force went
into the fight, the regimental band playing, "Gary Owen."
They charged through the camp and back, capturing or
killing every warrior in sight. But the camp was the
first of a series of Indian camps extending down the
narrow valley of the Washita for perhaps ten miles, and
Custer had only struck the upper end of it.

I have been told by good authority that early in the
attack Major Elliott's horse ran away with him, taking
him down the creek. Elliott was followed by some twenty
of his men, they thinking, of course, that he was charging
the Indians. It was but a few moments until he was
entirely cut off, and urged on further from General Cus-
ter's main force. Custer remained in the Indian camp,
destroying the tents and baggage of the Indians, until
in the afternoon, and finally, after the Indian women
captives had selected the ponies they chose to ride, de-
stroyed the balance of the herd, about eight hundred
ponies in all. He then left the camp, following the stream
down to the next village, which he found deserted. It
was then dusk. When night had fallen he retraced his
way with all speed to the first village, and out by the
way he had come in the morning, toward Camp Supply.
He continued his march until he came up with his pack-
train, which, having been under the protection of only
eighty men, he had feared would be captured by the
Indians, had he allowed it to have come on alone.

—288—

G. M. Hoover
Banker and One of the Seven Old Timers of Dodge City

Now, I do not want to judge Custer too harshly, for
I know him to have been a brave and dashing soldier,
and he stood high in my estimation as such, but I have
often heard his officers say that it was cowardly deed
to have gone off and left Elliott in the way he did. Many
officers claim that Custer realized that he was surrounded
and outnumbered by the Indians, and this was the reason
he left Elliott as he did. The facts are that he should
never have attacked the village until he had more thor-
oughly investigated the situation and knew what he was
running into. Some of his own officers have condemned
and censured him, talking about him scandalously for
thus leaving Elliott. I cannot, however, see how he could
have been badly whipped when he brought away with
him about fifty-seven prisoners, besides having captured
and killed so large a number of ponies.

This is the story of Major Elliott as told to me by
Little Raven, chief of the Arapahoes, but who was not
present at the time. He was my friend, and I always
found him truthful and fair. He said that, when Major
Elliott's horse ran away with him, followed by about
twenty of his men, Elliott was soon cut off and surround-
ed by hundreds of Indians, who drove him some three to
five miles from Custer's main body at the village, bravely
fighting at every step. After getting him well away from
Custer, the Indians approached him with a flag of truce,
telling him that Custer was surrounded and unable to
give him any help, and that, if he and his men would sur-
render, they would be treated as prisoners of war. Elliott
told them he would never give up. He would cut his way
back to Custer, or that Custer would send a detachment
to his relief sooner or later. As soon as this announce^
ment was made the young men who had gotten closer^
without further warning, and before Elliott could prop-
erly protect himself, poured in volley after volley, mow-
ing down most of Elliott's horses. He then commanded

—289—

his men to take to the rocks afoot, and to keep together
as close as possible, until they could find some suitable
protection where they could make a stand. They did this
and stood the Indians off for nearly two days, without
food or water, and almost without sleep or ammunition.
They were then again approached with a flag of truce.
This time they told Elliott it was impossible for him to
get away, which he fully realized. They said that Custer
had been gone for two days in full retreat to Supply, and
that he had taken with him fifty of their women and
children, whom he would hold as hostages, and that if he
and his men would lay down their arms they would be
treated fairly, and held as hostages for the good treatment
and safety of their women and children. They repeated
that Custer would be afraid to be harsh or cruel or un-
kind to their women and children because he knew that,
if he was. Major Elliott and his soldiers would be subject
to the same treatment. Elliott explained the whole thing
to his men, and reasoned with them that under these
circumstances the Indians could not help but be fair.
The consequences was that Elliott and his men accepted
the terms and laid down their arms. No sooner had they
done so than the Indians rushed in and killed the last one
of them. The older Indians claimed that they could not
restrain their young men. I have do doubt that this is the
true story, and that thus perished one of the bravest of-
ficers with a squad of the bravest men in our whole army.
The only other officer killed in the fight was Captain
Hamilton, when the first charge was made. He was a
bright fellow, full of life and fun.

Among the other great men who came to Dodge City
was "Uncle Billy Sherman", as he introduced himself.
He came with President Hayes and party in September,
1879. The president did not get out of his car, and would
not respond to the call of the cowboys, who felt that
they deserved some recognition. It was a long time even

—290—

before "Old Tecumseh", could be induced to strike the
pace and lead off. But the cheerfulness, the hilarity, and
the endless jokes of the half-drunken cowboys, who had
been holloing for the President until they had become
disgusted because of his lack of interest in them, induced
the general to appear. Then they called for Sherman in
a manner indicating that they considered him their equal
and an old comrade. Although half of those cowboys
had been soldiers in the Confederate army, this seemed
to make no difference in their regard for the old war-
horse. They had an intuitive feeling that, no matter how
they scandalized him, Sherman would be fair and treat
them justly. I was astonished that their surmise was
right, for when General Sherman appeared he handed
them bouquet for bouquet. No matter on what topic
they touched, or what questions they asked, he gave them
back as good as they sent, answering them in the same
generous humor. Before the close of the General's talk
some of the crowd were getting pretty drunk, and I
looked to see a display of bad feeling spring up, but noth-
ing of the kind occurred, for the General was equal
to the occasion and handled the crowd most beautifully.
Indeed, it was laughable at times, when the General rose
way above his surroundings and^sat down on their coarse,
drunken jokes so fitly and admirably, that one could not
help but cheer him. He had the crowd with him all the
while and enlisted their better feeling, notwithstanding
more than half of them were Southern sympathizers.

President Hayes paid but little attention to the crowd
the whole day, nor the crowd to him, but General Sher-
man kept it in good humor, and the presidential party at
last left Dodge City amid strong cheers for "Uncle Billy,"
a long life and a happy one.

In a previous chapter mention was made of the visits
of Senator Ingalls and of the Major-General who was
once second in command at Gettysburg. These were fair

—291—

representatives of the class of distinguished visitors w^ho
came especially for sight-seeing.

One Thursday the citizens of Dodge City were agree-
ably surprised by the arrival, in their midst, of the once
famous political boss of the state, Ex-Governor Thomas
Carney, of Leavenw^orth. He was observed in close com-
munion with one of our leading citizens, Honorable R.
W. Evans.

The Governor said he was buying hides and bones
for a large firm in St. Louis, of which he was president,
but he told some of his old-time friends of Dodge that
he was here to hunt up a poker game, in which game he
was an expert, and he wanted to teach the gamblers of
Dodge a lesson, and give them some pointers for their
future benefit. The governor's reputation and dignified
bearing soon enabled him to decoy three of our business
men into a social game of poker, as the governor re-
marked, "just to kill time, you know."

The governor's intended victims were Colonel Nor-
ton, wholesale dealer, the "Honorable" Bobby Gill, and
Charles Ronan, old-time friends of his, formerly from
Leavenworth. The game proceeded merrily and festively
for a time until, under the bracing influence of exhilerat-
ing refreshments, the stakes were greatly increased and the
players soon became excitedly interested. At last the gov-
ernor held what he supposed to be an invincible hand. It
consisted of four kings and cuter, which the governor
very reasonably supposed to be the ace of spades. He
had been warned about the cuter before he began the
game. He said he understood the cuter to represent an ace
or a flush and was accustomed to playing it that way.
The old gentleman tried to repress his delight and appear
unconcerned when Colonel Norton tossed a hundred
dollar bill into the pot, but he saw the bet and went a
hundred better. Norton did not weaken as the governor
feared he would, but, nonchalantly, raised the old gent

—292—

what he supposed was a fabulous bluff. Governor Car-
ney's eyes glistened with joy, as he saw the pile of treas-
ure, which would soon be all his own, loom up before
his vision, and he hastened to "see" the colonel and
added the remainder of his funds, his elegant gold watch
and chain. Norton was still in the game, and the gov-
ernor finally stripped himself of all remaining valuables,
when it became necessary for him to show up his hand.

A breathless silence pervaded the room as Governor
Carney spread his four kings and cuter on the table with
his left hand, and affectionately encircled the glittering
heap of gold and silver, greenbacks and precious stones,
with his right arm, preparatory to raking in the spoils.
But at that moment, a sight met the old governor's gaze
which caused his eyes to dilate with terror, a fearful
tremor to seize his frame, and his vitals to almost freeze
with horror.

Right in front of Colonel Norton was spread four
genuine and perfectly formed aces, and the hideous reality
that four aces laid over four kings and the cuter gradual-
ly forced itself upon the mind of our illustrious hide and
bone merchant. Slowly and reluctantly he uncoiled his
arm from around the sparkling treasure, the bright,
joyous look faded from his eyes leaving them gloomy and
cadaverous, and, with a weary almost painful effort, he
arose, and dragging his feet over the floor like balls of
lead, he left the room sadly muttering, "I forgot about
the cuter."

Now, the governor's old friends, R. M. Wright and
R. W. Evans had warned him and pleaded with him not
to try gambling here, and even watched him all the morn-
ing to keep him out of mischief; but he stole away from
them and got into this game which was awaiting him.
Through his friends he recovered his watch and chain
and they saw him safely on the train in possession of a
ticket for St. Louis.

—293—

As a character figuring conspicuously in the visit of
Senator Ingalls to Dodge City, I must mention my horse,
Landsmann. Or better, I will let his story be told in its
greater part by Miss Carrie DeVoe, who often rode with
me behind the old horse, who was the only woman who
would ride behind him, and who would ride behind him
with no one else but me, because she had so much confi-
dence in my driving. I would often cover seventy-five
miles a day, and fifty or sixty miles a day was easy work
for him, while I have driven him about a hundred miles
a day more than once, and over a hundred miles in
twenty-four hours. Miss DeVoe's story follows:

"Robert M. Wright, who, in the early days, possessed
thousands of acres of land scattered throughout the length
and breadth of the short grass region, was the owner of a
horse of such strange behavior that it deserves to go on
record with the odd characters of the border.

"Landsmann (a German word meaning friend or
farmer) was originally the property of an officer who
served under Maxmillian in Mexico and afterwards wan-
dered north into the United States, becoming, at length,
a frontier county official. The horse accompanied his
master through many dangers, and was spirited, though
gentle and faithful. But, as he advanced in years, Lands-
mann was supposed to become addicted to the loco weed,
for a change was noticeable. It was no easy matter to
put him in the harness; he reared and plunged without
the slightest provocation, and grew generally unmanage-
able—'full of all around cussedness,' said Joe, who usual-
ly fed and cared for him. However, because of his re-
markable endurance, Mr. Wright purchased him for a
driving horse.

"Invariably, when the owner essayed to step into the
cart, Landsmann sprang forward, and his master was
obliged to leap to the seat or measure his length upon
the ground, sometimes perilously near to the wheels.

—294—

when the horse came to a halt, which was difficult to
accomplish, the driver was often taken unawares and
hurled forward over the traces for a short bareback ex-
hibition.

