Buffalo Bill's Wild West
[drawing]Yours Truly
W. F. Cody
Buffalo Bill.
BUFFALO BILL'S
WILD WEST.
AMERICA'S
NATIONAL ENTERTAINMENT,
AN ILLUSTRATED TREATISE OF HISTORICAL FACTS AND SKETCHES.
PUBLISHED
BY
BUFFALO BILL'S WILD WEST COMPANY.
COL. W. F. CODY (Buffalo Bill), President. NATE SALSBURY, Vice-President.
JOHN M. BURKE . . . . . . . . . General Manager. JULE KEEN . . . . . . . . . Treasurer.
ALBERT E. SHEIBLE . . . . . . . . . Business Representative. LEW PARKER . . . . . . . . . Contracting Agent.
HARRY A. LEE . . . . . . . . . General Agent. FRANK RICHMOND . . . . . . . . . Orator.
NATE SALSBURY . . . . . . . . . Director.
[Copyright.]
London:
ALLEN, SCOTT & CO., 30, BOUVERIE STREET, E.C.
1887.
SALUTATORY.
There is probably no field in modern American history more fascinating in the intensity of its interest than that which is presented on our rapidly extending frontier. The pressure of the white man, the movement of the emigrant train, and the extension of our railways, together with the military power of the General Government, have, in a measure, broken down the barriers behind which the Indian fought and defied the advance of civilization; but the West, in many places, is still a scene of wildness, where the sternness of law is upheld a the pistol point, and the white savage and outlaw has become scarcely less dangerous than his red-skinned predecessor.
The story of our county, so far as it concerns life in the vast Rocky Mountain region and on the plains, has never been half told; and romance itself falls far short of the reality when it attempts to depict the career of the little vanguard of pioneers, trappers, and scout, who, moving always in front, have paved the way—frequently with their own bodies—for the safe approach of the masses behind. The names of "Old Bridger," "Kit Carson," "Buffalo White," "Wild Bill," "California Joe," "Texas Jack," "Buffalo Bill," Major North, and scores of others have already become identified with what seem to be strange legends and traditions, and yet the lives and labours of these men form a part of the development of the great West. Most of them have died fighting bravely, and all of them, in their way, have been men around whose exploits contemporaneous writers in and out of the army have thrown the halo of heroism. Our most distinguished officers have repeatedly borne tribute to their usefulness and valor, and to-day the adventures of the Army Scout constitute a theme of never-ending interest. Keen of eye, sturdy in build, inured to hardship, experience in the knowledge of Indian habits and language, familiar with the hunt, and trustworthy in the hour of extremest danger, they belong to a class that is rapidly disappearing from our country.
In the Eastern States, or even east of the Mississippi, the methods of these people are comparatively unknown, and it is for the purpose of introducing them to the public that this little pamphlet has been prepared. Hon. William F. Cody ("Buffalo Bill"), in conjunction with Mr. Nate Salsbury, the eminent American actor (a ranch owner), has organized a large combination that, in its several aspects, will illustrate life as it is witnessed on the plains: the Indian encampment; the cowboys and vaqueros; the herds of buffalo and elk; the lassoing of animals; the manner of robbing mail coaches; feats of agility, horsemanship, marksmanship, archery, and the kindred scenes and events that are characteristic of the border. The most completely appointed delegation of frontiersmen and Indians that ever visited the East will take part in the entertainment together with a large number of animals; and the performance, while in no wise partaking of the nature of a "circus," will be at once new, startling, and instructive.
JOHN M. BURKE,
General Manager.
NORTH PLATTE, NEB., MARCH 1, 1887.
PROGRAMME.
OVERTURE.
1. GRAND PROCESSIONAL REVIEW.
2. ENTREE. Introduction of Individual Celebrities, Groups, etc.
3. RACE between Cow-boy, Mexican, and Indian on Ponies.
4. PONY EXPRESS. Illustrating the Mode of Conveying Mails on the Frontier.
5. RIFLE SHOOTING by Johnnie Baker, the Cow-boy Kid.
6. ILLUSTRATES AN ATTACK on an Emigrant Train by the Indians, and its Defence by Frontiersmen. After which A VIRGINIA REEL on Horseback by Western Girls and Cow-boys.
7. MISS ANNIE OAKLEY, Wing Shooting.
8. COW-BOYS' FUN. Throwing the Lariat. Picking Objects from the Ground while Riding at Full Speed. The Riding of Bucking Ponies and Mules by Cow-boys.
9. LILLIAN SMITH (The California Girl). Rifle Shooting.
10. LADIES' RACE by American Frontier Girls.
11. ATTACK ON THE DEADWOOD STAGE COACH by Indians. Their Repulse by Scouts and Cow-boys, commanded by BUFFALO BILL.
12. RACE between Sioux Indian Boys on Bareback Indian Ponies.
13. RACE between Mexican Thoroughbreds.
14. HORSEBACK RIDING by American Frontier Girls.
15. PHASES IN INDIAN LIFE. Nomadic Tribe Camps on the Prairie. Attack by Hostile Tribes, followed by Scalp, War, and other Dances.
16. BUFFALO BILL (Hon. W. F. Cody). America's Practical All-round Shot.
17. ROPING AND RIDING of Wild Texas Steers by Cow-boys and Mexicans.
18. GENUINE BUFFALO HUNT by Buffalo Bill and Indians.
19. ATTACK ON A SETTLER'S CABIN by Hostile Indians. Repulse by Cow-boys, under leadership of BUFFALO BILL.
20. SALUTE.
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HON. W. F. CODY —"BUFFALO BILL"
Was born in Scott County, Iowa, from whence his father, Isaac Cody, emigrated a few years afterwards to the distant frontier territory of Kansas, settling near Fort Leavenworth. While still a boy his father was killed in what is now known as the "Border War," and his youth was passed amid all the excitements and turmoil incident to the strife and discord of that unsettled community, where the embers of political [drawing] contentions smouldered until they burst into the burning flame of civil war. This state of affairs among the white occupants of the territory, and the ingrained ferocity and hostility to encroachment from the native savage, created an atmosphere of adventure well calculated to educate one of his natural temperament to a familiarity with danger and self-reliance in the protective means for its avoidance.
From a child used to shooting and riding, he at an early age became a celebrated pony express rider, then the most dangerous occupation on the plains. He was known as a boy to be most fearless and ready for any mission of danger, and respected by such men then engaged in the express service as Old Jule and the terrible Slade, whose correct finale is truthfully told in Mark Twain's "Roughing It." He accompanied General Albert Sidney Johnston on his Utah expedition, guided trains overland, hunted for a living, and gained his sobriquet by wresting the laurels as a buffalo hunter from all claimants—notably Comstock, in a contest with whom he killed sixty-nine buffalo in one day to Comstock's forty-six— became scout and guide for the now celebrated Fifth Cavalry (of which General E. A. Carr was major), and is thoroughly identified with that regiment's Western history; was chosen by the Kansas Pacific Railroad to supply meat to the labourers while building the road, in one season killing 4,862 buffaloes, besides deer and antelope; and was chief of scouts in the department that protected the building of the Union Pacific. In these various duties his encounters with the red men have been innumerable, and are well authenticated by army officers in every section of the country. In fact, wherever you meet an army officer there you meet an admirer and indorser of Buffalo Bill. He is, in fact, the representative man of the frontiersmen of the past— that is, not the bar-room brawler or bully of the settlements, but a genuine specimen of Western manhood—a child of the plains, who was raised there, and familiar with the country previous to railroads, and when it was known on our maps as the "Great American Desert." By the accident of birth and early association, a man who became sensibly inured to the hardships and dangers of primitive existence, and possessed of those qualities that afterward enabled him to hold positions of trust, and, without his knowing or intending it, made him nationally famous.
Gen. Richard Irving Dodge, Gen. Sherman's chief staff, correctly states in his "Thirty Years Among Our Wild Indians": "The success of every expedition against Indians depends, to a degree, on the skill, fidelity, and intelligence of the men employed as scouts, for not only is the command habitually dependent on them for good routes and comfortable camps, but the officer in command must rely on them almost entirely for their knowledge of the position and movements of the enemy."
Therefore, besides mere personal bravery, a scout must possess the moral qualities associated with a good captain of a ship—full of self-reliance in his own ability to meet and overcome any unlooked-for difficulties, to be a thorough student of nature, a self-taught weather prophet, a geologist by experience, an astronomer by necessity, a naturalist, and thoroughly educated in the warfare, stratagems, trickery, and skill of his implacable Indian foe. Because in handling expeditions or leading troops, on him alone depends correctness of destination, avoidance of dangers, protection against sudden storms, the finding of game, grass, woods, and water, the lack of which, of course, is more fatal than the deadly bullet. In fact, more lives have been lost on the plains from incompetent guides than ever the Sioux or Pawnees destroyed.
Our best Indian-fighting officers are quick to recognise these traits in those claiming frontier lore, and to no one in the military history of the West has such deference been shown by them than to W. F. Cody, as is witnessed by the continuous years of service he has passed, the different commands he has served, the expeditions and campaigns he has been identified with, his repeated holding, when he desired, the position of "Chief of Scouts of United States Army," and the intimate associations and contact resulting from it with Gen. W. T. Sherman (with whom he was at the making of the Comanche and Kiowa Treaty). Gen. Phil. Sheridan (who has often given him special recognition and chosen him to organise expeditions, notable that of the Duke Alexis), old Gen. Harney, Gens. W. S. Hancock, Crook, Pope, Miles, Ord, Augur, Terry, McKenzie, Carr, Forsythe, Merritt, Brisbin, Emory, Gibbon, Royal, Hazen, Duncan, Palmer, Pembroke, and the late lamented Gen. Custer. His history, in fact, would be almost a history of the middle West, and, though younger, equalling in term of service and in personal adventure Kit Carson, old Jim Bridger, California Joe, Wild Bill, and the rest of his dead and gone associates.
As another evidence of the confidence placed in his frontiersmanship, it may suffice to mention the celebrities whose money and position most naturally sought the best protection the Western market could afford, and who chose to place their lives in his keeping: Sir George Gore, Earl Dunraven, James Gordon Bennett, Duke Alexis, Gen. Custer, Lawrence Jerome, Remington, Professor Ward of Rochester, Professor Marsh of Yale College, Major J. G. Hecksher, Dr. Kingsley (Canon Kingsley's brother), and others of equal rank and distinction. All books of the plains, his exploits with Carr, Miles, and Crook, published in the New York Herald and Times in the summer of 1876, when he killed Yellow Hand in front of the military command in an open-handed fight, are too recent to refer to.
The following letter of his old commander and celebrated Indian fighter, Gen. E. A. Carr, written years ago relative to him, is a tribute as generous as any brave man has ever made to one of his position:
"From his services with my command, steadily in the field, I am qualified to bear testimony as to his qualities and character.
"He was very modest and unassuming. He is a natural gentleman in his manners as well as in character, and has none of the roughness of the typical frontiersman. He can take his own part when required, but I have never heard of his using a knife or a pistol, or engaging in a quarrel where it could be avoided. His personal strength and activity are very great, and his temper and disposition are so good that no one has reason to quarrel with him.
"His eyesight is better than a good field glass; he is the best trailer I ever heard of, and also the best judge of the 'lay of country'— that is, he is able to tell what kind of country is ahead, so as to know how to act. He is a perfect judge of distance, and always ready to tell correctly how many miles it is to water, or to any place, or how many miles have been marched. * * * *
"Mr. Cody seemed never to tire and was always ready to go, in the darkest night, or the worst weather, and usually volunteered knowing what the emergency required. His trailing, when following Indians or [l] ooking for stray animals or game, is simply wonderful. He is a most extraordinary hunter.
"In a fight Mr. Cody is never noisy, obstreperous, or excited. In fact, I never hardly noticed him in a fight, unless I happened to want him, or he had something to report, when he was always in the right place, and his information was always valuable and reliable.
"During the winter of 1866 we encountered hardships and exposure in terrific snowstorms, sleet, etc., etc. On one occasion that winter Mr. Cody showed his quality by quietly offering to go with some dispatches to Gen. Sheridan, across a dangerous region, where another principal scout was reluctant to risk himself.
"Mr. Cody has since served with me as post guide and scout at Fort McPherson, where he frequently distinguished himself. * * * *
"In the summer of 1876 Cody went with me to the Black Hills region, where he killed Yellow Hand. Afterwards he was with the Big Horn and Yellowstone expedition. I consider that his services to the country and the army by trailing, finding, and fighting Indians, and thus protecting the frontier settlers, and by guiding commands over the best and most practicable routes, have been beyond the compensation he has received."
Thus it will be seen that notwithstanding it may sometimes be thought his fame rests upon the pen of the romancer and novelist, had they never been attracted to him (and they were solely by his sterling worth), W. F. Cody would none the less have been a character in American history. Having assisted in founding substantial peace in Nebraska, where he was honoured by being elected to the Legislature (while away on a hunt), he has settled at North Platte, to enjoy its fruits and minister to the wants and advancements of the domestic circle with which he is blessed. On the return to civil life of his old prairie
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THE SCOUT
BUFFALO BILL
Hon W. F. Cody.
friend, Major North, in rehearsing the old time years agone on the Platte, the Republican, and the Medicine, they concluded to reproduce some of the interesting scenes on the plains and in the "Wild West."
The history of such a man, attractive as it already has been to the most distinguished officers and fighters in the United States Army, must prove doubly so to the men, women, and children who have heretofore found only in the novel the hero of rare exploits, on which imagination so loves to dwell. Young, sturdy, a remarkable specimen of manly beauty, with the brain to conceive and the nerve to execute, Buffalo Bill par excellence is the exemplar of the strong and unique traits that characterise a true American frontiersman.
Across the Continent with the Fifth Cavalry.
Captain George F. Price's history of this famous regiment recounts its experience from the time it
was known as the Second Dragoons to the present, giving the historical record of its officers, among whom are numbered many of the most distinguished military leaders known in our national annals, such as Gen Albert Sydney Johnson, Gen. George H. Thomas, Gen. Robert E. Lee, Gen. John Sedgwick, Generals Hardee, Emory, Van Dorn, Merritt, Carr, Royall Custer, and others of equal note. Besides alluding in many of its pages to incidents, adventures, and conduct of the favourite guide and scout of the regiment, W. F. Cody ("Buffalo Bill"), Captain Price completes a narrative of brave men and daring deeds by "flood and field" with following biographical sketch (page 583) of W. F. Cody, "Buffalo Bill."
"W. F. CODY—BUFFALO BILL.
"William F. Cody was born in Scott County, Iowa. He removed at an early age to Kansas, and was employed as a herder, wagonmaster, and pony express rider. He went to Pike's Peak during the excitement which followed the discovery of gold in Colorado, but failing of success, returned to Kansas and became a trapper on the Republican River. In the fall of 1861, he was a Government scout and guide at For Larned, Kan., and in 1862 served as a scout and guide for the Ninth Kansas Cavalry, being chiefly employed in Arkansas and South Western Missouri. In 1863, he enlisted in the Seventh Kansas Cavalry, and served in Tennessee, Mississippi, Missouri, and Kansas, and participated in several battles. He was made a non-commissioned officer and served as a scout for his regiment after the battle of Tupelo. He was honourably discharged at the end of the war, and engaged in various business pursuits until the spring of 1867, when he made a contract, for a monthly compensation of five hundred dollars, to deliver all the buffalo meat that would be needed for food purposes for a number of labourers on the Kansas Pacific Railway in Western Kansas, and during this engagement—a period of less than eighteen months— he killed four thousand two hundred and eighty buffaloes. This remarkable success gained for him the name of Buffalo Bill. When hunting buffalo Cody would ride his horse, whenever possible, to the right front of a herd, shoot down the leaders, and crowd their followers to the left until they began to run in a circle, when he would soon kill all that he required. Cody again entered the Government service in 1868 as a scout and guide, and, after a series of dangerous rides as bearer of important dispatches through a country which was infested with hostile Indians, was appointed by General Sheridan chief scout and guide for the Fifth Cavalry, which had been recently ordered from reconstruction duty in the Southern States for a campaign against the hostile Sioux and Cheyennes. He joined a detachment of the regiment at Fort Hays, Kansas, and was engaged during the fall of 1868, in the combats on Beaver and Shuter Creeks and north branch of Solomon River. He then served with the Canadian River expedition during the winter of 1868-69, and became deservedly conspicuous for cheerful service under dispiriting circumstances and the successful discharge of important duties. He marched with a battalion of the regiment across the country from Fort Lyon, Col., to Fort McPherson, Neb., during May, 1869, and was engaged en route in the combat at Beaver Creek, Kan., where he rendered an important and brilliant service by carrying despatches from a detached party to the cavalry camp after a soldier courier had been driven back by the Indians; and again at Spring Creek, Neb., three days later, where, when the advance guard under Lieutenant Babcock was surrounded by a large force of the enemy, he was distinguished for coolness and bravery."
Cody was appointed chief scout and guide for the Republican River expedition of 1869, and was conspicuous during the pursuit of the Dog Soldiers, under the celebrated Cheyenne chief, Tall Bull, to Summit Springs, Col. He also guided the Fifth Cavalry to a position whence the Regiment was enabled to charge upon the enemy and win a brilliant victory. He afterwards participated in the Niobrara pursuit' and later narrowly escaped death at the hands of hostile Sioux on Prairie Dog Creek, Kan., September 26, 1869. He was assigned to Fort McPherson when the expedition was disbanded, and served at the station (was a Justice of the Peace in 1871) until the Fifth Cavalry was transferred to Arizona. He served during this period with several expeditions, and was conspicuous for gallant conduct in the Indian combat at Red Willow and Birdwood Creeks, and also for successful services as chief of scout and guide of the buffalo hunt which was arranged by General Sheridan for the Grand Duke Alexis of Russia.
Cody was then assigned to duty with the Third Cavalry, and served with that regiment until the fall of 1872, when he was elected a member of the Nebraska Legislature, and thus acquired the title of "Honourable." But, accepting the advice of Eastern friends, he resigned his seat in the Legislature and also his position of scout and guide at Fort McPherson, and proceeded to Chicago, where he made his first appearance as an actor in a drama entitled "The Scouts of the Plains," winning an instant success.
He continued in the theatrical business until the beginning of the Sioux war in 1876, when he discharged his company, hastened to Cheyenne, Wyo., joined the Fifth Cavalry, which had recently returned from Arizona, and was engaged in the affair at War Bonnet (Indian Creek), Wyo., where he killed in a hand-to-hand combat the Cheyenne chief, Yellow Hand. He then accompanied the Fifth Cavalry to Goose Creek, Mon., and served with the Big Horn and Yellowstone expedition until September, when business engagements compelled him to return to the Eastern States. Cody abundantly proved during this campaign that he had lost none of his old-time skill and daring in Indian warfare. He enjoys a brilliant reputation as a scout and guide, which has been fairly earned by faithful and conspicuous service.
He is modest and unassuming and free from the common faults of the typical frontiersman. His present lucrative business has made him widely known throughout the country. He has valuable property interests at North Platte, Neb., and is owner of an extensive cattle ranch on Dismal River, sixty-five miles north of North Platte, having for a partner in the business Major Frank North, who is well known as the whilom commander of the celebrated Pawnee scouts.
William F. Cody is one of the best scouts and guides that ever rode at the head of a column of cavalry on the prairies of the Far West. His army friends, from general to private, hope that he may live long and prosper abundantly.
Should the wild Sioux again go on the war-path, Cody, if living, will be found with the cavalry advance, riding another "Buckskin Joe," and carrying his Springfield rifle, "Lucretia," across the pommel of his saddle.
FROM COL. DODGE'S "THIRTY YEARS AMONG THE INDIANS," PAGE 628.
"Of ten men employed as scouts nine will prove to be worthless; of fifty so employed one may prove to be really valuable, but, though hundreds, even thousands of men have been so employed by the Government since the war, the number of really remarkable men among them can be counted on the fingers. The services which these men are called on to perform are so important and valuable that the officer who benefits by them is sure to give the fullest credit; and men honoured in official reports come to be great men on the frontier. Fremont's reports made Kit Carson a renowned man. Custer immortalized California Joe. Custer, Merritt, and Carr made William F. Cody (Buffalo Bill) a plain's celebrity 'UNTIL TIME SHALL BE NO MORE.'"
A Legislator.
Phocian Howard journalistically recalls the fact: "We were present in the Nebraska Legislature when Mr. Cody's resignation was read, and knowing his practical qualities, his thorough knowledge of important questions then demanding attention in border legislation, his acquaintance with the Indian problem— the savage's deadly foe in battle, their generous friend in peace— great was our disappointment in his refusing to continue in political life, choosing to be what he really is— a true 'Knight of the Plains.' On the frontier, even there his name a household word, deservedly is the famous scout popular throughout the land, standing as he has, a leader among the manly pioneer barrier between civilization and savagery risking all, the 'Star of Empire might force its westward way.' We know Bill Cody well, having been with him in three campaigns among the Indians, the last being the memorable Custer campaign under Crook, on the Big Horn, against the Sitting Bull Sioux, and we bear kind witness that Buffalo Bill is the idol of the army and frontiersman, and the dread and terror of the war-bonneted Indians. At the last session of the Nebraska Legislature he received a large complimentary vote for United States Senator."
A Pen Picture.
Curtis Guild, proprietor and editor of the Conservative Commercial Bulletin, Boston, writes: "Raised on the frontier, he has passed through every grade, and won fame in each line, while to be proficient in one
brings celebrity sufficient to gratify most ambitions. Thus it is he holds supremacy in fact, and receives from his associates an adoration surpassing even his public popularity. Visitors to the camp, early the other morning, found him joining in every frolic, game, and contest, with each and all, and generally excelling. In shooting, in running, in jumping, in trials of strength, feats of agility, horsemanship, handling the ribbons behind four or six, riding the vicious, manipulating the revolver, etc.; tackling each specialist, and coming to the front with a generous modesty admired by the defeated.
"No lover of the human race, no man with an eye for the picturesque, but must have enjoyed the very sight of these pioneers of civilization. Never was a finer picture of American manhood presented than when Buffalo Bill stepped out to show the capabilities of the Western teamster's whip. Tall beyond the lot of ordinary mortals, straight as an arrow, not an ounce of useless flesh upon his limbs, but every muscle firm and hard as the sinews of a stag, with the frank, kindly eye of a devoted friend, and a natural courtly grace of manner which would become a marshal of France, Buffalo Bill is from spurs to sombrero one of the finest types of manhood this continent has ever produced. Those who had expected to meet a different class of men must have been pleasantly surprised in these genuine sons of the plains, every one of whom was stamped with the natural easy grace and courtesy of manner which marks the man who is born a gentleman."
AS AN EDUCATOR.
The nationally known Brick Pomeroy thus writes:—"One of the pronounced, positive, strong men of the West is Hon. Wm. F. Cody of Nebraska, known quite generally the world over as 'Buffalo Bill.' A sturdy, generous, positive character, who, as hunter, guide, scout, Government officer, member of the Legislature, and gentleman, rises to the equal of every emergency into which his way is opened or directed. Quick to think and to act, cool in all cases of pleasure or extreme danger; versatile in his genius; broad and liberal in his ideas; progressive in his mentality, he can no more keep still or settle down into a routine work incidental to office or farm life, than an eagle can thrive in a cage. * * * * * *
"The true Western man is free, fearless, generous, and chivalrous. Of this class Hon. Wm. F. Cody, 'Buffalo Bill,' is a bright representative. As a part of his rushing career he has brought together material for what he correctly terms a Wild West Exhibition. I should call it the Wild West Reality. The idea is not merely to take in money from those who witness a very lively exhibition, but to give people in the East a correct representation of life on the plains, and the incidental life of the hardy, brave, intelligent pioneers, who are the first to blaze the way to the future homes and greatness of America. He knows the worth and sturdiness of true Western character, and, as a lover of his country, wishes to present as many facts as possible to the public, so that those who will, can see actual pictures of life in the West, brought to the East for the inspection and education of the public.
"'Buffalo Bill' has brought the Wild West to the doors of the East. There is more of real life, of genuine interest, of positive education in this startling exhibition, than I have ever before seen, and it is so true to nature and life as it really is with those who are smoothing the way for millions to follow. All of this imaginary Romeo and Juliet business sinks to utter insignificance in comparison to the drama of existence as is here so well enacted, and all the operas in the world appear like pretty playthings for emasculated children by the side of the setting of reality, and the music of the frontier as so faithfully and extensively presented, and so cleverly managed by this incomparable representative of Western pluck, coolness, bravery, independence and generosity. I wish every person east of the Missouri River could only see this true, graphic picture of wild Western life; they would know more and think better of the genuine men of the West.