"Landsmann's chief peculiarity was his speed. He
dashed over the prairie at a surprising rate, down into
draws and up the banks, over dry beds of rivers, across
pastures and ranches, never seeming to tire, and allowing
no obstacle to stop his mad race. John Gilpin's renowned
steed was tame in comparison. To be sure, this kind of
travel was not without its inconveniences, as Pegasus
sometimes fell in the harness; however, he always man-
aged to pick himself up and sped onward as if possessed
of the *Old Nick', which, indeed, many believed him to
be.

"When the late Senator John J. Ingalls visited Mr.
Wright, he was invited to take a drive. Not being ac-
quainted with Landsmann's reputation, he accepted.
Nothing daunted by the animal's efforts to wrench him-
self from the man who stood at his head, the senator
reached the seat in safety, and his host, with a flying
leap, landed at his side. The visitor began to wish he had
not been so hasty; but there was little time for reflection.
A spring — a whirl — and they were off across the plains.
Spectators caught a passing glimpse of the dignified
statesman, wildly clutching the seat and bending his head
to the wind.

"It was an exciting experience and one hardly to be
desired, but they returned in safety. The vitriolic senator
was diplomatic.

"Like most of the interesting characters out west,

Landsmann is dead, and though he died in the harness,

maneuvering as usual, his master insisted — and perhaps

with good reason — that his untimely end was caused by

poison. At any rate, the old horse ought to go down in

—295—

history, as he was one of the landmarks of the short-
grass region."

Miss DeVoe knew that no horse would attempt to
pass Landsmann. The day before he died, after making
more than fifty miles and coming into Dodge, he came
in contact with a runaway team, and off started the old
horse whom you would have thought was completely
tired out. But he ran all over Dodge, at a high rate of
speed, before I could stop him.

As Miss DeVoe says, I did think, at first, Landsmann
was poisoned but he was loose in his stall and, in lying
down, got his head under the manger, and died during
the night, from the dangerous position he was in.

And here I want to interpolate a little in order to
give the gist of the conversation with Senator Ingalls
before taking the ride described. There was quite a
crowd in front of the hotel, to pay respects to the senator
when I invited him to ride to Fort Dodge with me. The
crowd followed us to the livery stable, everyone saying
to the senator, "My God, Senator! don't ride behind that
horse; he will kill you. I would sooner give you my
horse." Others said: "Never do it. We will hire you a
rig if you won't. "The senator said, "Bob, what is the
matter with the horse?" I replied, "Nothing." "Why,
then, are they making such a fuss?" asked the senator.
"Oh," I said, "they are a lot of geese and cowards! Come
on." He said, "Bob, is it safe?" I said, "Ain't I taking
the same risk you are?" He said, "That is so; crack your
whip!" and away we went. He said, "Bob, is he so
very dangerous?" "You see him, don't you?" I answered.
"Yes, did he ever run away with you?" "Yes." "How
many times?" "I don't know." "Many times?" "Yes."
"Did he ever throw you out?" "Yes."

When we returned and were drinking a bottle of
"ice-cold" together, the senator said: "Bob, that is the
best G — d — horse for his looks I ever saw, and I never

—296—

was more deceived in a horse. It is the fastest ten miles
I ever drove."

General Miles has been frequently mentioned in these
pages, as a sojourner at Fort Dodge and Dodge City. I
give here a letter from Mrs. Alice V. Brov^n, a former
resident of Dodge City and Fort Dodge and a sergeant's
wife, because it reflects my ideas of the gallant General
Miles. It is dated, Tongue River, M. T., May, 1867, and
says:

"We have been out twelve days on a scout. On our
return, General Miles had gone out on an expedition with
six hundred men. We expect them back about the last of
May. General Miles had a fight on the sixth of May.
He returned today with four hundred ponies. He had
four men of the Second Cavalry killed, and one officer
and four men wounded. The fight took place near the
Little Big Horn, where General Custer was killed. There
were forty-seven Indians found dead on the field. The
mounted infantry charged through the Indian camp. The
only cavalry he had was four companies of the Second,
and they fought well. They say General Miles is the
only officer who ever led them yet, and speak very highly
of him. We told them, before they went out, he would
show them how to fight. Everything in the Indian camp
was burned. This is the greatest victory yet. Red Horn,
a chief of some note, made a treacherous attempt to kill
General Miles. He came in, during the fight, with a flag
of truce, and, as the General rode up close to him, he
fired. He missed the general but killed one of the cavalry
dead on the spot. That was Red Horn's last shot; he fell
instantly, riddled with bullets. The general has had
several close calls, but I believe this was the closest."

The writer wishes he had space to pay a much deserv-
ed tribute or compliment to General Miles, about his inde-
fatigable trailing up of the Indians. His system is like
the wild horse trailers; when he strikes a scent he never

—297—

gives up until he has trailed Mr. Indian to earth, and
compelled him to fight or surrender.

Eddie Foy, one of the greatest comedians of our day,
made his debut or about his first appearance at Dodge
City. He dressed pretty loud and had a kind of Fifth
Avenue sw^aggering strut, and made some distasteful jokes
about the cov^^boys. This led up to their capturing Foy
by roping, fixing him up in picturesque style, ducking
him, in a friendly way, in a horse trough, riding him
around on horseback, and taking other playful familiari-
ities w^ith him, just to show^ their friendship for him. This
dressing up and ducking of Eddie is positively vouched
for by a lady w^ith whom he boarded, and who still lives
in Dodge City. The writer does not vouch for the story
of the ducking, but he does know they played several
pranks on him, which Foy took with such good grace that
he thereby captured the cowboys completely. Every night
his theater was crowded with them, and nothing he could
do or say offended them; but, on the contrary, they made
a little god of him. The good people of Dodge have
watched his upward career with pride and pleasure, and
have always taken a great interest in him, and claim him
as one of their boys, because it was here that he first began
to achieve greatness. I think he played here the most of
one summer, and then went to Leadville, Colorado, when
and where he kept going up and up. His educated ad-
mirers here predicted a great future for him. This, the
writer has heard them do, and, surely, he has not disap-
pointed them. Here is further success and prosperity to
you, Eddie, and may you live long and die happy!

In connection with noted individuals who, from time
to time, honored Dodge City with their prescence, usually
coming from a distance and making a transient stay, it is
well to mention a few of the leading residents of Dodge,
to whose pluck and perseverance the town owed so much
of its early fame and prosperity. No better beginning

—298—

could be made, in this line, than by introducing the Mas-
terson brothers.

William Barclay Masterson, more familiarly called
"Bat," by his friends, and one of the most notable char-
acters of the West, was one of Dodge City's first citizens,
and, for this reason if no other, deserves a space in my
book.

He, with a partner, took a contract of grading a few
miles of the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railroad, near
Dodge. He was only eighteen years old at the time; this
was in the spring of 1872. He says that he never worked
so hard in his life, in filling this contract, which they did,
with a nice little profit to their credit, of which he was
very proud; but his partner ran off with everything, leav-
ing him flat broke. He said it nearly broke his heart,
grieving over his loss and over the perfidy of his partner,
as he was only a boy, and the world looked dark and
dreary. But this misfortune proved a benefit to him
eventually, as he gained a lot of experience from the
episode, and had many hearty laughs over it afterwards.

A stranger, hunting Bat one day, said to some per-
sons, standing on a street corner, "Can any of you tell me
where I can find Bat Masterson? I never saw him, and
would not know him if I met him." A lawyer spoke up,
and said: "Look for one of the most perfectly made men
you ever saw, as well as a well-dressed, good-looking
fellow, and, when you see such a man, call him *Bat'
and you have hit the bull's eye."

Notwithstanding they have talked and published Bat
as a robber and murderer and everything else that is vile,
there was nothing of the kind in his make-up. On the
contrary. Bat is a gentleman by instinct. He is a man of
pleasant manners, good address, and mild disposition
until aroused, and then, for God's sake, look out! He is
a leader of men and a natural born general, always ac-
complishing whatever he undertook. This is the reason he

—299—

was sought after by the "gang" and recognized as their
general. He has much natural ability and good hard
common sense, and, if he had got started right. Bat, today,
would have been occupying a seat in the United States
Senate, instead of being a reporter for a newspaper. There
is nothing low down about him. He is high-toned and
broad-minded, cool and brave.

In 1876 he became a candidate for sheriff of Ford
county, of which Dodge is the county seat. Here is his
announcement, as he wrote it, and as it appeared in the
"Dodge City Times:"

"At the earnest request of many citizens of Ford
county, I have consented to run for the office of sheriff,
at the coming election in this county. While earnestly
soliciting the sufferages of the people, I have no pledges
to make, as pledges are usually considered, before election,
to be mere clap-trap. I desire to say to the voting public
that I am no politician and shall make no combinations
that would be likely to, in anywise, hamper me in the dis-
charge of the duties of the office, and, should I be elected,
will put forth my best efforts to so discharge the duties of
the office that those voting for me shall have no occasion
to regret having done so.

"Respectfully,

"W. B. Masterson."

The home paper said that, "Mr. W. B. Masterson is
on the track for sheriff. Bat is well known as a young
man of nerve and coolness in cases of danger. He has
served on the police force of this city, and also as under-
sheriff, and knows just how to gather in the sinners. He
is well qualified to fill the office, and, if elected, will never
shrink from danger."

Owing to the life he had lived, it was urged by his
opponents, during the canvass leading up to his election,
and owing to the fact that Bat had grown to manhood
under the free and easy conditions permeating a frontier

—300—

community, that he would be too lenient with law break-
ers and evil doers; but his metal was tried on this, soon
after he was inducted into office.

There was a train robbery committed at Kinsley,
Kansas, and one Dave Rudebaugh was the main guy in
the robbery. Rudebaugh was a very bold, bad man. This
crime was not committed in Bat's jurisdiction, but in
another county; still, he gathered a posse, consisting of
Dave Morrow (Prairie Dog Dave), Josiah Webb, and
Charlie Bassett, and took the trail. He caught on to a
scent that led them to Henry Lovell's cattle camp. The
posse remained at this camp until the next day after their
arrival. A terrible storm was raging, and Bat was certain
that the robbers would seek this camp for shelter, which
they did, and, by the adoption of strategic measures on
the part of Bat and his men, they were captured without
a shot being fired, nothwithstanding these robbers were
desperate men and heavily armed. The pursuit and well-
devised and well-executed capture reflects credit, good
judgment, and bravery upon all who engaged in it.

The successful efforts of Sheriff W. B. Masterson
in this capture, followed by other arrests remarkable in
skill and judgment, entitles him to the unanimous accord
of praise given him, at the time and since, and in which
I join.