"I wish there were more progressive educators like Wm. F. Cody in this world.
"He deserves well for his efforts to please and to instruct in matters important to America, and incidents that are passing away never more to return."
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BUFFALO BILL AT HOME.
His Great Success Abroad.
North Platte should be congratulated on the possession of a citizen whose prominence of position is not bounded by his township, his county, or his State, but whose name is a household word, whose pictures are familiar to, and whose character is known, not only throughout the nation, but has adorned pages, and interested the readers of foreign works and publications. We allude to our fellow citizen, Hon. W. F. Cody, whose sobriquet of "Buffalo Bill" represents a popularity only bounded by the area of American territory, and to which we, who live by his own fireside, may testify his worthy possession and to the modesty of its wearing. His late return from a successful presentation of the East of some of the animated daily scenes and incidents that go to form the passing history of "The Wild West" should be noted, as are events of importance, as it marks a new era in the history of amusements: that for originality, adherence to truth in "holding the mirror up to Nature," and a fidelity to fact that is the "true aim of art." The reception accorded to his "show that is not a show, but an illustration," in the cultured cities of the East, notably Boston, Chicago, Newport, New York, Philadelphia, Cincinnati, and Cleveland, must be gratifying to all in North Platte, in fact in Nebraska, where, in the incipiency of the scheme, over a year ago, he demonstrated by courage, pluck, and perseverance, its feasibility by its introduction in the festivities of our national birthday celebration, and on the following natal day presented it on the shores of the Atlantic, to the plaudits of over 25,000 delighted Bostonians. The magnitude of the undertaking, the minutia necessary to organizing, the bringing together from all points the best marksmen in the world, securing admirable and fitting representatives of the cattle trade, getting wild buffalo, elk, steers, mules, ponies, specimens of the red terrors of the prairie, and other features of interest known only to the pampas of the West, necessitating special trains of cars for transportation, and driving the strange cavalcade through confined Washington Street, Boston, in six weeks after leaving the Platte, was an accomplishment that stamps Cody as a wonder in energy, and gained for him the admiration and encomiums from the entire press of the East, recognition from the élite American society, encouragement from representatives of education, and the endorsement of his methods by the S. P. C. A. and its noted president, Professor Henry Bergh.—North Platte Telegraph.
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THE WILD WEST.
Could a man now living have stood on the shore of the Red Sea and witnessed the passage of the children of Israel and the struggle of Pharaoh and his hosts, what a sight he would have seen, and how interested would be those to whom he related the story. Could the man who stood on the shore to see Washington and his soldiers cross the Delaware have lived till now to tell the story, what crowds he would have to listen. How interesting would be the story of a man, if he were now living, that had witnessed the landing of Columbus on the shores of the New World; or the story of one of the hardy English Puritans who took passage on the "Mayflower," and landed on the rock-bound coast of the New England.
So, too, of the angel who has seen the far West become tame and dotted under advancing civilization, as the pioneers fought their way westward into desert and jungle. What a story he can relate as to the making of that history. And what a history America has, to be sure! From the mouth of the Hudson River to the shores of the Pacific, men, women and children have conquered the wilderness by going to the front and staying there. Not by crowding into cities and living as do worms, by crawling through each other and devouring the leavings.
Since the railroad gave its aid to pioneering, America is making history faster than any other country in the world. Her pioneers are fast passing away. A few years more and the great struggle for possession will be ended, and generations will settle down to enjoy the homes their fathers located and fenced in for them. Then will come the picture maker. He who, with pen, pencil and panel can tell the story as he understands it. Then millions will read and look at what the pioneer did and what the historian related, wishing the while that they could have been there to have seen the original. These are of the thoughts to crowd in upon us as we view the great living picture that the Hon. W. F. Cody (Buffalo Bill) gives at the Wild West Exhibition, which every man, woman and child the world over should see and study as a realistic fact.
We see audiences of thousands each night—statesmen, artists, military men, teachers, workers, musicians, business men, politicians, artisans, mechanics, and others who desire to know as much as possible of the history of America.
We see Buffalo Bill, the last of the six greatest scouts this country has ever known, viz., Boone, Crockett, Carson, Bridger, Wild Bill, and Buffalo Bill, and to our mind the greatest, bravest, ablest, and most remarkable of all—a man whom this country will never duplicate. A nonesuch to the credit of
Nature, the world, and the mental and physical material of which he was formed, as one made to do a certain great work. A man in the prime of life, who, from the age of ten years, has fought fate and all of adverse circumstances, and never to a loss. A man who is a man; as a scout; as a pioneer; as a Government officer; as an Indian fighter; as a mighty hunter; as a man of honour and of more than ordinary skill and courage; and as a great teacher of men, manners, and methods to the accomplishment of civilization, has never been excelled, if equalled, in this country.
We see a man whose iron will, whose sociability, whose sense of right, whose ability to plan, whose power to excute, whose kindness to all, whose wonderful vitality, whose great animal magnetism, whose ability to profit by experience, whose wonderful command of men, and whose ability to draw the love and admiration of men, women, and children, make him as marvellous as he is deserving as a citizen, and a great character in American history. A natural man of the highest order.— Editorial , New York Democrat, June 5th, 1886.
MR. NATE SALSBURY, DIRECTOR.
Born 1846, February 28th, in Freeport, Ill., the family being descendants of the early Vermont settlers, went out with the First Illinois troops; served through the entire Rebellion; was the youngest enlisted soldier in the Army of the Cumberland; wounded three times; is a member of Post II, G. A. R. Department of Massachusetts; went on the stage in 1868; has acted before every English-speaking public in the world.
The Amusement Department will be under the personal supervision of this eminent actor, whose successful career is now a matter of American Stage History. Years of continued success as a caterer to the amusement-loving public of this country, Australia, India, and Europe, both as actor and manager, is a guarantee that the "Wild West" will be presented in a manner and style commensurate with his well-known managerial ability and artistic judgment. Mr. Salsbury long ago invested heavily in the cattle business in Montana, and is now part owner of [drawing] one of the largest and most valuable ranches in the North-west. During his repeated visits to the same he became impressed with the scene and episodes witnessed, and thought of the feasibility of presenting them as far as practicable to the citizens of the East. An interchange of opinions with Mr. Cody disclosed a similar intention, so that to the fertile brains of Messrs. Cody and Salsbury we are indebted for the first conjuring up of this novel project. They spoke of it years ago, and Salsbury went to Europe to see if it would be advisable to take such a show on the continent. Meanwhile, with Mr. Salbury's knowledge, "Buffalo Bill" started the enterprise to see if it could be made successful in this country. Last year's experiences were proof that it could, and now all hands will join in getting up a "Wild West" show that will be remarkable in all respects.
"THE COW-BOY KID."—THE BOY MARKSMAN.
Johnnie Baker was born at O'Fallon's Bluffs, on the banks of the South Platte River, in Western Nebraska, in the year 1870. His father is the well-known "Old Lew Baker, the ranchman," and was the owner of Lew Baker's O'Fallon's Bluff Ranch, in its day an important landmark. This place was one of the most noted on the great overland trail— the scenes, incidents, Indian attacks, etc., belonging to exhaustive pages in the early history of that, in old times, exposed and dangerous section. Here Johnnie's babyhood was passed in unconscious proximity to dangers, seldom courted by the most sturdy, and his first "bug-a-boo" was not of the maternal imagining, but an [drawing] existing fact, continually threatening, in the shape of the heartless savage Sioux. Cradled amid such pioneer surroundings, and dandled on the knees of all the most celebrated frontiersmen, the genuine old buckskin trappers—the first frontier invaders—his childhood witnessed the declining glories of the buffalo-hunters' paradise (it being the heart of their domain), and the advent of his superior, "the long horn of Texas," and his necessary companion, "The Cow-boy."
The appearance of these brave, generous, free-hearted, self-sacrificing, rough riders of the plains, literally living in the saddle, enduring exposure, hunger, risk of health and life as a duty to the employer, gave him his first communion with society beyond the sod cabin threshold, and impressed his mind, as well as directed his aspirations, to an emulation of the manly qualities necessary to be ranked a true American Cow-boy.
When the Pony Express, the Stage Coach, and the wagon-trains were supplanted by the steam-horse, Baker's station became useless, and "Old Lew" moved bag and baggage to North Platte, a little town of magical railroad growth. Here he built a fine house, which became the headquarters of the "old-timers," and many a tender-foot can remember the thrilling incidents related of "life on the trail"—a life that now belongs alone to history and to romance—while Old Lew dispensed hospitality like a prince. But the ways of "city life," a too big heart, of which the "shiftless, genial affinities" and rounders took due advantage, caused his former prosperity to be a remembrance only, and Johnnie to work manfully, for one of his age, to lend a helping hand. Perfectly at home in the saddle, he was never content unless with some cow-boy outfit, or at Mr. Cody's (whose homestead, extensive horse and cattle ranches, are near), where his active spirit found congenial associations, until he became recognised as "Buffalo Bill's boy." In the winter months he occasionally went to school, and being an apt scholar, has a fair education. Mr. Cody, on organising his distinctively American exhibition, could not leave little Johnnie out. He can be seen every day with the Wild West, mounted on his fiery little mustang, riding, roping, shooting—repeating on the mimic scene his own experience, and the boyhood life of his elder, more famed associates, and any boy of his own age who can excel him shooting, riding, and lassoing can "break every man in the outfit," as there are none who will not risk their pile on "THE COW-BOY KID."
THE WINCHESTER REPEATING FIRE ARMS COMPANY.
The arms and ammunition used by this organization are from the world celebrated Winchester Repeating Fire Arms Company, of New Haven, Connecticut, United States of America.
[drawing]
THE HUNT OF THE BUFFALO.
The late lamented "Texas Jack" gave the following laconic, yet realistic description of this exciting sport in Wilkes Spirit, March 26, 1877:
FORT McPHERSON, NEB.,
March 1, 1877.
DEAR SPIRIT,—My old friends, W. F. Cody ("Buffalo Bill") and Major North, paid me a visit the other evening, having returned from a successful hunting trip. The camp fire tête à tête reminded me of my first buffalo hunt with Indians. If I don't get like the butcher's calf and "kind o' give out," I'll try and give you an idea of one of the most exciting scenes I ever saw or read of, not excepting my school-boy impression of Andy Jackson's hoo-doo at New Orleans. I thought I had seen fun in a Texas cattle stampede, been astonished in a mustang chase; but it wasn't a marker, and it made me believe that Methuselah was right when he suggested that the oldest could "live and learn." It is a pity the old man didn't stick it out. He could have enjoyed this lesson.
A few years ago I was deputized United States Agent, under Major North, to accompany a party of Pawnee and Ponca Indians. Although "blanket Indians" (living wild), they have for a long time been friends of the Government, and have done excellent service under command of the justly-celebrated Major Frank North, whose famed Pawnee scouts (now at Sidney, Neb.), have always been a terror to the Sioux nation. Owing to their hatred of each other, it is necessary to send an agent with them to prevent "picnics," and also to settle disputes with the white hunters. As Major North was in poor health at that time, this delicate task fell to me.
As I don't like to be long-winded, I'll pass over the scenes and incidents of wild Indian camp life, the magnificent sight of a moving village of "nature's children," looking like a long rainbow in the bright colours of their blankets, beads, feathers, war paint, etc., etc., as it would form a full chapter, and skip an eleven-days' march from the Loup River Reservation to Plum Creek, on the North Platte, where our runners reported.
Early in the evening, as we were about making camp, my old friend, Baptiste, the interpreter, joyfully remarked: "Jack, the blanket is up three times—fun and fresh meat to-morrow."
There was a great powwowing that night, and all the warriors were to turn out for the grand "buffalo surround," leaving the squaws and pappooses in the village.
Just before daybreak, there was a general stir and bustle on all sides, giving evidence of the complete preparations making for the coming events. As it was dark, and I busied in arranging my own outfit, thinking of the grand sight soon to be witnessed, and wondering how I would "pan out" in the view of my "red brothers," I had not noticed the manner of their own arrangements in an important particular that I will hereafter allude to.
At a given signal all started, and, when the first blue streaks of dawn allowed the moving column to be visible I had time to make an inspection of the strange cavalcade, and note peculiarities. I saw at once, placed at a disadvantage, the "white brother."