Bat was a most loyal man to his friends. If anyone
did him a favor, he never forgot it. I believe that if one
of his friends was confined in jail and there was the least
doubt of his innocence, he would take a crow-bar and
"jimmy" and dig him out, at the dead hour of midnight;
and, if there were determined men guarding him, he
would take these desperate chances. This was exempli-
fied in his action in saving Billy Thompson. Billy and
Ben Thompson, mentioned in a previous chapter, were
brothers, high rollers, and desperate men, as well as

gamblers. Billy was shot all to pieces in a gun play at

— 301—

Ogallallah, Nebraska. They wired Ben Thompson, at
Dodge, about the shooting, but Ben had outlawed him-
self at Ogallallah, was well known there, and had many
enemies in the town. He did not dare to go. Bat and
Ben were friends, and Bat said: "I'll go, but he dont
deserve it." But he promised Ben to bring Billy out. Now
Bat was a stranger in Ogallallah, and Billy Thompson
was at the only hotel there, desperately wounded and
shot all to pieces. The citizens were down on him, waiting
for him to get well enough to hang him. The chances
were desperate, and Bat knew it and had to keep under
cover. By chance, Billy's nurse was an old-timer and a
great admirer of Bat. By some chance unknown to any-
one, Bat got to him, and the nurse was only too glad to
help him all he could, secretly, of course, for the nurse
knew the chances he was taking in helping Bat. Through
this nurse, Bat got word to a lot of his friends as well as
friends of Thompson, who wanted to help him if they
could. This was their plan, and it succeeded admirably.
When the fast, west-bound express was heard to whistle
at Ogallallah, at twelve o'clock that night, the friends
of Thompson were to commence a sham battle at the
big dance hall across the railroad track, some distance
from the hotel, by a perfect fusilade of shots. Of course,
everyone ran out of the hotel for the scene of action.
Then Bat got the nurse to throw Billy Thompson across
his shoulders and to follow with his clothes.

Bat landed Billy in a sleeper and locked the door,
just as the train pulled out, and no one saw them. Their
attention was attracted elsewhere, and they landed next
morning at William Cody's (alias Buffalo Bills) ranch,
who happened to be at home in North Platte. Bill was
kind hearted and was always willing to help the weak
and needy, so they got the best of care, and Mr. Cody
had several relays of teams stationed overland towards

Dodge City. Mr. Cody, I think, accompanied them for

—302—

the first few days. It was a long way across country
for a badly wounded man, but they made it all right,
without accident.

Another man worthy of note, on account of many
good qualities, was Edward }. Masterson, a brother of
Bat Masterson. He came to Dodge City with his dis-
tinguished brother, and, in 1877, was appointed marshal
of Dodge City. He was in every way well qualified to
fill this position. He was a natural gentleman, a man of
good judgment, cool, and considerate. He had another
very important qualification, that of bravery. In those
days, a man with any streaks of yellow in him could have
accomplished nothing as such officer in Dodge.

The mayor and city council, knowing Ed Masterson
to possess all of the qualifications demanded by the times,
conditions, and the position, gave him the appointment,
to the entire satisfaction of all the business men and
citizens of the town. He served in such capacity about
a year and, during the time, acquitted himself in such
a way that his untimely death, in the performance of his
duty, was deeply and sincerely deplored by the entire
community.

I here relate an attempt to perform duty at that
time, and the result, as published in the "Dodge City
Times," November loth, 1877.

"Last Monday afternoon, one of those little episodes
which serve to vary the monotony of frontier existence
occurred at the Lone Star dance hall, during which four
men came out some the worse for wear, but none, with
one exception, being seriously hurt.

"Bob Shaw, the man who started the amusement,

accused Texas Dick, alias Moore, of having robbed him

of forty dollars, and, when the two met in the Lone Star,

the ball opened. Somebody, foreseeing possible trouble

and probable gore, started out in search of City Marshal

—303—

Ed. Masterson, and, finding him, hurried him to the
scene of the impending conflict.

"When Masterson opened the door, he descried
Shaw near the bar, with a huge pistol in his hand and a
hogshead of blood in his eye, ready to relieve Texas
Dick of his existence in this world and send him to those
shades where troubles come not and six-shooters are
unknown. Not wishing to hurt Shaw, but anxious to
quite matters and quell the disturbance, Masterson order-
ed him to give up his gun. Shaw refused to deliver and
told Masterson to keep away from him, and, after saying
this, he proceeded to try to kill Texas Dick. Officer
Masterson then gently tapped belligerent Shaw upon the
head with his shooting iron, merely to convince him of
the vanities of this frail world. The aforesaid reminder
upon the head, however, failed to have the desired effect,
and, instead of dropping, as any man of fine sensibilities
would have done, Shaw turned his battery upon the
officer and let him have it in the right breast. The ball,
striking a rib and passing around, came out under the
right shoulder blade, paralyzing his right arm so that it
was useless, so far as handling a gun was concerned.
Masterson fell, but grasping the pistol in his left hand
he returned the fire, giving it to Shaw in the left arm
and left leg, rendering him hors de combat.

"During the melee, Texas Dick was shot in the right
groin, making a painful and dangerous, though not neces-
sarily a fatal wound, while Frank Buskirk, who, impelled
by a curiosity he could not control, was looking in at
the door upon the matinee, received a reminiscence in the
left arm, which had the effect of starting him out to hunt
a surgeon. Nobody was killed, but, for a time, it looked
as though the undertaker and the coroner would have
something to do."

The writer remembers this shooting scrape well.
Someone ran by my store at full speed, crying out, "Our

—304—

Col. Brick 6ond
One of the Seven Old Timers of Dodge City

marshal is being murdered in the dance hall!" I, with
several others, quickly ran to the dance hall and burst
in the door. The house was so dense with smoke from
the pistols a person could hardly see, but Ed Masterson
had corralled a lot in one corner of the hall, with his six-
shooter in his left hand, holding them there until assist-
ance could reach him. I relate this to show the daring
and cool bravery of our marshal, in times of greatest
danger, and when he was so badly wounded.

April 9th, Ed Masterson was mortally wounded,
in an attempt to make an arrest of two desperate men.
Jack Wagner and Alf Walker, who had committed some
crime and were terrorizing the town. A very short time
after being shot he died. A few minutes after Ed was
shot, Bat heard of the trouble and hurried to the assist-
ance of his brother. It took but a glance from Bat to
determine that his brother was murdered. He was greatly
affected by the horrible crime, and, when Ed told him he
had his death wound, he gathered the particulars, and,
bidding his brother an affectionate farewell, hastily de-
parted to avenge his death ; and I have no doubt he made
the murderers pay the penalty.

Ed Masterson's death shocked the entire town, and
the feeling was intense against his murderers. To show
the esteem in which Masterson was held, the city council
and civic organizations passed resolutions of respect, and
all the business houses closed during the time of his
funeral. It was the largest funeral held in Dodge City,
up to that time.

I present a photograph of Andy Johnson, one of the
heroes of the adobe wall fight. He has gone through all
the vicissitudes of life. A blacksmith by trade, but he
has never been afraid to tackle anything that has come in
his way. Always a busy man, he has made and lost two
or three fortunes. It has been up and down, and down
and up with him, but he has never been discouraged.

—305—

Coming over from Sweden, at an early day, he found his
way out to the great plains, when he was not much more
than a boy. He was introduced, at once, to all the hard-
ships and privations of a buffalo hunter, and came near
freezing to death, when he was caught in several of our
terrible snow-storms. He came to Dodge City soon after
the town was started, and has rendered good service to
it by his thrift and industry. He built the big store-
house for Rath & Wright, at the adobe walls, and col-
lected many trophies from the bodies of dead Indians,
immediately after the fight; and I expect he had the
largest collection of war bonnets, shields, bows and ar-
rows, spears, white people's scalps, and other Indian cur-
iosities, of anyone in the West. They were considered of
great value, but were nearly all destroyed by the big
fire in Dodge, in 1885. He worked some time in our
hide yard, and says we often had forty thousand or fifty
thousand buffalo hides, at a time, in the yard.

The Honorable M. W. Sutton, who deserves and
ought to have more space in our book than we can possi-
bly give him, came to Dodge in 1876, and at once, from
the very beginning, struck a gait that gave him front
rank as an attorney. Indeed, he was, for many years,
the leading attorney of southwest Kansas, and always
has held his own among the very best lawyers of our
state. He was a friend of the "gang", but always stood
up for right and justice. He and the writer ran on the
same ticket, and were always elected by overwhelming
majorities. He was behind me, as adviser, in all my deals
and undertaking. He held many responsible positions
of honor and trust, and discharged their duties ably and
satisfactorily. When Bat Masterson was sheriff, Mike
(Sutton) was prosecuting attorney and they made a
great team. It was not, "Scare 'em and catch 'em," as
the old story goes, but it was, "Catch 'em and convict
'em," which was nearly always sure to be the case. It was

his ability, and not chance, that did it, as some of his

—306—

enemies would try to make you believe. Unusual success,
in any line, seems always attended by enemies, but, in
this instance, both Sutton and Masterson were well fitted
to follow Cy Leland's example toward those who cher-
ished resentment against them. Leland said that if he
were making answer to the resentful ones, he would re-
peat this printed poem which, for years, he carried in his
pocket:

"You have no enemies, you say ?

Alas ! my friends, the boast is poor.

He who has mingled in the fray

Of duty that the brave endure,

Must have made foes. If you have none.

Small is the work that you have done.

YouVe hit no traitor on the hip;

You Ve dashed no cup from perjured lip;

You've never turned the wrong to right;

You've been a coward in the fight."
During our campaigns, in very early days, Mr. Sutton
and I had some funny things to occur. I regret I cannot
give them for want of space. Some of them would equal,
in fun, the electioneering adventures of David Crockett
and Daniel Boone. Mike was the making of our beloved,
talented, and greatly distinguished congressman, now
deceased. Mr. Sutton spared no labor or means in bring-
ing him out and boosting him, all the time and in every
way possible; and, on every occasion, he would manage
to call the public's attention to the name of Ed Madison.
Mike surely was, for many years, the big political boss of
the great Southwest, and held the situation in his vest
pocket; and he certainly made one United States senator,
and came within two votes of making another, besides
figuring conspicuously in making and defeating others.
For many years, he was undoubtedly a power in politics.
He is retired now, living on the fruits of his past toil,
but still retains much of his former vigor, and retains
the respect and esteem of his community.

—307—

Of the number of old citizens of the town, whose resi-
dence began with the opening of the Santa Fe Railway
and which still continues to be Dodge City, we find only
seven survivors. These are A. J. Anthony, Dr. T. L.
McCarty, Honorable G. M. Hoover, H. S. Sitler, O. A.
Bond, Andrew Johnson, and myself, R. M. Wright. Of
these, Andrew Johnson has been mentioned. A. J. An-
thony, who is now (1913) eighty-three years of age, is a
most wonderfully preserved man, as active and bright as
a man of forty. He goes right along with a laugh and
a song, and sometimes a dance. Nothing seems to worry
him. The reason he is so well preserved is that he never
dissipated; always led an even, pure life, and strictly
temperate in his habits. He has filled several offices of
honor and trust, such as county commissioner, and other
county and township offices.