I had started fully equipped—bridle, saddle, lariat, rifle, pistol, belt, etc.—and astride of my pony, They, with as near nothing in garments as Adam and Eve, only breech clout and moccasins, no saddle, no blanket, not even a bridle, only a small mouth ope, light bow and a few arrows in hand—in fact, not an ounce of weight more than necessary, and, unlike myself, all scudding along at a marvelous rate, leading their fiery ponies, so as to reserve every energy for the grand event in prospect.
Taking it all in at a glance, your "humble servant," quite abashed, let go all holts and slipped off his critter, feeling that the Broncho looked like a Government pack mule. I at once mentally gave up the intention of paralysing my light-rigged side pards in the coming contest. As they were all walking, I thought the buffalo were quite near; but what was my surprise, as mile after mile was scored, that I gradually found myself dropping slowly but surely behind, and, so as not to get left, compelled every now and then to mount and lope to the front, there to perceive from the twinkling eyes of friend "Lo" a smile that his otherwise stolid face gave no evidence of. How deep an Indian can think, and it not be surface plain, I believe has never been thoroughly measured. Just imagine this "lick," kept up with apparent ease by them for ten or twelve miles, and you may get a partial idea of your friend Jack's tribulations.
Fortunately, I kept up, but at what an expense of muscle, verging on a complete "funk," you can only appreciate by a similar spin.
About this time a halt was made, and you bet I was mighty glad of it. Suddenly two or three scouts rode up. A hurried council was held, during which the pipe was passed. Everything seemed to be now arranged, and, after a little further advance, again a halt, when, amid great but suppressed excitement, every Indian mounted his now almost frantic steed, each eagerly seeking to edge his way without observation to the front.
About two hundred horses almost abreast in the front line, say one hundred and fifty wedging in half way between formed a half second line, and one hundred struggling for place—a third line; the chiefs in front gesticulating, pantomiming, and, with slashing whips, keeping back the excited mass, whose plunging, panting ponies, as impatient as their masters, fretted, frothed, and foamed—both seemed moulded into one being, with only one thought, one feeling, one ambition, as with flashing eye they waited for the signal, "Go," to let their pent-up feelings speed on to the honors of the chase.
Their prey is in fancied security, now quietly browsing to the windward in a low, open flat, some half a mile wide and two or three mile long, on top of a high divide, concealed from view by risings and breaks. Gradually they approach the knoll, their heads reach the level, the backs of the buffalo are seen, then a full view, when Pi-ta-ne-sha-a-du (Old Peter, the head chief) gives the word, drops the blanket, and they are "off."
Whew! wheez! thunder and lightning! Jerome Parks and Hippodromes! talk of tornadoes, whirlwinds, avalanches, water-spouts, prairie fires, Niagara, Mount Vesuvius (and I have seen them all except old Vesuv.); boil them all together, mix them well, and serve on one plate, and you will have a limited idea of the charge of this "light brigade." They fairly left a hole in the air. With a roar like Niagara, the speed of a whirlwind, like the sweep of a tornado, the rush of a snow-slide, the suddenness of a water-spout, the rumbling of Vesuvius, with the fire of death in their souls, they pounce on their prey, and in an instant, amid a cloud of dust, nothing is visible but a mingled mass of flying arrows, horses' heels, buffaloes' tails, Indian heads, half of ponies, half of men, half of buffalo, until one thinks it a dream, or a heavy case of "jim-jams."
I just anchored in astonishment. Where are they? Ah! there is one; there is another, a third, four, five. Over the plains in all directions they go, as the choice meat hunters cut them out, while in a jumbled mass, circling all around is the main body. The clouds of dust gradually rise as if a curtain was lifted, horses stop as buffaloes drop, until there is a clear panoramic view of a busy scene all quiet, everything still (save a few fleet ones in the distance); horses riderless, browsing proudly conscious of success; the prairie dotted here, there, everywhere with dead bison; and happy, hungry hunters skinning, cutting, slashing the late proud monarch of the plains.
I was so interested in the sight that I came near being left, when fortunately a lucky long-range shot (the only one fired during the day) at a stray heifer saved my reputation. In about two hours every pony was loaded, their packing being quite a study that would need a deserved and lengthy description. It was wonderful.
As I had a heap of walk out, I proposed to ride in, so took a small cut of choice meat—a straight cut—for camp. Every pony was packed down only mine, seeing which "Peter's pappoose" ("the sun chief") invited himself up behind. Talk of gall—an Indian has got more cheek than a Government mule. He laughed at my objections, but as he had loaned me the pony I had to submit. He even directed the gait, and kept up a continual jabbering of "Wisgoots, ugh! De goinartsonse stak-ees, ugh!" which I afterward learned meant "Hurry up; I am tired, hungry, and dry—how!"
A reproduction, as far as practical, of the method of buffalo hunting, will be a feature of a Buffalo Bill's "Wild West," with a herd of bison, real Indians, hunters, and Western ponies.
THE COWBOY.
It is only a rare combination of plain's lore, cow-sense, horsemanship, general Western nerve and knowledge that makes the first-class cowboy—so invaluable an aid to the capitalist, the herd-owner, and the ranchman—one whose connection in that line elevates the business and its followers to a point that acquaintanceship causes respect for the one and admiration of the other, and repels the obloquy caused by the "rustler" and the "terror." Gentlemanly in conduct, courteous in intercourse, he must be one to whom is applicable the following extract on the subject from Col. Dodge's "Thirty Years on the Frontier":—
"For fidelity to duty, for promptness and vigour of action, for resources in difficulty and unshaken courage in danger, the cowboy has no superior among men."
Buck Taylor, Jim Mitchell, Antoine Esquival, Jim Kid, Cherokee Bill, Frank Wheeling, Joe Esquival, Marve Beardsley, Dick Johnson, Broncho Bill, Billy Pugh, Broncho Charley, Tom Duffy, John Hancock, Young Baker, Tom Webb, Billy Bullock, Kit Buell, are fit representatives of the Tip-top men of their class.
A HISTORICAL COACH OF THE DEADWOOD LINE.
The denizens of the Eastern States of the Union are accustomed to regard the West as the region of romance and adventure. And, in truth, its history abounds with thrilling incidents and surprising changes. Every inch of that beautiful country has been won from a cruel and savage foe by danger and conflict. In the terrible wars of the border which marked the early years of the Western settlements, the men signalised themselves by performing prodigies of valor, while the women, in their heroic courage and endurance, afforded a splendid example of devotion and self-sacrifice. The history of the waggon trains and stage coaches that preceded the railway is written all over with blood, and the story of suffering and disaster, often as it has been repeated, is only known in all of its horrid details to the bold frontiersmen, who, as scouts and rangers, penetrated the strongholds of the Indians, and, backed by the gallant men of the army, became the avant couriers of Western civilization and the terror of the red man.
[drawing]
HISTORICAL COACH OF THE DEADWOOD LINE,
The Indians' Attack on which will be Represented in Buffalo Bill's 'Wild West," and also its Rescue by the Scouts and Plainsmen.
Among the most stirring episodes in the life of the Western pioneer are those connected with the opening of new lines of travel, for it is here, among the trails and canyons, where lurk the desperadoes of both races, that he is brought face to face with danger in its deadliest forms. No better illustration of this fact is furnished than in the history of the famous DEADWOOD COACH, the scarred and weather-beaten veteran of the original "star route" line of stages, established at a time when it was worth a man's life to sit on its box and journey from one end to its destination to the other. The accompanying picture affords an idea of the old relic, and it is because of its many associations with his own life that it has been purchased by "Buffalo Bill" and added to the attractions of his "GREAT REALISTIC EXHIBITION OF WESTERN NOVELTIES."
It will be observed that it is a heavily built Concord stage, and is intended for a team of six horses. The body is swung on a pair of heavy leather underbraces, and has the usual thick "perches," "Jacks," and brakes belonging to such a vehicle. It has a large leather "boot" behind, and another at the driver's foot-board. The coach was intended to seat twenty-one men—the driver and two men beside him, twelve inside, and the other six on top. As it now stands, the leather blinds of the window are worn, the paint is faded, and it has a battered and travel-stained aspect that tells the story of hardship and adventure. Its trips began in 1875, when the owners were Messrs. Gilmour, Salisbury & Co. Luke Voorhees is the present manager. The route was between Cheyenne and Deadwood, vi â Fort Laramie, Rawhide Buttes, Hat or War Bonnet Creek, the place where Buffalo Bill killed the Indian chief "Yellow Hand," July 17, 1876, Cheyenne River, Red Canyon, and Custer. Owing to the long distance and dangers, the drivers were always chosen for their coolness, courage, and skill.
In its first season the dangerous places on the route were Buffalo Gap, Lame Johnny Creek, Red Canyon, and Squaw Gap, all of which were made famous by scenes of slaughter and the deviltry of the banditti. Conspicuous among the latter were "Curley" Grimes, who was killed at Hogan's Ranch; "Peg-Legged" Bradley; Bill Price, who was killed on the Cheyenne River; "Dunk" Blackburn, who is now in the Nebraska State Prison, and others of the same class, representing the most fearless of the road agents of the West.
On the occasion of the first attack, the driver, John Slaughter, a son of the present marshal of Cheyenne, was shot to pieces with buckshot. He fell to the ground, and the team ran away, escaping with the passengers and mail, and safely reached Greely's Station. This occurred at White Wood Canyon. Slaughter's body was recovered, brought to Deadwood, and thence carried to Cheyenne, where it is now buried. The old coach here received its "baptism of fire," and during the ensuing summer passed through a variety of similar experiences, being frequently attacked. One of the most terrific of these raids was made by the Sioux Indians, but the assault was successfully repelled, although the two leading horses were killed. Several commercial travellers next suffered from a successful ambush, on which occasion a Mr. Liebman, of Chicago, was killed, and his companion shot through the shoulder.
After this stormy period it was fitted up as a treasure coach, and naturally became an object of renewed interest to the robbers; but, owing to the strong force of what is known as "shotgun messengers" who accompanied the coach, it was a long time before the bandits succeeded in accomplishing their purpose. Among the most prominent of these messengers were Scott Davis, a splendid scout, and one of the self-appointed undertakers of many of the lawless characters of the neighbourhood; Boone May, one of the best pistol shots in the Rocky Mountain regions, who killed Bill Price in the streets of Deadwood, together with "Curley" Grimes, one of the road agents; Jim May, a worthy brother—a twin in courage if not in birth. Few men have had more desperate encounters than he, and the transgressors of the law have had many an occasion to feel the results of his keen eye and strong arm whenever it has become necessary to face men who are prepared to "die with their boots on." Still another of these border heroes (for such they may be justly termed) is Gail Hill, now the deputy-sheriff of Deadwood, and his frequent companion was Jesse Brown, an old-time Indian fighter, who has a record of incident and adventure that would make a book. These men constituted a sextette of as brave fellows as could be found on the frontier, and their names are all well known in that country.
At last, however, some of them came to grief. The bandits themselves were old fighters. The shrewdness of one party was offset by that of the other, and on an unlucky day the celebrated Cold Spring
20
tragedy occurred. The station had been captured, and the road agents secretly occupied the place. The stage arrived in its usual manner, and without suspicion of danger the driver, Gene Barnett, halted at the stable door. An instant afterwards a volley was delivered that killed Hughey Stevenson, sent the buckshot through the body of Gail Hill, and dangerously wounded two others of the guards. The bandits then captured the outfit, amounting to some sixty thousand dollars in gold.
On another occasion the coach was attacked, and, when the driver was killed, saved by a woman—Martha Canary, better known at the present time in the wild history of the frontier as "Calamity Jane." Amid the fire of the attack, she seized the lines and, whipping up the team, safely brought the coach to her destination.
When Buffalo Bill returned from his scout with Gen. Crook, in 1876, he rode in this self-same stage, bringing with him the scalps of several of the Indians whom he had met. When afterwards he learned that it had been attacked and abandoned and was lying neglected on the plains, he organized a party, and, starting on the trail, rescued and brought the vehicle into camp.
With the sentiment that attaches to a man whose life has been identified with the excitement of the far West, the scout has now secured the coach from Col. Voorhees, the manager of the Black Hills stage line, and hereafter it will play a different rôle in its history from that of inviting murder and being the tomb of its passengers. And yet the "Deadwood Coach" will play no small part in the entertainment that has been organized by Buffalo Bill and partners for the purpose of representing some of the most startling realities of Western life, in a vivid representation of one of the Indian and road agents' combined attacks.
THE COW-BOYS.