Dr. T. L. McCarty is the oldest and one of the best-
known physicians and surgeons in the West. He has
lived to see Dodge City grow from a few houses to its
present size. He and his son, Claude, have a fine hospital
here, and they stand today in the front ranks of the best
physicians in the state, and enjoy a large practice. His
son and partner. Dr. Claude McCarty, was the first child
(with the exception noted in a former chapter) born in
Dodge City.

Honorable G. M. Hoover is one of our wealthiest
men. He made all his money here. He has held many of-
fices of honor and trust. He represented Ford county in
the legislature two terms. He was mayor of Dodge City
several times, and county commissioner several times. He
owns a big bank of which he is president.

Mr. H. L. Sitler is a retired farmer and stockman,
and was, for a long time, one of our leading men in the
stock business.

O. A. Bond is pointed out, by the younger genera-
tion, as the great hunter and nimrod — the man who
killed so many buffalo in one day, and stood in the front

—308—

ranks of the mighty hunters in early days. He is now the
owner of one of our largest drug stores, and is taking
life easy in his old days.

Since beginning this book, I learn that my old friend,
William Tilghman, Chief of Police of Oklahoma City,
and mentioned several times in previous pages, is a can-
didate for the marshalship of Oklahoma. The president
could not appoint a better man, nor one more fitted for
the place by all the rules of war. William Tilghman has
spent almost a lifetime in this kind of work. He was
marshal under me, when I was mayor of Dodge City, and
Ben Daniels was his assistant. No braver men ever han-
dled a gun or arrested an outlaw, and Dodge never
passed through a tougher time than the year of the big
fire, the year I was mayor. It did seem like every bad and
desperate character in the whole West gathered here; and
when we would drive out one lot, another set would
make their appearance. But Tilghman was equal to the
occasion. He had many narrow escapes, and many des-
perate men to deal with ; and Ben Daniels was a good sec-
ond. Ex-President Roosevelt told the writer, when I was
walking with him from the roundhouse to the depot, that
Daniels was one of the bravest men he ever saw. He said,
during the Cuban war, he could send Ben any place and
he was sure to go, no matter how great the danger; he
never found him wanting, and he paid him many other
high compliments, when I told him Ben was an old citi-
zen of Dodge and a peace officer. I regret I cannot give
Tilghman and Daniels a more extended notice for want
of space.

I would not feel satisfied, nor would I think my book
complete, unless I made mention, in my feeble way, of my
old friend and fellow politician. Honorable Nicholas B.
Klaine. Mr. Klaine was not one of our first settlers
(came here in 1877), but there is no man who has con-
tributed more in building up and trying to snatch Dodge

City from its wickedness, and bring about an era of

—309—

Christian feeling and build-up of our churches and other
religious and charitable institutions than he. He has
labored hard, both day and night, with his able pen and
valuable papers, for the welfare of Dodge City. He and
I, I am proud to say, have always worked side by side
in politics, as well as in many other things, for the com-
mon good. He was editor of the "Dodge City Times"
for many years, and has filled several offices of honor and
trust. He was postmaster of Dodge City for one term,
and gave general satisfaction. He was probate judge of
our county for several years. He has also helped me not
a little with my book.

Now I can't help speaking a great big word for my
old friend. Chalk Beeson, God rest his soul! and may
God take a liking to him, is my fervent prayer. Had I
space, I could write many pages of his good, generous
deeds. He never neglected the sick and needy, and, in
times of affliction. Chalk would always be on hand to
give comfort, and aid, if necessary, to the stricken ones.
He was an indefatigable worker at whatever he under-
took, and he never went after anything that he did not
succeed in getting it. It was greatly through his efforts
that our fine Masonic Hall was builded, and it stands,
today, as a monument to his labor. He was one of the
widest and best-known men in the state, and among the
Masons he reached a high mark. He twice represented
our county in the legislature, and was sheriff of our
county a number of times. He was one of the celebrated
scouts that accompanied the Grand Duke Alexis, of
Russia, on his great buffalo hunt; he was also the orig-
inater, leader, and proprietor of our famous cowboy
band, of which I shall presently say more; in fact, he was
the "whole thing."

Mr. Beeson came to this country from Colorado, after
spending several years there. At one time, he drove stage
between Colorado Springs and Denver. He was com-
pelled to reside in Dodge for a short time, owing to loan-

—310—

ing money on property here to a friend, and not being
able to get it back as soon as he expected; but he liked
Dodge, took over the property instead of the money, and
located here permanently. He had acquired a very good
musical training in Colorado, playing always v^ith the
best musicians w^herever he went; and at one time he
played a steady engagement in Pueblo. When Dodge
became the big cattle market of the central west, he in-
vested money in a herd, and the first range he herded over
was on the Saw Log. He afterwards took W. H. Harris
in partnership with him, and they moved this herd to
Sand Creek, about fifty-five miles south of Dodge City.
During the severe winter of 1885-1886, they lost almost
everything, and it somewhat discouraged him in the cattle
business. He traded property on the southwest corner of
Second avenue and Spruce street for eighty acres of land
a mile and a half southwest of Dodge, where he resided
until his death, due to a bucking horse he was riding.

This trade was unusual in the fact that Mr. Beeson
and Mr. D. T. Owens, who owned the town property,
traded evenly and complete, just as the properties stood,
each family taking only their personal effects with them.
And the peculiar fact still presents itself to us, that, after
twenty-five years, the two properties still remain of equal
value, as real estate.

Mr. Beeson was greatly admired by the Santa Fe
Railway people. At the time of his death he had acquired
considerable land and town property. He was one of the
heavy tax payers, and gave the right of way, through
his valuable farm lands, for the building of the new rail-
road.

Another old friend and early comer to Dodge City
I must mention is Mr. H. B. Bell. Mr. Bell, who was
born in Maryland, lost his parents when very young, and
when a mere boy, came west to try his luck. From Law-
rence, Kansas, his first stop, he went to Abilene, Ells-
worth, and finally Great Bend, where he landed in July,

—311—

1872. There he hunted bufiFalo awhile, then got a position
with a Santa Fe agent whose office was a box-car, and
worked there till appointed assistant marshal under
James Gainsford.

In September, 1874, Mr. Bell came to Dodge City,
served several terms as city alderman, was appointed
United States deputy marshal after the assassination of
United States Deputy Marshal McCarty, and served in
that capacity for twelve years. He also served as deputy
sheriff under Charles Bassett and several other sheriffs,
was elected to the office of county commissioner, served
one year, and then ran and was elected sheriff, in which
office he served for twelve years. Mr. Bell has been in
office for about thirty years. He made many trips alone
into No Man's Land, and brought out his man. When
our Ford Bank was robbed, Mr. Bell was one of the im-
portant factors in bringing four of the robbers to trial,
three of whom are now (1913) serving sentence. In all
his official capacity, while very dangerous work in the
old days, Mr. Bell has never shot a man, and never hit
a man with a gun to affect an arrest, though I think he
has arrested more people, for the warrants handled, than
any sheriff in our western country. Mr. Bell is our pres-
sent mayor, and is putting in his entire time to give satis-
faction to our people. Just to show that, in his energy
and ability, time has not changed him, I clip, in part, the
following, from the "Globe" of 1877:

"Mr. Ham Bell is the pioneer Hvery man of western
Kansas. In addition to his large establishment in this
city, he is also the proprietor of a branch establishment
at Burrton. He cuts his own hay, grows his own corn,
puts up ice, hunts buffaloes and wolves, and keeps up
several other businesses in town. But he has never any-
thing to do, and will give you a trade for a horse, jack-
knife, meeting house, or cast-iron jail, just to please you.
Ham is a genuine, live western man, and keeps things

moving."

—312—

A Tree in Horse Thief Canyon
Where a number of Horse Thieves were Hanged

■c' • r« I jt-

Our fellow-townsman, and friend I am proud to call
him, Governor W. }. Fitzgerald, has contributed largely
to the building up of our town. He came here a poor boy,
without money, and, what was worse, in very poor health.
Indeed, it is a wonder he ever pulled through his long
and severe sickness. But he is a rich man today, and has
earned it all by his indefatigable industry and enterprise.
He is the owner of one of the finest farms and stock
ranches in Kansas, with large and commodious barns
and stables, and fine farm house. He has represented us
twice in the legislature, and was lieutenant-governor of
Kansas two terms. He is a gifted orator, and ranks high
among 3ie foremost and brightest young men in our
state. He is a fine business man and a shrewd politician
and, mark by prediction, his voice will be heard in the
halls of congress, one of these days.

Like Mr. Fitzgerald, there are others of our citizens
who, though not the first settlers, have contributed large-
ly to Dodge City's prosperity, advancement, and wealth,
and Dr. C. A. Milton was at the head of this class. He
is next to the oldest physician in Dodge today, enjoyed
a large practice up to the time of his retirement, and now
is much sought professionally, though acting only as a
consulting physician. He can afford to avoid active prac-
tice, as he has made a small fortune from his profession
as well as from his success as a wheat and alfalfa grower.

A. Gluck was for a long time the leading jeweler of
western Kansas, and was many times mayor of Dodge
City. His persistent and deep-rooted faith in Dodge has
made him a fortune. He has the distinction of being the
only mayor ever impeached under the prohibition act,
and his conduct was vindicated immediately afterwards
by his being unanimously reelected by the people. He
was not one of the first settlers, but has contributed large-
ly to the building up of our city.

Of the many notable men that Dodge City has turned

out, it is a pleasure to mention the names of Dr. Simpson

—313—.

and Dr. Crumbine. In early days, the "Romance of the
West" was "Pipes O* Pan" to the restless youth, and
among others who came west, in response to the "Pipes"
was Dr. O. H. Simpson, whose mission was dentistry, and
religion to save teeth. In his frontier isolation from the
profession, he developed an individuality or style of den-
tistry that the dental profession has recognized by adopt-
ing much of it in their teachings and practice. Dr. Simp-
son was thrice appointed a member of the Kansas State
Board of Dental Examiners, serving as president of that
body for a period of twelve years; and, in his early ef-
forts to enforce the new dental law, he came so near do-
ing it that the "oudaw" dentists dubbed him the "Cow-
boy Dentist." The doctor always appreciated the fact
that the greatest asset of life is youth ; and it was through
the open minds of the young men that made it possible
for him to teach his methods of practice, while their
added genius have developed modern dentistry. Doctor
Simpson tells many funny stories of himself, when he
was a tenderfoot and first came to Dodge, and they are
mostly at his own expense.

Simpson and Ballou are the sole owners of the Wil-
low Meadows Dairy, the largest and finest in western
Kansas. It contains three hundred and twenty-five acres
of rich meadow and is surrounded on all sides by large
alfalfa fields. They have gone to great pains and expense
to make it perfect. It enjoys all the modern improve-
ments, such as gasoline engines, pumping clear, cool
water from deep wells, ice plant, electric light plant, cool-
ing rooms; and with screens and other modern improve-
ments, it is impervious to dirt and flies. The milk is
cooled in a systematic manner. They have a large herd of
thoroughbred Holstein cows, and milk over half a
hundred.