Among the many features of "The Wild West" not the least attractive will be the advent in the East of a band of veritable "cow-boys," a class without whose aid the great Pampas of the West would be valueless, and the Eastern necessities of the table, the tan-yard, and the factory would be a meagre. These will be the genuine cattle herders of a reputable trade, and not the later misnomers of "the road," who, in assuming an honoured title, have tarnished it in the East, while being in fact the cow-boys' greatest foe, the thieving, criminal "rustler." To Wilkes' Spirit, of March, the editor is indebted for a just tribute and description of the American ranchman.
The Cow-Boy.
The cow-boy! How often spoken of, how falsely imagined, how greatly despised (where not known), how little understood! I've been there considerable. How sneeringly referred to, and how little appreciated, although his title has been gained by the possession of many of the noblest qualities that form the romantic hero of the poet, novelist and historian: the plainsman and the scout. What a school it has been for the latter! As "tall oaks from little acorns grow," the cow-boy serves a purpose, and often develops into the most celebrated ranchman, guide, cattle king, Indian fighter, and dashing ranger. How old Sam Houston loved them, how the Mexicans hated them, how Davy Crockett admired them, how the Comanches feared them, and how much you "beef-eaters" of the rest of the country owe to them, is a large-sized conundrum. Composed of many "to the manner born," but recruited largely from Eastern young men, they were taught at school to admire the deceased little Georgie in exploring adventures, and, though not equalling him in the "cherry-tree goodness," were more disposed to kick against the bull-dozing of teachers, parents, and guardians.
As the rebellious kid of old times filled a handkerchief (always a handkerchief, I believe) with his all, and followed the trail of his idol, Columbus, and became a sailor bold, the more ambitious and adventurous youngster of later days freezes on to a double-barreled pistol, and steers for the bald prairie to [drawing] seek fortune and experience. If he don't get his system full, it's only because the young man weakens, takes a back seat, or fails to become a Texas cow-boy. If his Sunday school ma'am has not impressed him thoroughly with the chapter about our friend Job, he may at first be astonished; but he'll soon learn the patience of the old hero, and think he pegged out a little too soon to take it all in. As there are [drawing] generally openings, likely young fellows can enter, and not fail to be put through. If he is a stayer, youth and size will be no disadvantage for his start in, as certain lines of the business are peculiarly adapted to the light young horsemen, and such are highly esteemed when they become thoroughbreds, and fully possessed of "cow sense."
Now, "cow sense" in Texas implies a thorough knowledge of the business, and a natural instinct to divine every thought, trick, intention, want, habit, or desire of his drove, under any and all circumstances. A man might be brought up in the States swinging to a cow's tail, yet, taken to Texas, would be as useless [drawing] as a last year's bird's nest with the bottom punched out. The boys grow old soon, and the old cattle-men seem to grow young; thus it is that the name is applied to all who follow the trade. The boys are divided into range workers and branders, road-drivers and herders, trail-guides and bosses.
As the railroads have now put an end to the old-time trips, I will have to go back a few years to find a proper estimate of the duties and dangers, delights and joys, trials and troubles, when off the ranch. The ranch itself and the cattle trade in the state still flourish in their old-time glory, but are being slowly encroached upon by the modern improvements that will, in course of time, wipe out the necessity of his
day, the typical subject of my sketch. Before being counted in and fully endorsed, the candidate has had to become an expert horseman, and test the many eccentricities of the stubborn mustang; enjoy the beauties, learn to catch, throw, fondle—oh! yes, gently fondly (but not from behind)—and ride the "docile" little Spanish-American plug, an amusing experience in itself, in which you are taught all the mysteries of rear and tear, stop and drop, lay and roll, kick and bite, on and off, under and over, heads and tails, hand springs, triple somersaults, standing on your head, diving, flip-flaps, getting left (horse leaving you fifteen miles from camp—Indians in the neighbourhood, etc.), and all the funny business included in the familiar term of "bucking;" then learn to handle a rope, catch a calf, stop a crazy cow, throw a beef steer, play with a wild bull, losso an untamed mustang, and daily endure the dangers of a Spanish matador, with a little Indian scrape thrown in, and if there is anything left of you they'll christen it a first-class cow-boy. Now his troubles begin (I have been worn to a frizzled end many a time before I began); but after this he will learn to enjoy them—after they are over.
As the general trade on the range has often been described, I'll simply refer to few incidents of a trip over the plains to the cattle markets of the North, through the wild and unsettled portions of the Territories, varying in distance from fifteen hundred to two thousand miles—time, three to six months—extending through the Indian Territory and Kansas to Nebraska, Colorado, Dakota, Montana, Idaho, Nevada, and sometimes as far as California. Immense herds, as high as thirty thousand or more in number, are moved by single owners, but are driven in bands of one to three thousand, which, when under way, are designated "herds." Each of these have from ten to fifteen men, with a wagon driver and cook, and the "king pin of the outfit," the boss, with a supply of two or three ponies to a man, an ox team, and blankets; also jerked beef and corn meal—the staple food. They are also furnished with mavericks or "doubtless-owned" yearlings for the fresh meat supply. After getting fully under way, and the cattle broke in, from ten to fifteen miles a day is the average, and everything is plain sailing, in fair weather. As night comes on, the cattle are rounded up in a small compass, and held until they lie down, when two men are left on watch, riding round and round them in opposite directions, singing or whistling all the time, for two hours, that being the length of each watch. This singing is absolutely necessary, as it seems to soothe the fears of the cattle, scares away the wolves or other varmints that may be prowling around, and prevents them from hearing any other accidental sound, or dreaming of their old homes, and if stopped would in all probability be the signal for a general stampede. "Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast," if a cow-boy's compulsory bawling out lines of his own composition,
Lay nicely now, cattle, don't heed any rattle,
can be considered such.
But quietly rest until morn;
For if you skedaddle, we'll jump in the saddle,
And head you as sure as you're born,
Some poet may yet make a hit
On the odds and ends of cow-boys' wit.
But on nights when "Old Prob." goes on a spree, leaves the bung out of the water-barrel above, prowls around with his flash-box, raising a breeze whispering in tones of thunder, and the cow-boy's voice, like the rest of the outfit, is drowned out, steer clear, and prepare for action. If them quadrupeds don't go insane, turn tail to the storm, and strike out for civil and religious liberty, then I don't know what "strike out" means. Ordinarily so clumsy and stupid-looking, a thousand beef steers can rise like a flock of quail on the roof of an exploding powder mill, and will scud away like a tumble weed before a high wind, with a noise like a receding earthquake. Then comes fun and frolic for the boys!
Talk of "Sheridan's ride, twenty miles away!" That was in the daytime, but this is the cow-boys' ride with Texas five hundred miles away, and them steers steering straight for home; night time, darker than the word means, hog wallows, prairie dog, wolf, and badger holes, ravines and precipices ahead, and if you do your duty, three thousand stampeding steers behind. If your horse don't swap ends, and you
[drawing]
P. FRENZENY
BUFFALO BILL GUIDING AN ARMY SUPPLY TRAIN IN A SNOW STORM.
hang to them till daylight, you can bless your lucky stars. Many have passed in their checks at this game. The remembrance of the few that were foot loose in the Bowery a few years ago will give an approximate idea of three thousand raving bovines on the warpath. As they tear through the storm at one flash of lightening, they look all tails, and at the next flash, all horns. If Napoleon had had a herd at Sedan, headed in the right direction, he would have driven old Billy across the Rhine.
The next great trouble is in crossing streams, which are invariably high in the driving season. When cattle strike swimming water they generally try to turn back, which eventuates in their "milling," that is, swimming in a circle, and, if allowed to continue, would result in drowning of many. There the daring herder must leave his pony, doff his togs, scramble over their backs and horns to scatter them, and, with whoops and yells, splashing, dashing, and didoes in the water, scare them to the opposite bank. This is not always done in a moment, for a steer is no fool of a swimmer; I have seen one hold his own for six hours in the Gulf after having jumped overboard. As some of the streams are very rapid, and a quarter to half a mile wide, considerable drifting is done. Then the naked herder has plenty of amusement in the hot sun, fighting green-head flies and mosquitoes, and peeping around for Indians, until the rest of the lay-out is put over— not an easy job. A temporary boat has to be made of the wagon-box, by tacking the canvas cover over the bottom, with which the ammunition and grub is ferried across and the running gear and ponies are swum over afterwards. Indian fights and horse thief troubles are part of the regular rations. Mixing with other herds and cutting them out, again avoiding too much water at times, and hunting for a drop at others, belong to the regular routine.
Buffalo chips for wood a great portion of the way (poor substitute in wet weather) and the avoiding of prairie fires later on, varies the monotony. In fact, it would fill a book to give great detailed account of a single trip, and it is no wonder the boys are hilarious when it ends, and, like the toper, "swears no more for me," only to return and go through the mill again.
How many, though, never finish, but mark the trail with their silent graves! no one can tell. But when Gabriel toots his horn, the "Chisholm trail" will swarm with cow-boys. "Howsomever, we'll all be thar," let's hope, for a happy trip, when we say to this planet, adios!
J. B. OMOHUNDRO (Texas Jack).
THE VAQUERO OF THE SOUTH-WEST.
Between the "cow-boy" and the "vaquero" there is only a slight line of demarcation. The one is usually an American, inured from boyhood to the excitements and hardships of his life, and the other represents in his blood the stock of the Mexican, or it may be of the half-breed.
In their work, the methods of the two are similar; and, to a certain extent, the same is true of their associations. Your genuine vaquero, however, is generally, when off duty, more of a dandy in style and get-up of his attire than his careless and impetuous compeer. He is fond of gaudy clothes, and when you see him riding well-mounted into a frontier town, the first thought of an Eastern man in that a circus has broken loose in the neighbourhood, and this is one of the performers. The familiar broad-brimmed sombrero covers his head; a rich jacket, embroidered by his sweetheart perhaps, envelopes his shapely shoulders; a sash of blue or red silk is wrapped around his waist, from which protrude a pair of revolvers; and buckskin trousers, slit from the knee to the foot and ornamented with rows of brass or silver buttons, complete his attire, save that enormous spurs, with jingling pendants, are fastened to the boots, and announce in no uncertain sound the presence of the beau-ideal vaquero in full dress.
His saddle is of the pure Mexican type, with high pommel, whereon hangs the inevitable lariat, which in his hands is almost as certain as a rifle shot.
Ordinarily he is a peaceful young fellow, but when the whisky is present in undue proportions, he is a good individual to avoid. Like the cow-boy, he is a brave, nimble, careless of his own life, and reckless, when occasion requires, of those of other people. At heart he is not bad. The dependence on himself which his calling demands, the dangers to which he is subjected while on duty, all compel a sturdy self-reliance, and he is not slow in exhibiting the fact that he posseses it in a sufficient degree at least for his own protection. True types of this peculiar class, seen nowhere else than on the plains, will be among the attractions of the show; and the men will illustrate the methods of their lives in connection with the pursuit and catching of animals, together with the superb horsemanship that is characteristic of their training.
TONY ESQUIVAL—CHAMPION VAQUERO RIDER,
Born in Mexico, and is decended from the best Castillian and native stock, dating through the history of the section along the Rio Grande. He possesses all the sterling qualities for which the higher bred rancheros are famed. As a Pony Express Rider, Herdsman, and Horseman, he stands unexcelled.
"OLD CHARLIE," THE HORSE
That carried Buffalo Bill one hundred miles in nine hours and forty-five minutes.
Mr. Cody is a great lover of man's best friend among the animal kingdom—the horse. The peculiar career he has followed has made his equine friend such a sterling necessity as a companion, an assistant,
[drawing]BUFFALO BILL AND CHARLIE.
a confident, that he admits, as every frontiersman and scout does, a great deal depends, even life itself in innumerable emergencies, on the general sagacity of this noble brute. For the purposes of the trail, the hunt, the battle, the pursuit, or the stampede, it was essentially necessary to select for chargers with which to gain success, animals excelling in the qualities of strength, speed, docility, courage, stamina, keen scent, delicacy of ear, quick of sight, sure-footed, shrewd in perception, nobleness of character, and general intelligence. History records, and a grateful memory still holds dear, numberless famous quadruped allies that Buffalo Bill has, during his long career, possessed, and many are the stories told on the frontier and in the army of "Old Buckskin Joe," "Brigham," "Tall Bull," "Powder Face," "Stranger," and "Old Charlie."