Dr. S. Jay Crumbine, who came to Dodge City in the
early eighties and practiced medicine for a number of
years with marked success, is especially entitled to fa-

—314—

vorable mention as one of the Dodge City men who have
done things. As secretary of our State Board of Health,
he conceived the idea of the individual drinking cup,
clean tov^els, inspection of hotels and restaurants, swat
the fly, and many other things of a sanitary nature, that
have received a world-wide recognition and adoption.

He not only thought these things out, but he carried
them into effect by his indefatigable zeal and energy, and
his writings along these lines, tuberculosis, and many
other vital questions pertaining to health, should be read
by everyone. Recognizing his ability, the Kansas State
University elected him dean of their medical school, and
he is filling this position now (1913), as well as acting as
secretary of our State Board of Health, with, not only
great credit to himself, but a widespread benefit to the
public at large.

In concluding this list of Dodge citizens, I present a
few words on the Honorable Ed. Madison, our gifted,
greatly beloved, and much lamented townsman and con-
gressman. His political career was short, but he cut a
big figure and made a great reputation as a statesman
and debater, for one so young and opportunities so limit-
ed. He gave promise of big things in the future, had he
lived. We were all proud of him; and his funeral was
the largest ever seen in Dodge City, up to that time.

—315—

Chapter XVII.

The Great Decline and Subsequent Revival

T^HE early Dodge City boomers never cut the cloth
scant when fitting the garment for general utility.
They had no narrow vision of the prospect, and the per-
spective appeared the same width at both ends. As early
as 1885 Dodge City was mentioned in the "Larned Optic"
as destined to be a railroad center, which prophecy mod-
ern times has seen well fulfilled; and it was continually
spoken of as a future metropolis, which surmise is still a
healthy inspiration, gradually ripening to fulfillment.
Electric lights illuminated the vision of the mind as
well as the eyes, of the early boomer; and when the old-
timer set about promoting an enterprise, he had the con-
sciousness of success. If the thing did not succeed at the
time, it was the incentive for the revival of the scheme
at a later date.

So, with her citizens imbued with such a spirit, and
with the impetus given by the prodigious business activi-
ties of the previous ten years, it is not strange that the
beginning of the year 1886, saw Dodge City becoming
modernized. Street grades had been established, with a
view to future curbing and paving; a Board of Trade
was organized in April, 1886, and was conducted with all
the grave formality of later times and older communi-
ties, and with the same earnestness in promoting enter-
prises; about the same time, the first electric light com-
pany was organized, and also a telephone company,
though the latter did not fully succeed in working out
all its plans till some years later. Free mail delivery was
promised from Washington, as soon as the local post-
office receipts reached ten thousand dollars yearly, but
this promise did not materialize till the spring of 1910,
twenty-four years after it was given.

—316—

In this same year (1886), a waterworks system was
also installed, and was first tested in the latter part of
January, 1887. The "Globe" says: "There were six hose
attached to six hydrants, in different parts of the city, all
throwing water at the same time. The hose was three
inches in diameter, and the nozzle one inch. At the
hydrants in the south part of the city, it is estimated that
streams, ranging from eighty to one hundred feet high,
were thrown; while on the hills north, the power was
not so great, the streams reaching a height of only fifty
or sixty feet. The water was kept on for twenty minutes,
and the people were well satisfied with the test. With this
excellent system of waterworks, and with our three hose
companies and hook and ladder company, which are in
constant training. Dodge City can defy the fire fiend, in
the future."

Dodge had cause to feel pride and security in her
new fire fighting equipment, as she had experienced two
disastrous fires before the establishment of the water-
works system. The first of these fires occurred in Janu-
ary, 1885, and it almost totally destroyed the whole block
on Front street, between Second and Third avenues. The
buildings were mostly frame, but a small brick building,
on the west of the post office, was the means of checking
the flames. The loss was estimated at sixty thousand
dollars, on which the insurance was twenty-five thousand.
The "Globe" tells of the heroic work of the volunteer fire-
men in preventing a general fire.

Dodge City's second great fire, occuring December
I St, 1885, was again on Front street, in the block between
First and Second avenues, which was completely destroy-
ed. With the exception of the R. M. Wright building,
which was of brick, all the buildings were of frame. The
loss was computed at about seventy-five thousand dollars.
The origin of the fire is supposed to have been a coal oil
lamp exploding, or breaking from a fall, where it was
suspended, upstairs over Sheridan's saloon. The fire oc-

—317—

curing at seven in the evening, gave opportunity to save
much inside property; but, owing to inadequate means of
putting out fires, the entire block was soon consumed.
As the "Globe" describes it: "Ladders were soon run up
to the roof of the Globe building; and just as many men
as could get around to work, started in, passing buckets of
water, wetting blankets and spreading them on the roof
and keeping them wet, while others kept the roof well
covered with salt. At each of the upstairs windows were
stationed one or two men, who kept the scorching, blis-
tering building from taking fire. It was a hard and well-
fought battle with the fiery element." The damage by
moving stocks from the buildings on Chestnut street,
besides houses that were scorched and damaged by
water, amounted to considerable. There was no wind,
and the evening was quiet and damp.

Such were the conditions and events leading to the
establishment of facilities for fire protection. And one of
Dodge City's institutions, of which she was particularly
proud, was her little fire company. It was the pride of the
village, and the pet of western Kansas and Colorado.
Wherever our fire boys went, Wichita, Newton, Denver,
Leadville, Pueblo, Colorado Springs, and Trinidad, they
were feasted, wined and dined, toasted and given the
place of honor; and never did they fail to bring home one
of the first prizes for fast runs and all around efficiency,
while their conduct away from home was an honor to
our town, and always mentioned as such by the town
of which they were the guests. Their trim, neat, and
gentlemanly appearance was also universally remarked,
and favorably commented upon.

It is a notorious fact and worthy of note that the
climate around Dodge City is conducive to speed. Parties
from Dodge, Mr. Sam Stubbs, William Tilghman, and
others, have gone east and bought up and brought back
to Dodge, old, broken-down race horses. Under good
treatment and care, these horses would not only regain

—318—

their former speed, but would way yonder surpass it, and
would be taken back east and beat their former record
and win many races. It was the same way with young
athletes. They would come to Dodge, join our fire com-
pany, and many of them turn out even-time men; and
that is why our little fire company was always to the
front. Dodge was also the home of some of the speediest
wild animals on earth;! for instance, the antelope, the
little red, swift or prairie fox, the wild horse, deer, elk,
and, last but not least, the jack rabbit. Perhaps speed
was in the air — or climate.

The close of Dodge City's first great epoch of pros-
perity was further marked by many projects for railroad
building, most of which, however, fell through to a great-
er or less extent. When the Bucklin branch was built,
the intended extension of the road was through Arkan-
sas, Kansas, and Colorado; but Ford county voted one
hundred thousand dollars in bonds, to aid in this enter-
prise, and the Bucklin branch was the limit. On Septem-
ber 30th, 1887, the "Globe" said arrangements had been
perfected for the grading, tieing, and laying of iron on
the Arkansas, Kansas & Colorado Railroad, which was to
be built, with a connection with the Rock Island at Buck-
lin, to Dodge City, and "which must be completed by
December 31st, to earn the hundred thousand dollars in
county bonds, voted to said road to aid in its construc-
tion. The president, Mr. C. D. Perry, has just returned
from the East, where he arranged for all necessary ma-
terial, and graders have gone to work." The Wichita &
Western was looked for — it was always an ignis fatuus
in railroad projects — but it never appeared. About this
time the Montezuma railroad was considered, and was
built by A. T. Soule. The road was abandoned, and the
rails and ties taken up. Some traces of the old road bed
are yet plain.

One of the institutions of this period, of which Dodge

City was justly proud, and which carried her peculiar in-

—319—

dividuality and atmosphere from one end of the country
to the other, was the famous "Cowboy Band". This band
was organized with a membership of eighteen men, in-
cluding drum major and color bearer. The band wore
the uniform of the cowboy. A large sombrero took the
place of the ordinary hat, while a blue flannel shirt was
substituted for the white-bosomed shirt, and a silk scarf
took the place of a neck tie. Leather leggings, supported
by a cartridge belt and scabbard, a navy six-shooter, and
spurs on boots completed the dress of this famous band
of musicians.

The "St. Louis Globe-Democrat" once printed a pic-
ture of the band, showing Professor Eastman (the direc-
tor) using a six-shooter to beat the time. A reporter on
the paper asked the professor what he swung that gun
for, and was told it was his baton. "Is it loaded?" asked
the reporter. "Yes." "What for?" "To kill the first man
who strikes a false note," was the professor's reply.

The Cowboy Band went over a larger scope of coun-
try and was the best-advertised band of any band, east
or west, that was ever organized. It attracted more at-
tention wherever it went, not because it discoursed more
beautiful music than any other band — although the mem-
bers were highly complimented for their talent as musi-
cians— ^but because of its unique appearance. After its
fame became known, it was invited to a great many cele-
brated gatherings; for instance, to Washington City, when
President Harrison was inaugurated, and my! what a
swath the bunch did cut. People just went wild over
them, I expect because many of them had never seen a
cowboy before; and their uniforms were a wonder to
them. With their chapps and spurs and woolly leather
leggings, belts and six-shooters, quirts, etc., it was indeed
a sight to the people, and crowds followed in their wake,
when they marched down Pennsylvania avenue. They
liked to never got home. They were taken all around the
country, and they were actually quarreled over, as to

—320—

John Riney
One of the Seven Old Timers of Dodge City

what city or convention they would go to next. They
were loaded down with all sorts and kinds of trophies
and presents, and even money was forced upon them.

Colonel Hunter, president of the St. Louis stock-
men's convention, and Mr. Rainwater, mayor of St. Louis,
entertained the Cowboy Band handsomely; they dined
them and wined them and gave them the freedom of the
city, and none of them was allowed to spend a cent. At a
banquet, given them by Mr. Rainwater at his private
residence, one of the band, a tall, raw-boned, awkward,
ungainly man, George Horter by name, when they were
seated at the banquet board, took up his finger bowl and
drank the water. The other boys noticed this and were
embarrassed at it. Mr. Rainwater came nobly to the
rescue by taking up his finger bowl, also, and drinking
from it to the health of the Cowboy Band.

While the band was in Topeka, they were invited to
a banquet, given by the great lawyer and prince of good
fellows. Captain George R. Peck, general solicitor of the
Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railroad. During the ban-
quet, this same George Horter said: "'Captain Peck!'
Why, nearly twenty years ago my captain was named
Peck." At that. Captain Peck said: "What regiment and
company?" George told him, when they both jumped up
and hugged each other. Such a scene you never wit-
nessed. They both almost wept in each other's arms.
After twenty years, to be brought together in this way!
It was touching, to say the least.