"Old Buckskin Joe" was one of his early favourites, who, by long service in army scouting, became quite an adept, and seemed to have a perfect knowledge of the duties required of him. For this reason, when ordered to find and report the location of the savages in their strongholds, at times hundreds of miles away over a lonely country, infested by scouting parties of hostiles liable at any instant to pounce upon one. Old Buckskin was always selected by Cody to accompany him on the trail when the work was dangerous. Mounted on another horse, he would let Buckskin follow untrammeled, even by a halter,
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so as to reserve him fresh in case of discovery and the terrible necessity of "a ride for life." Quick to scent danger, he instinctively gave evidence of his fears, and would almost assist his saddling or quickly insert his head in the bridle, and once on his back Joe was always able to bid defiance to the swiftest horses the Indians possessed, and the longer the chase the further they were left in his rear. On one occasion his master descried a band of one hundred warriors who gave them chase form the headwaters of the Republican River to Fort McPherson, a distance of one hundred and ninety-five miles. It was at a season when the ponies were in good condition, and the savage band, though thirsting for the scalp of their well-known foe, "Pa-he-has-ka," (the long-haired scout), dropped behind until, on the last fifty miles, but fifteen of the fleetest were in pursuit, Buckskin leaving them out of sight twenty miles from the Fort.
This ride, famed in army annals, caused Old Buckskin to go blind, but the gratitude of his master was such that Joe was kept and carefully attended to until his death, which occurred a few years ago at Cody's home, North Platte. Buckskin was accorded a decent funeral, and a tombstone erected over his remains inscribed, "Old Buckskin Joe, the horse that on several occasions saved the life of Buffalo Bill, by carrying him safely out of the range of Indian bullets. Died of old age, 1882."
"Brigham" was another celebrity of his race, and it was on his back Mr. Cody clinched his undisputed title of "King Buffalo Killer," and added permanency to the name of "Buffalo Bill" by killing sixty-nine buffaloes in one run, and such was this steed's knowledge of hunting that game, that he discarded saddle and bridle while following the herd, killing the last half whilst riding this renowned pet of the chase bareback.
Many other tried and true ones have enhanced his love for their race, the last of the famous old timers being owned and ridden by him in his daily exhibitions with the Wild West for the past three seasons, traversing the continent five times, travelling thousands of miles and never missing a performance—"Old Charlie," who possesses all the virtues that go to form a "noble horse." Charlie is seventeen years old, was broken in by Mr. Cody, and has never been ridden by anyone else (except Miss Arta Cody, an accomplished horsewoman), and for many years has been the participant of all his master's skirmishes, expeditions, long rides, and hunts; has been ridden over all kinds of rough country, prairie-dog towns, mountain and plain, had never stumbled or fallen, being beyond a doubt one of the surest-footed animals man ever rode, and for endurance is a second Buckskin Joe, if not better— on one occasion, in an emergency, having carried his master over a prairie road one hundred miles in nine hours and forty-five minutes, rider and trappings weighing two hundred and forty-three pounds. "Old Charlie's" great point is his wonderful intelligence, which causes him to act in a manner as to almost lay claim in his conduct to judiciousness. In the most lonely or unattractive place or in one the most seductive to equine rambles, when his master removes saddle and bridle, he can trust Charlie to stay where he is left, wrap himself in a blanket, take the saddle for a pillow, go to sleep contented, knowing his faithful steed will be close to hand, or, after browsing fully, will come and lie close beside him, sink into slumber, with ear at tension, one eye open, and at the slightest disturbance arouse him to meet the threatened danger. All the Indians in the country, keen as he is to scent them, intuitively as he dreaded them, could not make him leave or stampede him until his owner is mounted, challenging in this respect the instincts of the highest class of watch-dog.
He cares not how much load you put on his back, having carried five hundred pounds of buffalo-meat; will pull as much by tying a lariat to the pommel as an ordinary horse with a collar; will hold the strongest buffalo or steer, but when a harness is placed on his back and a collar is placed round his neck, will not pull an ounce, and if not soon relieved will viciously resent the (to him) seeming degradation.
He is a splendid example of the tractability of his species and a fine exponent of the practical nature of the frontiersman's invaluable companion, by the perfect repose he exhibits in pursuits and scenes so foreign to the experience of most of his kind, showing an avidity to join battle, in the stage-coach attack (which he joins without saddle, bridle, or rider), singling out his master, keeping close to him throughout the fight, exhibiting anxiety for his welfare. Thus daily in the Wild West Exhibition does he endorse before the public the writer's eulogy, and in Buffalo Bill's great shooting act on horseback assists his master to present a picture of horse and rider such as was never dreamt of by the novelist, or depicted by the painter.
LETTERS OF COMMENDATION FROM PROMINENT MILITARY MEN.
War Department, Adjutant General's Office, Washington, August 10th, 1886.
To whom it may concern—
Mr. WILLIAM F. CODY was employed as Chief of Scouts under Generals Sheridan, Custer, Cook, Miles, Carr, and others, in their campaigns against hostile Indians on our frontier, and as such rendered very valuable and distinguished service.
S. W. DRUM,
Adjutant-General.
[Copy.]
HON. WM. F. CODY,
London, England
5th Avenue Hotel, New York, June 29th, 1887.
DEAR CODY,— . . . . . . . . . . . . . In common with all your countrymen, I want to let know that I am not only gratified, but proud of your management and general behaviour; so far as I make out you have been modest, graceful, and dignified in all you have done to illustrate the history of civilization on this Continent during the past century.
I am especially pleased with the graceful and pretty compliment paid you by the Princess of Wales, who rode with you in Deadwood Coach while it was attacked by the Indians, and rescued by the Cow-boys. Such things did occur in our days, and may never again.
As near as I can estimate there were in 1865 about nine and a half millions of buffaloes on the plains between the Missouri River and the Rocky Mountains; all are now gone—killed for their meat, their skins and bones.
This seems like desecration, cruelty, and murder, yet they have been replaced by twice as many neat cattle. At that date there were about 165,000 Pawnees, Sioux, Cheyennes, Kiowas, and Arapahoes, who depended on these buffaloes for their yearly food. They, too, are gone, and have been replaced by twice or thrice as many white men and women, who have made the earth to blossom as the rose, and who can be counted, taxed, and governed by the laws of nature and civilization. This change has been salutary, and will go on to the end. You have caught one epoch of the world's history, have illustrated it in the very heart of the modern world—London, and I want you to feel that on this side the water we appreciate it.
This drama must end; days, years and centuries follow fast, even the drama of civilization must have an end.
All I aim to accomplish on this sheet of paper is to assure you that I fully recognise your work, and that the presence of the Queen, the beautiful Princess of Wales, the Prince, and British public, are marks of favour which reflect which reflect back on America sparks of light which illuminate many a house and cabin in the land where once you guided me honestly and faithfully in 1865-6 from Fort Riley to Kearney in Kansas and Nebraska.
Sincerely your friend,
W. T. SHERMAN.
STATE OF NEBRASKA.
To all whom these presents shall come, greeting.
Know Ye, that I, JOHN M. THAYER, Governor of the State of Nebraska, reposing special trust and confidence in the integrity, patriotism, and ability of the Hon. William F. Cody, on behalf and in the name of the State do hereby APPOINT AND COMMISSION HIM as Aide-de-Camp of my Staff, with the rank of Colonel, and do authorise and empower him to discharge the duties of said office according to law.
IN TESTOMONY WHEREOF I have hereunto subscribed my name and caused to be affixed the Great Seal of the State.
[seal]GRAND SEAL OF THE STATE OF NEBRASKA.
March 1st. 1867.
DONE at LINCOLN this 8th day of March, A.D. 1887.
JOHN M. THAYER.
By the Governor,
G. L. LAUR,
Secretary of State.
The following letter received with a photograph of the hero of the "March to the Sea," Gen. W. T. Sherman:—
NEW YORK, December 25, 1886.
TO HON. WM. F. CODY:—With the best compliments of one who, in 1866, was guided by him up the Republican, then occupied by the Cheyennes and Arapahoes as their ancestral hunting grounds, now transformed into farms and cattle-ranches, in better harmony with modern civilization, and with his best wishes that he succeed in his honorable efforts to represent the scenes of that day to a generation then unborn.
W. T. SHERMAN, General.
NEW YORK, December 28, 1886
.HON. WM. F. CODY: DEAR SIR,—Recalling the many facts that came to me while I was Adjutant-General of the Division of the Missouri, under General Sheridan, bearing upon your efficiency, fidelity, and daring as a guide and scout over the country west of the Missouri River and east of the Rocky Mountains, I take pleasure in observing your success in depicting in the East the early life of the West. Very truly yours,
JAMES B. FRY,
Assistant Adjutant-General, Brevet Major-General, U.S.A.
[drawing]
HEADQUARTERS, ARMY OF THE UNITED STATES,
WASHINGTON, D.C., January 7, 1887.
Mr. William. F. Cody was a scout, and served in my command on the Western frontier for many years. He was always ready for duty, and was a cool, brave man, with unimpeachable character. I take pleasure in commending him for the many services he has rendered to the Army, whose respect he enjoys, for his many qualities.
P. H. SHERIDAN Lieutenant-General.
Los Angeles, Cal., January 7, 1878.
HON. WM. F. CODY: DEAR SIR,—Having visited your great Exhibition in St. Louis and New York City, I desire to congratulate you on the success of your enterprise. I was much interested in the various life-like representations of Western scenery, as well as the fine exhibition of skilled marksmanship and magnificent horsemanship. You not only represent the many interesting features of frontier life, but also the difficulties and dangers that have been encountered by the adventurous and fearless pioneers of civilization. The wild Indian life as it was a few years ago will soon be a thing of the past, but you appear to have selected a good class of Indians to represent that race of people, and I regard your Exhibition as not only very interesting, but practically instructive. Your services on the frontier were exceedingly valuable. With best wishes for your success, believe me, very truly yours,
NELSON A. MILES, Brigadier-General, U.S.A.
"He is King of them all."
HEADQUARTERS, MOUNTED RECRUITING SERVICE,
ST. LOUIS, MO., May 7, 1885
MAJOR JOHN M. BURKE: DEAR SIR.—I take pleasure in saying that in an experience of about thirty years on the plains and in the mountains, I have seen a great many guides, scouts, trailers, and hunters, and Buffalo Bill (W. F. Cody) is king of them all. He has been with me in seven Indian fights, and his services have been invaluable. Very respectfully yours,
EUGENE A. CARR,Brevet Major-General, U.S.A.
UNITED STATES MILITARY ACADEMY, WEST POINT, N.Y.,
January 11, 1887.
* * * * I have known W.F. Cody (Buffalo Bill) for many years. He is a Western man of the best type, combining those qualities of enterprise, daring, good sense, and physical endurance which made him the superior of any scout I ever knew. He was cool and capable when surrounded by dangers, and his reports were always free from exaggeration. He is a gentleman in that better sense of the word which implies character, and he may be depended on under all circumstances. I wish him success.
W. MERRITT, Brevet Major-General, U.S.A.,
Late Major-General Volunteers.
OMAHA, Neb., January 7, 1887.
HON. WM. F. CODY: DEAR SIR,—I take great pleasure in testifying to the very efficient service rendered by you "as a scout," in the campaign against the Sioux Indians, during the year 1876. Also, that I have witnessed your Wild West Exhibition. I consider it the most realistic performance of the kind I have ever seen.
Very sincerely, your obedient Servant,
GEORGE CROOK, Brigadier-General, U.S.A.
WASHINGTON, D. C., February 8, 1887.
Mr. Cody was chief guide and hunter to my command, when I commanded the District of North Platte, and he performed all his duties with marked excellence.
W. H. EMORY, Major-General, U.S.A.
HEADQUARTERS 7TH CAVALRY,
FORT MEAD, Dakota Territory, February 14, 1887.
MY DEAR SIR,—Your army career on the frontier, and your present enterprise of depicting scenes in the Far West, are so enthusiastically approved and commended by the American people, and the most prominent men of the U.S. Army, that there is nothing left for me to say. I feel sure your new departure will be a success. With best wishes,
I remain, yours truly,
JAMES W. FORSYTH, Colonel, 7th Cavalry.
JERSEY CITY, 405 Bergen Ave., February 7, 1887.
HON. WM. F. CODY: MY DEAR SIR,—I fully and with pleasure endorse you as the veritable "Buffalo Bill," U. S. Scout, serving with the troops operating against hostile Indians, in 1868, on the plains. I speak from personal knowledge, and from reports of officers and others, with whom you secured renown by your services as a scout and successful hunter. Your sojourn on the frontier at time when it was a wild and sparsely settled section of the Continent, fully enables you to portray that in which you have personally participated—the Pioneer, Indian Fighter, and Frontiersman. Wishing you every success, I remain, very respectfully yours,
H. C. BANKHEAD, Brigadier-General, U.S.A.
HOTEL RICHMOND, WASHINGTON, D.C. January 9, 1887.