"The Pueblo Chieftain," in an account of the cattle-
men's convention, held in Dodge City, April 13th, 1882,
says:

"The cattlemen's convention adjourned yesterday,
and the proceedings wound up last night with the grand-
est ball and banquet ever held in western Kansas. It is
estimated that the stockmen here represented over fifty
million dollars. Just think of that amount of money, in
one hall, in a western town. The hall was splendidly

—321—

decorated by the ladies of Dodge. Evergreen anchors,
wreaths, crosses, and other emblems, with a number of
fine pictures decorated the walls. Among the latter were
several splendid oil paintings, the work of Mrs. Chalk
Beeson. The ball was a masquerade affair. The music
was furnished by the Cowboy Band, and the prompting
was done by Mr. Beeson, the best in the business. The
banquet was in Cox's very best style, and was a magnifi-
cent affair."

The Kansas City papers reported during the exposi-
tion of 1886: "The Cowboy Band elicited words of praise
from fifteen thousand visitors yesterday. This band is
composed of real cowboys, not soft-handed dudes in dis-
guise, as some had supposed before seeing them."

The Cowboy Band was organized in 1881, after
which time it gradually grew into prominence until it
gained for itself a world-wide reputation. The first time
the boys appeared in public as the Cowboy Band was in
188 1, when they furnished music for the Topeka fair. In
1884 they attended the Cattlemen's National Convention
at St. Louis, where they were presented with several mag-
nificent banners as a token of the high appreciation by
the people of St. Louis for the excellent music the boys
furnished them. On the trip to St. Louis they also visited
Chicago, St. Paul, Milwaukee, and several other impor-
tant cities, and on all occasions were received by the people
in a manner which showed their love for good music.

In 1885 they made their second visit to St. Louis, and
in 1886 visited Pueblo and Denver, where they were
received even in a more royal manner than in the eastern
cities. And the boys were often heard to boast of the
kind treatment they received at the hands of our good
neighbors of the State of Colorado.

The abandonment of Fort Dodge, the settlement of

the military reservation, and the establishment of the

Soldiers' Home, were important steps in the seeming

course of advancement, in this period of Dodge City's

—322—

history. The abandonment of Fort Dodge as a military
post, in June, 1882, created surprise among the Dodge
City people and settlers generally. With the abandon-
ment of the fort, the people would have no protection
against Indian raids. But the troops stationed at Fort
Dodge were sent, one company to Fort Reno, one com-
pany to Fort Supply, and the third company to Fort El-
liott, Texas, where they could be in proximity to the In-
dian reservations.

Fort Dodge, after its abandonment by the military,
was partially demolished, many buildings being removed.
However, the rebuilding and repairing took place, and
the establishment of the Soldiers' Home sustained the
character of the famous post. The establishment of this
Home was indicated as early as the first part of 1883, a
resolution having been introduced in the Kansas legisla-
ture, memorializing congress to cede the Fort Dodge mili-
tary reservation for that purpose. But it was not until
1887 that the Home was established.

Late in May, 1886, a sudden rush for settlement, on
the Fort Dodge reservation was made, early one Monday
morning, and a hundred or more claims staked off, be-
tween Sunday night at twelve o'clock and Monday morn-
ing before sunrise. No one appeared to know how the
reservation happened to be thrown upon the market all
of a sudden, and no one stopped to inquire, but went
right along with settling and improving some portion of
the reservation, regardless of what the outcome might be.
The people were perfectly wild with the excitement oc-
casioned by this mysterious move. Every available team
in the city was employed to haul lumber; carpenters were
in demand, who, after being hired to do a little midnight
job in the way of erecting a claim house, refused to work
for their employers, but, on the other hand, hired teams
and went to the reservation with lumber, squatted upon
a hundred and sixty acres of land, and erected a house

for themselves.

—323—

Now all this was wholly unwarranted on the squat-
ters' part. The reservation had not been thrown open to
settlement, and the only foothold the premature settlers
gained was that of "squatters' right" which gave him
the first right to purchase, in case the land was put up for
sale. The reservation lands were subsequently opened to
settlement, on terms prescribed by the government, by
purchase and priority in settlement. The original "squat-
ters," except in a few instances, relinquished their rights,
and others proved up the claims.

Not the least of the signs of modernism, in this par-
ticular epoch of Dodge City, was the somewhat uncertain,
but none the less significant moves toward certain social
reforms. As is usual with the beginnings of such attempts,
they took the form of the suppressing of profanity in
public, and the establishment of a stricter form of Sun-
day observance. An example of one of the first protests
against profanity is that of Postmaster Reamer, who,
through the "Globe" of December 21st, 1886, "protests
against the profanity, and in the post office especially, by
the ladies (?), if such they can be called; more especially
those that swear just because they do not get a letter."

In early times, Sunday business was the same as
week-day business. In the frontier days, stores were kept
open on Sundays to accommodate the cattle and plains
traders. Evidently the first efforts toward changing these
conditions were, at first, regarded as almost hopeless. The
following is significant: "Reverend O. W. Wright has
presented a petition from the citizens of Dodge City to
our merchants, requesting them to close their stores on
the Sabbath day. He obtained the names of a majority
of the merchants, but as all will not agree to close, the
present effort will stop here."

By 1883, however, efforts along this line were more
successful. A telegram from Dodge City, in the spring
of that year, said of the town: "For the first time since
its existence, it had, last Sunday, the semblance of Sab-

—324—

bath. All business houses and saloons, dance halls and
gambling halls were closed. There is universal rejoicing
over this, and it is felt that all measures of reform, as
contemplated by the city council, w^ill be carried out.
Many of the gamblers and prostitutes are leaving, most
of them going to Caldwell. Now if Caldwell could only
be reformed."

With all these movements toward development, im-
provement, and reform, following directly after her great
prosperity of earlier days, it would seem that Dodge City,
in 1885, was on the certain road to further advancement,
steady progress, and uninterrupted growth and prosperity.
But, lo and behold! a new aspect came over the spirit of
our dreams. Dodge City, once famous for its extraordin-
ary prosperity, its lavishness in prodigality and possession
of wealth, at one fell swoop was reduced to extreme
poverty, almost want. The change was sharp and quick,
and almost without warning. The dead line was moved
to the state line, and Dodge City lost the cattle trade;
she also lost a tremendous freight business by wagon,
the buffalo hide and bone industry, and other business
incident to a frontier country. Railroads, building on the
south, had absorbed the freight by wagon route; and
farmers, settling on the lands, further reduced the cattle
trade. Under this pressure of civilization, the town stag-
gered under the blow. Even the great Santa Fe Railroad
felt the loss, for the company was put into the hands of
a receiver, and the road's operating expenses were cut in
two. It was the Santa Fe Railway which gave Dodge
City her start in pioneer life; and with this confidence,
we felt if everything else failed the road would continue
to be a source of revenue to the city. Such depression,
following so closely on the heels of her great affluence,
was truly paralyzing.

For ten long years. Dodge City was suspended in

reverses. But during this poverty-stricken period, the

process of liquidation was slowly being carried out. Dodge

—325—

City had had so much faith in her progress and former
wealth, that a calamity was unexpected; she lost sight of
the fact that the unnatural extravagance of that former
wealth and progress was bound to bring a reaction, soon-
er or later. In this depression, property went down to
fiwc and ten cents on the dollar, in value, or you could
buy it for a song and sing it yourself. People would not
pay taxes, and the county became possessed of much
valuable real estate, while hundreds of speculators were
purchasers of tax titles. Many of the business houses
closed, and large numbers of residences were without
tenants. Parties were invited to live in them rent free, so
the insurance could be kept up. And the same depression
was felt in land and cattle. Good cows sold for eight to
ten dollars. Land around Dodge sold as low as fifty cents
per acre. The writer's land, a tract of seven thousand
acres, was sold under the hammer, at less than fifty cents
per acre; and some for less than that price.

A good story is told of an Irishman, passing through
Dodge City, from Morton county in the southwest part
of Kansas, on his way to his wife's folks in the East, with
a little old team of horses, a wagon, and a small cow tied
behind the wagon. He stopped to water his team, and,
when someone asked him where he was from and what
were the conditions out there, he said, "It is a beautiful
country for prospects, bless your soul!" "Why did you
leave?" he was asked. "Got tired; and my wife wanted
to see her folks," he replied. "What is the price of land
out there?" He said: "Come here! you see that little
cow behind the wagon; I traded a quarter section of land
for her, and by gobs; before I made the deed, I found
the critter I sold to couldn't read, so I just slipped in the
other quarter section I had into the deed, and the fellow
didn't know it."

Our town and country was likened to a rich family
which, through extravagance and bad management, was
reduced to extreme poverty. When they were down to

— 326 —

the lowest ebb and everything was gone, the head of the
family caught the eldest son in tears. He said to him,
"My son, what are you crying for?" "My God, father!"
he replied, "we have nothing left, whatever." "That is so,
my son; but cheer up!" the father said: "Don't you see.'*
we are at the foot of the ladder and we can go no further
down; so we are bound to climb."

Thus it was with Dodge City. She was at the very
foot of the ladder, and was bound to climb; and so she
did, after she started — slow, at first, but after we caught
our second wind, then by leaps and bounds. We com-
menced to go up. Our wheat which had been selling for
40 cents per bushel went up to 60 cents ; our seasons began
to improve, and our farmers take fresh heart and put in
a larger acreage of wheat and other crops; and cattle be-
gan to go way up. Our people sold their wheat and in-
vested in cattle; and sold their increase in cattle and bought
cheap lands; and so it went, until our country got to be
the third largest wheat county, two or three million
bushels each year. In the harvest of 1912, Ford county
was second in Kansas, in wheat production. With the
proceeds from their wheat, farmers bought more land
and erected business houses in Dodge City. And now
Dodge can boast of the second finest courthouse, if not
the finest in the state, a handsome city hall, a great sys-
tem of waterworks and electric lights in splendid build-
ings, while our jail is a modern building, and our schools
and magnificent churches are second to none.

Out of a great conflict rises a period of prosperity.
To have gone through this endurance of adversity, equip-
ped the people with courage and a sense of stability and
prudence, which not only gives them caution, but nerve,
in making Dodge City the commercial city of western
Kansas.

As a close to this work, in addition to what has al-
ready been said in the same vein, a glimpse of the Dodge
City of today, lying in the brilliant summer sunshine of

—327—

1913? must be given, or our subject will fall short of re-
ceiving complete justice. A marked change from the
feverish commotion of its first great boom, or the terrible
stagnation and desolation of its time of depression, is
apparent. The happy medium, in its perfection, has been
struck by the town, at last. It is now a busy, bustling,
city of 5,000 people, all push and energy, building up and
reaching out and making every other sort of steady prog-
ress toward development and improvement, socially, fin-
ancially, and esthetically, without any wild clamor about
it. Nor is this general progress dependent upon any
transient traffic or local condition, as was the first great
era of prosperity. It is founded on the broader, firmer
foundation of the development of territory and the na-
tural pressure of modern civilization, and must, in the
very nature of things, continue indefinitely and be per-
manent, with nothing mushroom like in its nature.

The change is great and keenly apparent to any ob-
server of recent years; how infinitely greater, then, it
must be, and how much more apparent to us who have
watched the progress of Dodge, from its very beginning.
Rich, green fields of alfalfa, and others of golden wheat,
now surround the town, in place of the bare prairies of
old; farm houses, handsome and commodious, with orch-
ards, gardens, and pastures, occupy the place in the land-
scape once filled by the humble cabins, and 'dobe or sod
houses, where the pioneer settler lived so long, in daily
fear for his life at the mercy of murderous Indians; the
primitive fording places of the river, and their successor,
the rude wooden bridge of early days, have been replaced
by a steel and concrete bridge, double-tracked and electric
lighted, across which are continually whirring smart ve-
hicles and elegant automobiles, in place of the lumbering
ox wagon or the spur-driven cow pony; the weather-
worn, blood-stained, old Santa Fe trail is now being
honored as a distinguished historical highway and having
its course marked, at intervals, by granite tablets, and a

—328—

fine automobile road alongside; even the river shows
change, its channel being narrowed and volume dimin-
ished by its contribution to irrigation projects above
Dodge City, but this slight defection is more than repaid
by the additional verdure and bloom and wealth produced
by the stolen waters.

Though enormous crops of wheat and alfalfa are
raised, without artificial aid, and the bulk of these staples
are produced without it, irrigation is quite common in
the vicinity of Dodge City. Many of the irrigaton plants
are private property, consisting, mainly, of deep wells,
sunk to tap the underflow of the river, and fitted with
pumps to bring the water to the surface. This underflow
is practically inexhaustible, and the amount of water a
farmer wishes to use need be limited only by the number
of wells he is able to put down.

In contrast to these small systems, is the largest irri-
gation project in Dodge City's neighborhood, the great
Eureka Ditch. This enterprise was first conceived by the
Gilbert brothers, John and George, two of the most en-
terprising and go-ahead citizens that ever struck this or
any other country; and they were backed, financially, by
the great "Hop Bitters" man, Mr. A. T. Soule, of Roch-
ester, New York, who was also the founder of our big
college.

By the side of the river is Wright Park, which it

was the pleasure of the writer to donate to the city, in

1897, and which, in 1880, was a piece of land newly set

with young trees. It is now a large grove of magnificent

trees, the only indication of their not being natural forest

being the somewhat regular manner in which they stand.

Of this park, a local paper is good enough to say: "The

Wright Park is an institution of the city, highly valued

for its use in the purposes for which it was intended. In

this city park, public gatherings of all kinds are held, free

of charge. The public spirit of Mr. Wright was mani-

—329—

fested on many occasions, but in none, will be surpassed
that of the park donation, which will be a living monu-
ment to his memory. The only reservation Mr. Wright
made, in donating the park, was that it was to be called,
*Wright Park,' always. Mr. Wright also donated thir-
teen acres of land where the Harvey eating house stands,
to the railroad company, on condition that a park be es-
tablished; and also that citizens of Dodge City should
be charged only fifty cents a meal. But the latter agree-
ment was carried out for a short time only; and the lay-
ing out and cultivation of a park is still deferred — now
nearly seventeen years having elapsed."

The changes and growth in Wright Park is dupli-
cated in many other institutions of Dodge City. Every-
where, brick, stone, and concrete supplant the frame
structures of former days. And even good brick and
stone structures of earlier times, have been replaced by
others of more elegant quality or design. An example is
the courthouse which, first built of brick and stone, was
recently torn down and replaced by the just completed
elegant structure of white stone and marble, a delight to
the eye in every line and detail. The contract for the
building of the city hall, a beautiful architectural speci-
men of brick and white stone, in the midst of spacious,
well-kept grounds, was given in October, 1887, to Messrs.
Sweeney and Toley, for the sum of $19,800. The work on
the Methodist college was under way, at this time, up-
wards of thirty-seven thousand dollars being expended;
but, in the time of depression, the building was discon-
tinued, and the property finally abandoned as a college.
Just recently, however, it has been bought entire by the
Roman Catholics, and is now being overhauled and re-
fitted, preparatory to the opening of a large school there
at once.

The ward school buildings of Dodge, of which there

are three, are large and substantial structures of brick

—330—

and stone. The handsomest, the present high school build-
ing, occupies the site of old "Boot Hill," a mute but ever
present and immutable witness of how thoroughly culture
and education has replaced violence and lawlessness in
that locality. Roomy as are her school facilities, however,
they cannot accommodate the continually growing num-
ber of Dodge City's school population, and plans are now
under way for the building of a new high school building,
larger, handsomer, and more strictly modern than any
of the others, admirable though they certainly are.

The good old Santa Fe Railroad has also redeemed
itself in the public mind, and resumed its part in the up-
building and advancement of Dodge City. Its great
roundhouse and machine shops of a division are located
here, a handsome station has taken the place of the box-
car and small station house of early days, an elegant
"Harvey House" hotel is maintained, and a ten thousand-
dollar freight depot of brick and stone has just been com-
pleted by the road. This last statement, alone, is proof
that the freight traffic over the Santa Fe, at Dodge City,
is still highly important, while the passenger service is
equally important, and perfect in appointment and con-
venience.

Among the churches, the Christian denomination
was the first to erect a large and handsome church build-
ing of brick and stone, which is an ornament to the city.
The Methodists have just completed an elegant twenty-
five thousand-dollar edifice of brick, stone, and concrete;
while the Presbyterians contemplate the erection of an
equally handsome building, in the near future. The
Episcopal church, though small, is a little gem — the most
artistic building in Dodge City. With its brown stone
walls, colored glass windows, and square bell tower, it is
delightfully suggestive of the chapels of rural England.
The Baptist church, though large, is of frame; but it oc-
cupies the most centrally located site of any church in

—331—

town. It is directly opposite the Public Library, another
handsome, modern building of brick and stone, wherein
a large free library is maintained for the edification and
education of the people of the city.

However, among all the handsome buildings of mod-
ern Dodge City, from her perfectly appointed signal sta-
tion, to her huge grain elevators, there is not one which
she cherishes more highly nor of which she is more proud,
than of a modest little cottage in the heart of the city.
This is the oldest house in town, though it is so well
preserved that no one would suspect it to be Dodge's
oldest house in point of service. It is as strong and sub-
stantial as it was thirty years ago, and is still doing splen-
did service as a residence. I wrote a brief description of
this house for the "Dodge City Globe", of November
9th, 191 1, which follows. Said the "Globe":

"It is a cold day when R. M. Wright, pioneer plains-
man and freighter, cannot get up a good story about
Dodge City. His latest one is about the oldest house in
the town. In writing this little sketch for the 'Globe',
Mr. Wright lets the hquse tell its own story, in the follow-
ing language:

" 'Not many houses can tell a story like mine. I am

by far the oldest house in Dodge City. Mine has been a

checkered career. I was first built in Abilene, then taken

down and moved to Salina, and from there to Ellsworth.

Nothing doing in the way of excitement up to my advent

in Ellsworth. There my trouble as well as my festivities

began. From that time on, I led a gay and festive life,

interspersed with some sad tragedies. Many fights and

scraps were inaugurated there, in the wee small hours of

the night; and once a murder was committed, as well as

several duels started. I said murder; in those days we

called it "shooting" and the man who did not get the

drop was the "unfortunate." Then I was moved to Fort

Dodge and first occupied by Charles F. Tracy, who was

—332—

succeeded by John E. Tappen, and he by R. M. Wright,
post-trader, and he by James Langton and his deHghtful
sister, who was a great entertainer.

" 'Here is where I had a gay time, as night after
night, the officers of the post congregated there, to have
a good time. And they had it; never were they disap-
pointed in this. Cards, dancing, and music were the
principal programme features, ending with sumptuous
repasts about midnight. There have I entertained lords,
dukes, and other great men of Europe as well as America.
Among those who have sat at the festive board were
Generals Sherman, Sheridan, Miles, Forsythe, and Pope;
and brigadiers, colonels, lieutenant-colonels, and majors
too numerous to mention. Once I was graced by the presi-
dent of the United States, President Hayes.

"'From Fort Dodge, I was moved to Dodge City,
where I have led a very peaceful life, in my old age. I
am now occupied by W. B. Rhodes and family. Under
all my owners, I have never been changed, but remain
exactly the same building as when I was first erected,
even to the two ells and porch. I now stand on the corner
of Vine street and First avenue, a venerable relic of my
past days of glory and splendor.' "

But why continue further with the enumeration of

the noteworthy features of our city, and the description

of the transformations that have taken place on every

side within her boundaries, since the time when the Lady

Gay dance hall was the center of social Dodge, and Boot

Hill the boundary line of the great buffalo range. Change,

change, everywhere change, and for the better, is all that

can be seen. Did I say everywhere ? I don't quite mean

that. There is one place where Dodge City has not

changed; her spirit of hospitality and benevolence, of

liberality and justice, of kindliness to strangers and good

cheer to unfortunates, is the same today as it was when

—333—

the people cheered and exulted over the privilege of send-
ing aid to the yellow^ fever sufferers; or w^hen they risked
life itself to rescue some frail woman from the horrors
of Indian captivity. There is an indescribable, feeling of
kindliness, good fellow^ship, and homelikeness in the very
atmosphere of Dodge. The stranger feels it, immediately
upon his arrival, and no matter hov^ long he stays, he
finds it continually made good. Snobbery and arrogance
are little known in her social circles. Her wealthiest and
most influential citizens are simple, hearty, whole-souled
human beings, with the human quality pronounced in
its degree; and there is a warmth and freedom of social
intercourse among her residents, or extended from the
residents to sojourners in the town, that seems the very
manifestation of the western spirit of our dreams, or as
if Dodge City might be the ideal, "where the West be-
gins," as described in Arthur Chapman's lovely little
poem:

"Out where the hand clasps a little stronger;

Out where a smile dwells a little longer;
That's where the West begins:

Out where the sun is a little brighter;

Where the snows that fall are a trifle whiter;

Where the bonds of home are a wee bit tighter;
That's where the West Begins.

"Out where the skies are a trifle bluer;
Out where friendship's a little truer;

That's where the West begins :
Out where a fresher breeze is blowing;
Where there's laughter in every streamlet flowing;
Where there's more of reaping and less of sowing;

That's where the West Begins.

"Out where the world is in the making;

Where fewer hearts with despair are aching;

That's where the West begins:
—334—

Where there's more of singing and less of sighing;
Where there's more of giving and less of buying;
And a man makes friends without half trying;
That's where the West begins."