* * * W. F. Cody (Buffalo Bill) was with me in the early days, when I commanded a Battalion of the 5th Cavalry, operating against the hostile Sioux. He filled every position and met every emergency with so much bravery, competence and intelligence as to command the general admiration and respect of the officers, and become Chief of Scouts of the Department. All his successes have been conducted on the most honorable principles.
W. B. ROYALL, Colonel 4th Cavalry, U.S.A.
HEADQUARTERS 1ST CAVALRY,
FORT CUSTER, M. T.
* * * I often recall your valuable services to the Government, as well as to myself, in years long gone by, specially during the Sioux difficulties, when you were attached to my command as Chief of Scouts. Your indomitable perseverance, incomprehensible instinct in discovering the trails of Indians, particularly at night, no matter how dark or stormy, your physical powers of endurance in following the enemy until overtaken, and your unflinching courage, as exhibited on all occasions, won not only my own esteem and admiration, but that of the whole command. With my best wishes for your success, I remain your old friend,
N. A. M. DUDLEY, Colonel 1st Cavalry,
Brevet Brigadier-General, U.S.A.
TALLAHESSEE, Fla., January 12, 1887.
HON. WILLIAM F. CODY,—I take pleasure in recommending you to the public, as a man who has a high reputation in the Army as a Scout. No one has ever shown more bravery on the Western plains than yourself. I wish you success in yur proposed visit to Great Britain. Your obedient servant,
JNO. H. KING, Brevet Major-General, U.S.A.
Lines Inspired on Witnessing the Prairie Chief Caressing his Baby Daughter.
LITTLE IRMA CODY.
Only a baby's fingers, patting a brawny cheek,Only a laughing dimple in the chin so soft and sleek,
Only a cooing babble, only a frightened tear,
But it makes a man both brave and kind
To have them ever near.
The hand that seemed harsh and cruel,
Nerved by a righteous hate,
As it cleft the heart of the Yellow Hand,
In revenge of Custer's fate,
Has the tender touch of a woman,
As, rifle and knife laid by,
He coos and tosses the baby,
Darling "apple of his eye."
[drawing]
P. FRENZENY
UNGUIDED VICTIMS OF A PRAIRIE SNOWSTORM.
[drawing]
A PRACTICAL "ALL-ROUND SHOT."
In contradistinction to the many so-called "fancy shots" that have for years been before the public, Buffalo Bill is what may be termed a "practical marksman," and where that expression's full meaning is understood, he is looked on as a marvellous "all-round shot." That is, a man of deadly aim in any emergency, with any weapon—a small Derringer, a Colt's, a shot-gun, a carbine, a blunderbuss, or a rifle—at any foe, red or white; at any game—chicken, jack-rabbit, antelope, deer, buffalo, bear, or elk; at the swiftest birds or soaring eagle; on foot, in any position; on horseback, at any speed. To be such a marksman is only the result of years of necessity for exercising the faculties of instantaneous measurement of distance, acuteness of vision—in fact, an eagle eye and iron nerves—to think quick, to resolve, to fire, to kill. As a hunter these gifts have rendered him famous, and gained him plaudits from admiring officers, noblemen, sportsmen, and competitors in the chase, and compelled the respect and fear of his implacable Indian foes. That he exists to-day is the result of the training that enables a man in the most startling exigency to command himself, and to meet the circumstances face to face, whatever they may be, and achieve, by cool precision, deserved victory in the field, and embellish history with deeds of heroism. Mr. Cody will give an exhibition of his ability by shooting objects thrown in the air while galloping at full speed, executing difficulties that would receive commendation if accomplished on foot, and which can only be fully appreciated by those who have attempted the feat while experiencing a rapid pace when occupying "a seat in the saddle."
Cody Saves Wild Bill.
"After a very long march, full of hardships and sufferings, Gen. Penrose's camp was found on the Palodora in a most distracted condition. Gen. Carr's arrival was none too soon, as the famished men were sustaining life on the last carcases of their draught animals. In a few weeks Black Kettle's depredations necessitated a pursuit. . . The consolidated command discovered the Indians on the Cimarron, and a terrific battle ensued. . . . In this fight Buffalo Bill and Wild Bill did almost the work of a regiment; braver men never went into an action, both fighting as though they were invulnerable. In the fury and rout which followed the first charge Wild Bill gave chase to Black Kettle, head chief of the Cheyennes, engaged and overtook the fleeing red warrior, stabbing him to death. But the accomplish-
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ment of this heroic action would have cost him his own life, had not Buffalo Bill ridden with impetuous daring into the very midst of fully fifty Indians, who had surrounded Wild Bill, intent on either his capture or death. The two daring and intrepid scouts plunged furiously into the midst of the Indians, each with a revolver in either hand, and literally carved their way through the surging mass of redskins, leaving a furrow of dead Indians in their wake. Such fighting, such riding, and such marvellous intrepidity combined, were doubtless never equalled, and if but this act alone were credited to the valour of Wild Bill and Buffalo Bill, their names would deserve inscription on Fame's enduring monument."—Buell's History.
THE DUEL WITH YELLOW HAND.
While Generals Merritt and Carr, guided by Buffalo Bill, were operating so successfully against the hostiles, the news of the annihilation of the gallant Custer's entire band was received through Indian sources first, and soon after corroborated by reliable reports. The actions of the war parties were so daring, their impudence so annoying, that their dash and bravery lacked either cunning or discretion. Their elation was as tantalizing as was the sadness and sorrow of the command sincere, over this unheard-of disaster. Confidence, however, was soon restored, and the bitter feelings of revenge were satiated by an episode that occurred on the 17th of July, 1876, at War Bonnet Creek,—our favourite scout earning imperishable honours by his individual lowering og the vaunted savages' prowess, hand to hand. With the news of the disaster came a report from Col. Santon, of the Fifth Cavalry, informing Gen. Merritt that eight hundred Cheyenne warriors had left the Red Cloud Agency to join Sitting Bull on the Big Horn, and instructing him to join Gen. Crook at Fort Fetterman.
Instead of following the strict letter of the order, Gen. Merritt, with Buffalo Bill as his chief of scouts, concluded to intercept the Cheyennes, a most commendable purpose, which happily justified his good judgment.
Selecting five hundred of his best men and horses, Gen. Merritt made a forced march towards War Bonnet Creek, which he knew the Indians must cross, and at a point, too, which he estimated it would be easy to reach in advance of them.
On July 17th the command reached the creek, and Buffalo Bill was sent out to discover if the Cheyennes had yet effected a crossing, but finding no trail he continued scouting for some distance, and was rewarded by seeing a large body of Indians approaching from the South. Bill rode rapidly back to camp to acquaint Gen. Merritt of his discovery, whereupon the cavalry was ordered to mount and hold themselves in readiness, while Bill and the General should ride out on a tour of observation. Selecting a high knoll, by the use of field glasses, the Cheyennes were plainly seen riding directly towards Gen. Merritt's camp. Presently a large party of Indians were observed to leave the main body and ride at a furious pace northward, and scanning the surroundings critically to ascertain the cause, Bill saw mounted soldiers, evidently couriers, trying to reach Gen. Merritt's camp. In order not to apprise the Indians of the presence of the regiment, Bill suggested to the General the advisability of waiting until the couriers should come near the command, when, having led the Indians some distance from the main party, he would take the other scouts and cut them off so as to insure their capture.
Gen. Merritt approving of Bill's idea, the latter rode back to camp, selected fifteen men and hurried to a place of concealment, where he waited for the pursuers. It was but a few moments before the couriers dashed by with the Indians not more than two hundred yards in the rear. Bill and his men leaped out of their ambush and sent a rattling fire after the Indians, three of whom were killed; the rest turned and ran back to the main party, which had halted upon hearing the rapid firing.
After stopping for a few moments the Cheyennes renewed their march, thinking they were opposed by a small body that would offer no particular resistance. Another advance party of Indians was sent out from the main body, and as they approached near, Bill and his men charged them; but the Indians, seeing
[drawing]
DEATH OF YELLOW HAND — CODY'S FIRST SCALP FOR CUSTER.
On the 17th July, 1876, at Hat or War Bonnet Creek, W. F. Cody, ("Buffalo Bill") fought and killed the Cheyenne Chief, Yellow Hand, in a single-handed encounter, in front of Gen. Wesley Merritt, Gen. E. A. Carr, the Fifth United States Cavalry and the Chief's band of 800 warriors, and thus scored the first scalp for Custer.
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their numbers were superior, made a stand, and a lively fight ensued. Each side then drew off, and while they stood studying their opportunities, one of the Indians, richly dressed in a chief's ornamentation, large war bonnet, capped with eagle's feathers, and carrying a Winchester rifle, rode out from his squad several rods, and made the following speech, addressing Buffalo Bill, whom he had seen before, and heard much of:
"Me know you, Pa-he-has-ka (the Indian for "long hair"), you great chief, kill many Indians; me great chief, kill many pale faces; come on now fight me."
Here was a direct challenge, and Buffalo Bill was not the man to decline it. He had met such challenges before; so he shouted back o the chief:
"I'll fight you; come on; let Indians and white men stand off and see the Red Chief and Long Hair fight with rifles."
This was a genuine novelty, and of such an exciting nature that the troops advanced to a position commanding a view of the battle ground, while the Indians rode up also sufficiently close to witness the combat.
When everything was in readiness, Bill advanced on horseback about fifty yards towards his opponent, and then the two started towards each other on a dead run. They were scarcely thirty yards apart when both their rifles were discharged simultaneously. The Indian's horse fell dead, having been struck by the bullet from Bill's rifle, and at the same time the latter's horse stepped into a hole and tumbled over; thus they were both dismounted. Bill was not hurt by the fall, and springing to his feet, he faced his recovered antagonist, now not more then twenty paces distant. Again the two fired almost simultaneously, but the Indian missed, while Bill's aim was good, his bullet planting itself in the chief's breast. As the Indian reeled and fell Bill leaped on him, and in the next instant had thrust his bowie-knife into the warrior's heart. With a skilful movement Bill tore the war-bonnet off his victim's head and then scalped him in the most gentlemanly and dexterous manner. Then, holding up the bonnet and reeking cap-sheaf, he exclaimed:
"The first scalp for Custer!"
Following this now historical event, the main body of Cheyennes charged down on Bill, and would have killed him had not the cavalry been so near that they intercepted the savages before they could reach him.
Finding that the Indians could not now be ambushed, Gen. Merritt ordered his troops to charge, and a running fight ensued for a distance of thirty miles, the Cheyennes retreating toward the Red Cloud Agency, to which point the pursuit was continued. Upon arriving at the agency, a thousand dissatisfied Indians were found discussing the advisability of joining Sitting Bull, but they offered no hostility to the Fifth Cavalry, which stood ready to fight the entire Cheyenne trible.
At Red Cloud Bill learned that the name of his victim in the rifle duel was Yellow Hand, son of Cut Nose, one of the leading Cheyenne chiefs.—Life on the Plains.
The Pawnees Astonished.
W. F. Cody, although having established his right to the title of "Buffalo Bill" for years before, had not had opportunity to convince the Pawnees of the justice of the claim previous to the time of the following incident. A short while previously a band of marauding red-skin renegades from that nation, while on a stealing excursion near Ellsworth, had occasion to regret their temerity and cause to remember him to the extent of three killed, which fact for a time resulted in an enmity that needed something out of the usual run to establish him in their favour. While on a military expedition, under Gen. E. A. Carr, upon the Republican he met Major North and the Pawnee scouts. One day, a herd of buffalo were descried, and Cody desired to join in the hunt. The Indians objected, telling the Major "the white talker would only scare them away." Seventy-three Indians attacked the herd and killed twenty-three. Later in the day another herd were discovered, and Major North insisted that the white chief have a
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chance to prove his skill. After much grumbling, they acquiesced grudgingly, and with ill-concealed smiles of derision consented to be spectators. Judge of their surprise, when Cody charged the herd, and single-handed and alone fairly amazed them by killing forty-eight buffalo in thirty minutes, thus forever gaining their admiration and a firm friendship that has since often accrued to his benefit.
Colonel Royal's Waggons.