—335-

o^PPENDIX

I. Robert M. Wright (see frontispiece) was born at
Bladensburg, Prince George County, Maryland, Septem-
ber 2, 1840. His father was born at Alexandria, Virginia,
in 1800, and when a mere boy was on the battle-field of
Bladensburg, administering to the wounded soldiers. His
great-grandfather was a Presbyterian minister, and dur-
ing the Revolutionary war raised a regiment of militant
plowboys, at Elizabethtown, New Jersey, of which he had
command at the battle of the Meadows. The British set
a price on his head and destroyed all his property. His
wife was shot by a Hessian soldier, as she sat at her
window with a babe in her arms. Her husband was killed
by Tories. His grandfather on his mother's side was Elias
Boudinot Coldwell, for many years clerk of the United
States supreme court, whose residence, and private library,
which had been loaned to Congress, were destroyed by
the British in the war of 18 12. When sixteen years old,
Robert M. Wright took a notion to come West. He settled
in Missouri and worked on a farm near St. Louis until
1859. He made an overland trip with oxen in that year,
reaching the town of Denver in May. He crossed the
plains four times by wagon and twice by coach. He
worked for three years for Sanderson & Company, and
then became a contractor for cutting hay, wood, and
hauling grain. He was appointed post-trader at Fort
Dodge in 1867. He has been farmer, stockman, contractor,
postmaster, and merchant. He has four times represented
Ford county in the legislature. In 1899 he was appointed
commissioner of forestry, and was reappointed in 1901.
He resides in Dodge City.

The July, 1912, number of the "Santa Fe Employer's
Magazine" says of Mr. Wright:

"No account of Dodge City is quite complete without
—336—

reference to R. M. Wright. Going into western Kansas in
a very early day, this gentleman was, in 1866, appointed
post trader at Fort Dodge. During a long and prosperous
career, he has been successively a stockman, freighter,
contractor, merchant, politician, farmer, county treasurer,
state forest commissioner, postmaster, and representative
of Ford county four times in the legislature, and once
mayor of Dodge City. No man has been more closely
identified with the remarkable history of Ford county
than Mr. Wright. He is now living in feeble retirement
in the old town which he helped make famous, while his
experiences would fill an interesting volume. The follow-
ing is given as a characteristic anecdote of his early life.
It happened while Bob was serving as mayor of Dodge.

"One day a cow-puncher came to town, bent on hav-
ing a good time, so he sauntered into the Green Front
saloon and played his money on a sure thing game. In
a short time, he and his Httle pile were parted. Sore at
his ill luck, he determined to prefer charges against the
proprietor for running a gambling joint, so he hunted
up the Honorable Bob Wright, at that time mayor, and
after introducing himself, presented his case in this
manner:

" *A feller in that 'ere Green Front has just robbed
me of more'n sixteen dollars, an' I wants ter have 'im
pulled.'

" *Been gambling, have you?' retorted the Honorable
Bob. Then addressing the city marshal. Bill Tilghman,
who was just crossing the street, he yelled: 'Here, Bill,
is a fellow that has been gambling. Run him in.' So
they hauled the prisoner to the police court, where he was
fined ten dollars and costs, as an object lessen to those
who might presume to violate the anti-gambling ordinance
of Dodge City."

2. The Dodge City Town Company (see Chapter I,

page 9) was organized in 1872, with R. M. Wright,

—337—

president; Colonel Richard I. Dodge, commanding Fort
Dodge; Major E. B. Kirk, post quartermaster; Major
W. S. Tremaine, post surgeon ; and Captain T. C. Tupper.
The county of Ford was organized in 1873. Dodge City,
according to the census of 1901, had 2,199 population,
and the county of Ford, 5,302, since when, however, said
population has probably doubled. The town is four miles
west of the site of the fort.

3. Jim and Bill Anderson (see Chapter I, page 11)
killed Judge Baker and his father-in-law, George Segur,
at Baker's home on Rock Creek, a few miles east of Coun-
cil Grove, on the night of July 3rd, 1862. Baker kept a
supply store near the Santa Fe trail. The Andersons
were hard characters from Missouri. At the commence-
ment of the war they took to the brush. On one of their
marauding expeditions in the spring of the year, they
stole two horses from Mr. Segur. Baker and friends gave
chase, and, overtaking the party west of Council Grove,
recovered the horses. Baker swore out a warrant for the
arrest of the Andersons. Old man Anderson, hearing of
this, swore he would take Baker's life, and, arming him-
self with a rifle, started for Baker's home. Baker had
been informed, met him prepared, and, getting the first
shot, killed Anderson. July 2nd, the Andersons skulked
around Baker's home, but the latter was at Emporia. He
returned on the night of the 3rd. Baker and Segur after
dark, were called out, both were wounded, and, retreating
into the house, took refuge in the cellar. The house was
fired, and Baker burned to death, and Segur, who escaped,
died the next day.

4. Fort Lyon, Colorado, (see Chapter I, page 12)
was originally established August 29th, i860, near Bent's
Fort, on the Arkansas River, and called Fort Wise. The
name was changed June 25th, 1862. June 9th, 1867, the
post was newly located at a point twenty miles distant,
on the north bank of the Arkansas, two and one-half miles

—338—

below the Purgatory River, in latitude 38° 5' 36'', longi-
tude 26° 30' west.

5. Fort Larned (see Chapter I, page 12), was estab-
lished October 22nd, 1858, for the protection of the Santa
Fe trade, on the right bank of the Pawnee Fork, about
seven miles above its mouth, 38° 10' north latitude, longi-
tude 22° west. It was namecl, June, i860, for Colonel
B. F. Larned, then paymaster-general, though first called
Camp Alert.

6. Fort Dodge (see Chapter I, page 12), was located
in 1864, by General G. M. Dodge, United States volun-
teers, the site being an old camping ground for trains
going to New Mexico. It is in latitude 37° 50' north,
longitude 100° west. A Colorado regiment camped there
before the establishment of the post. It was a four-com-
pany post, and was abandoned in 1882.

7. Colonel Aubrey (see Chapter I, page 14), was a
French Canadian by birth, and made two trips on horse-
back between Santa Fe and Independence; the first in
eight days, in 1850; and the second, on a wager of one
thousand dollars, in five days, in 1852. He was killed by
Major R. H. Weightman, once editor of the Santa Fe
"Herald." See "The Overland Stage to California," (by
Frank A. Root, 1901), pages 54 and 425.

8. Fort Atkinson (see Chapter I, page 12), a gov-
ernment post on the Arkansas River, twenty-six miles
below the crossings of the Arkansas; established August
8th, 1850; abandoned October 2nd, 1854. According to
Gregg's "Commerce of the Plains," issued in 1854, Point
of Rocks was six hundred and ten miles out from Inde-
pendence, Missouri, and the crossing of the Arkansas was
about Cimarron station, on the Santa Fe railroad.

9. Pawnee Rock (see Chapter II, page 24). This
story was first written for and published in "Echos from
Pawnee Rock," a small book from various authors' writ-
ings, compiled by the ladies of Hutchinson, in honor of

—339—

the historic spot. In a letter to Mr. Wright, from one of
the ladies who had charge of the book, the lady says:

"I hear many complimentary comments upon your
article. A Hutchinson business man, who is something of
a literary critic, bought the first copy of the "Echos"
sold here and remained away from his store in the after-
noon to read the book. When he next saw me he said,
'Robert M. Wright is the whole thing in your little book.*

"If there were time I could mention other apprecia-
tive remarks about your popular contribution.

"I am very grateful for your support during the
months I worked on the book. In spite of some discour-
agement, the work was very enjoyable, and I have been
paid a thousand times by the appreciative interest of
patriotic Kansans.

"I hope you may be present when the Rock is
formally transferred to the State.

"Yours very sincerely,

"Margaret Perkins."

10. The Chivington fight (see Chapter III, page 59)
occurred in the autumn of 1864. In the summer of that
year a band of Cheyenne Indians, under the control of
Black Kettle and White Antelope, about four hundred
and fifty in all, together with about fifty Arapahoes,
under Left Hand, known to be friendly Indians, came
to the vicinity of Fort Lyon, Colorado, in compliance
with the order of Governor Evans, acting superintendent
of Indian affairs. This was done with the understanding
that they were to be protected from the soldiers who
were to take the field against hostiles. They remained
in this camp for some time, giving up their arms, and
depending upon rations for their food. Their weapons
were then restored to them by Major Scott J. Anthony,
who had in the meantime superseded Major E. W. Wyn-
koop in the command of that military district, and they
were told to go into camp on Sand Creek, about thirty-
five miles from Fort Lyon. This they did, relying on

—340—

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the hunt for food, and maintaining friendly relations with
the whites. On the morning of November 29th, about
daybreak, they were surprised by United States troops,
under Colonel J. M. Chivington, the commander of that
district. An indiscriminate slaughter of men, women,
and children followed. The three principal chiefs were
killed. Many of the Indians escaped on horseback and on
foot, though followed by the mounted soldiers. Of the
five hundred in camp, about one hundred and fifty were
supposed to have been killed, two-thirds being women
and children. (See U. S. Spec. Com. on Indian tribes. Re-
port 1867, B. F. Wade, chairman; Official Records' War
of the Rebellion, vol. 41^ pt. i, page 948.)

Rev. John M. Chivington came to Denver in May,
i860, having been assigned, the previous March, to the
Rocky Mountain district, by the Kansas and Nebraska
conference. He had already served that conference in
Nebraska. In the fall of 1861 the first regiment of Colo-
rado volunteers was organized; John P. Slough, colonel;
Samuel F. Tappan, lieutenant-colonel; and John M. Chiv-
ington, major. April 13th, 1862, Colonel Slough resigned,
and Major Chivington was appointed to the command of
the regiment, in recognition of his efficient service in
New Mexico. In June, 1862, he was placed in command
of the southern district of New Mexico, from which his
regiment was relieved at his own request and returned
to Colorado the following January. November 29th,
1864, he led the Colorado troops in the massacre of Black
Kettle's band of Cheyenne Indians at Sand Creek, Colo-
rado.

In 1858 and 1859 there lived in Lecompton a harness-
maker by the name o^ohn Fribley. Years after the war
the writer met Fribley, who said he was with Chiv-
ington at that massacre. He was asked why the soldiers
committed such an awful thing. He responded that on
their march from Denver to Lyon the command called at

the house of a popular ranchman, where travelers and

—341—.

soldiers frequently stopped, and they found the whole
family murdered, the wife and mother lying on the floor
with he entrails covering her face. He said the soldiers
took an oath to kill every Indian they came across.

II. Fort Zarah (see Chapter V, page 91) was estab-
lished September 6th, 1864, by General Samuel R. Curtis,
then in command of the military district, and named in
honor of his son. Major H. Zarah Curtis, who was killed
at the Baxter Springs massacre, while on General Blunt's
staff, October 6th, 1863. Fort Zarah was about five miles
east of Great Bend, in the present Barton county.

—542—

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