Once upon the South Fork of the Solomon, Col. Royal ordered Cody to kill some buffalo that were in sight to feed his men, but declined to send his waggons until assured of the game. Bill rounded the herd, and, getting them in a line for camp, drove them in and killed seven near headquarters; or, as the Colonel afterwards laughingly remarked, "furnishing grub and his own transportation."
[drawing]The Bow and Arrow.
The bow is the natural weapon of the wild tribes of the West. Previous to the introduction of fire arms, it was the weapon supreme of every savage's outfit—in fact, his principal dependence, backed by personal skill in its use, for sustenance for himself and his pappooses. It still retains its favor, as it is not always safe to rely on the white man's mechanism, as in case of lack of ammunition or deranged lock or trigger, time and location prevent it being "mended." As a weapon of economy, it is also to be commended, as the hunting arrow is made so that the rear shoulders of the long, tapering blade slope backward, thus facilitating its withdrawal from the wounded game. On the other hand, in the war arrow, the rear shoulders slope forward, forming barbs, as it is intended to remain and eventually kill. The possession, therefore, of firearms has not affected the Indian's love of this reliable weapon of the chase, which, being his first childish plaything, is still, no matter how well armed or rich he may be, an indispensable possession. At short distances it is a terribly effective arm, and the Indian expert can seize five to ten arrows in his left hand, and dispatch them with such rapidity that the last will be on its flight before the first touches the ground. In close quarters they prefer to rely on it to depending on the rifle, as it can be of deadly force at thirty to forty yards, and creating a bad wound at much greater distance. In buffalo hunting, where the horseman can approach near, it is invaluable and economic, and is often buried to the feathers. "Two Lance," an Indian chief, during the Grand Duke's hunt, sent an arrow clear through a bison, Alexis retaining the light-winged messenger of death as a souvenir of his hunt on the American Plains.
Cody's Corral; or, the Scouts and the Sioux.
A mount-inclosed valley, close sprinkled with fair flowers,
As if a shattered rainbow had fallen there in showers;
Bright-plumaged birds were warbling their songs among the trees,
Or fluttering their tiny wings in the cooling Western breeze.
The cottonwoods, by mountain's base, on every side high tower,
And the dreamy haze in silence marks the sleepy noontide hour.
East, south, and north, to meet the clouds the lofty mounts arise,
Guarding this little valley—a wild Western Paradise.
Pure and untrampled as it looks, this lovely flower-strewn sod—
One scarce would think that e'er, by man, had such a sward been trod
But yonder, see those wild mustangs by lariat held in check,
Tearing up the fairest flora, which fairies might bedeck;
And, near a camp-fire's smoke, we see men standing all around—
'Tis strange, for from them has not come a single word or sound.
Standing by cottonwood, with arms close-folded on his breast,
Gazing with his eagle eyes up to the mountain's crest,
Tall and commanding is his form, and graceful is his mien;
As fair in face, as noble, has seldom here been seen.
A score or more of frontiersmen recline upon the ground,
But starting soon upon their feet, by sudden snort and bound!
A horse has sure been frightened by strange scent on the breeze,
And glances now by all are cast beneath the towering trees.
A quiet sign their leader gives, and mustangs now are brought;
And, by swift-circling lasso, a loose one fast is caught.
Then thundering round the mountain's dark adamantine side,
A hundred hideous, painted, and fierce Sioux warriors ride;
While, from their throats, the well-known and horrible death-knell,
The wild, blood-curdling war-whoop, and the fierce and fiendish yell,
Strikes the ears of all, now ready to fight, and e'en to die,
In that mount-inclosed valley, beneath that blood-red sky!
Now rings throughout the open, on all sides clear and shrill,
The dreaded battle-cry of him whom men call Buffalo Bill!
On, like a whirlwind, then they dash—the brave scouts of the plains,
Their rifle-barrels soft caressed by mustangs' flying manes!
On, like an avalanche, they sweep through the tall prairie grass;
Down, fast upon them, swooping, the dread and savage mass!
Wild yells of fierce bravado come, and taunts of deep despair;
While, through the battle-smoke there flaunts each feathered tuft of hair.
And loudly rings the war-cry of fearless Buffalo Bill;
And loudly rings the savage yells, which make the blood run chill!
The gurgling death-cry mingles with the mustang's shrillest scream,
And sound of dull and sodden falls, and bowie's brightest gleam.
At length there slowly rises the smoke from heaps of slain,
Whose wild war-cries will never more ring on the air again.
Then, panting and bespattered from the showers of foam and blood,
The scouts have once more halted 'neath the shady cottonwood.
In haste they are re-loading, and preparing for a sally,
While the scattered foe, now desperate, are yelling in the valley.
Again are heard revolvers, with their rattling, sharp report;
Again the scouts are seen to charge down on that wild cohort.
Sioux fall around, like dead reeds when fiercest northers blow,
And rapid sink in death before their hated pale-face foe!
Sad, smothered now is music from the mountain's rippling rill,
But wild hurrahs instead are heard from our brave Buffalo Bill,
Who, through the thickest carnage charged ever in the van,
And cheered faint hearts around him, since first the fight began!
Deeply demoralized, the Sioux fly fast with bated breath,
And glances cast of terror along that vale of death;
While the victors quick dismounted, and looking all around,
On their dead and mangled enemies, whose corses strewed the ground.
"I had sworn I would avenge them"—were the words of Buffalo Bill—
"The mothers and their infants they slew at Medicine Hill.
Our work is done—done nobly—I looked for that from you;
Boys, when a cause is just, you need but stand firm and true!"
A stirring life picture of a battle between the whites and Indians, showing the tactics and model of warfare of each, will be given by the skilled members of both races in Buffalo Bill's representation of scenes in "The Wild West."
The Rifle as an Aid to Civilization.
There is a trite saying that "the pen is mightier than the sword." It is an equally true one that the bullet is the pioneer of civilization, for it has gone hand in hand with the axe that cleared the forest, and with the family Bible and school book. Deadly as has been its mission in one sense, it has been merciful in another; for without the rifle ball we of America would not be to-day in the possession of a free and united country, and mighty in our strength.
And so has it been in the history of all people, from the time when David slew Goliath, down through the long line of ages, until, in modern times, science has substituted for the stone from David's sling the terrible missiles that now decide the fate of nations. It is not, therefore, so harsh an expression as it seems to be at first sight, that it is indeed the bullet which has been the forerunner of growth and development.
It is in the far West of America, however, and along our frontier, that the rifle has found its greatest use and become a part of the person and the household of the venturesome settler, the guide, the scout, and the soldier; for nowhere else in Christendom is it so much and so frequently a necessity for the preservation of life and the defence of home and property. It is here, too, among the hunters on the plains and in the Rocky Mountains, that one sees the perfection of that skill in marksmanship that has become the wonder of those who are not accustomed to the daily use of weapons. Yet if it were not possessed—if there were not the quick eye, the sure aim, coolness in the moment of extreme danger, whether threatened by man or beast—life in that section would be of little value, and a man's home anything but a safe abiding place.
There are exceptional cases of men like Buffalo Bill, Major North, and others, whose names are more or less familiar among the mighty hunters of the West, who excel in the use of rifle and pistol, and to which, time and time again, they and those around them have owed their lives. And they are the worthy successors of a long line of marksmen, whose names are also "familiar as household words." Who does not recall David Crockett and his death-dealing rifle in the Alamo? Daniel Boone, of Kentucky, and the heroic exploits that have been written concerning them in the early pages of our country's history?
It is to the end that the people of the East, or rather those who are not acquainted with the rough life of the border, and especially that portion of it in which the rifle plays so important a part, may personally witness some of the feats of Western men, that Messrs. Cody & Co. have determined to introduce in their "great realistic pictures of Western life" a series of shooting exhibitions. The manner in which buffalo are hunted, the exciting chase at close quarters, the splendidly trained horses who participate in the chase, the hunt for elk, the stealthy devices of Indians in capturing the fleet-footed animals—all these will be illustrated in a manner that has never been witnessed East of the Mississippi River.
The Clay Pigeons.
A device has been invented that is well calculated to put to a severe test the best of marksmen. It may be described as follows:—
In deference to the humanitarian sentiment, these matches are all shot at Ligowsky "clay pigeons," an ingenious mechanical contrivance that furnishes an exact imitation of the bird's flight, and produces all the exciting and pleasurable sensation induced by fine workmanship when live birds are used. Ladies and children can, therefore, witness and enjoy this unique exhibition with no violence to the feelings, while the expert and experienced sportsman can still appreciate the excellence of the shooting, the clay pigeons heightening rather than diminishing the sport.
The pigeons are made of red clay, in the shape of a saucer. They measure four inches in diameter, and are a trifle over an inch in depth. They are very thin and light. Each of them has a flat handle of iron at its side about an inch long. The traps from which they are thrown give every variety and eccentricity of direction to the pigeons projected from them. They are made of iron, and consist of an arm revolved by a spring around a short upright column. At the end of the arm is an apparatus that holds the handle
of the pigeon. The trap is set by forcing back the arm and securing it by a drop-catch. When the line attached to the catch is pulled the arm is released, and the spring that works it hurls the pigeon into the air. A joint in the middle of the supporting column enables the trap to be so set that it will throw the pigeon to any desired altitude within the possibilities of the spring. As they are projected sidewise, with the concave side down, their form enables them to float through the air for a distance and with a rapidity that the balls do not attain to. They can be made to describe a long and low or a short and high flight, and as their course is affected by a breeze or sudden gust of wind, as well as by the manner in which the trap is set, a shooter can never anticipate what direction any given pigeon will take. The Ligowsky Clay Pigeons were adopted by the National Gun Association, at the Convention at New Orleans.
[drawing]
THE BUFFALO.
The Buffalo is the true bison of the ancients. It is distinguished by an elevated stature, measuring six to seven feet at the shoulders and ten to twelve feet from nose to tail. Many there are under the impression that the buffalo was never an inhabitant of any country save ours. Their bones have been discovered in the superficial strata of temperate Europe; they were common in Germany in the eighth century. Primitive man in America found this animal his principal means of subsistence, while to pioneers, hunters, emigrants, settlers, and railroad builders this fast- disappearing monarch of the plains was invaluable. Messrs. Cody & Co. have a herd of healthy specimens of this hardy bovine in connection with their instructive exhibition, "The Wild West."
Cody's Famous Ride, 355 Miles in 58 Hours, through a Hostile Country.
In the spring of 1868, at the outbreak of the violent Indian war, General Sheridan, from his headquarters at Hays City, dispatched Cody as guide and scout to Capt. Parker at Fort Larned. Several bands of Comanches and Kiowas were in the vicinity, and Buffalo Bill, after guiding Gen. Hazen and an escort of twenty men to Fort Sarah, thirty miles distant, started to return to Larned alone. At Pawnee Rock, about half way, he found himself suddenly surrounded by forty warriors. By professions of friendship and warm greeting of "How? how!" Bill saw he could alone depend on cunning and strategy to escape. Being taken before Santanta, whom Bill knew was expecting a short time before a large herd of cattle
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which had been promised by Gen. Hazen, he boldly complained to the wily chief of his treatment, and informed him that he had been ordered to find him and deliver "a big heap lot who-haws." The cupidity of old Santanta enabled Bill to regain his arms and made for the purpose. Although declining an escort, he was followed, much to his alarm, by a dozen well-mounted red-skins. Keeping up "a heap of thinking," Cody at last reached a depression that hid him from view, and succeeded, by putting the mule at his highest speed, in getting fully a mile in advance before the trailers discovered his object. The result and the closely following incidents of the "the ride" are thus related in J. W. Buell's authenticated "History of the Heroes of the Plains" (page 302):—
Upon seeing the fleeing scout there were no further grounds for suspecting his motives, so the Indians, who were mounted on excellent ponies, dashed after him as though they were impelled by a promise of all the whisky and bacon in the Big Father's commissary for his scalp. Bill was trying to save his hair, and the Indians were equally anxious to secure it, so that the ride prompted by these diametrically opposed motives was as furious as Tam O'Shanter's. After running over about three miles of ground Bill turned his head only to be horrified by the sight of his pursuers gaining rapidly on him. He now sank the spurs a little deeper into his mule, let out another inch of the reins and succeeded in increasing the speed of his animal, which appeared to be sailing under a second wind.
It was thus the chase continued to Ash Grove, four miles from Fort Larned, at which point Bill was less than half a mile ahead of the Indians, who were trying to make line shots with him and his mule as the target. Reaching Pawnee Fork he dashed into that stream, and as he gained the opposite shore and was rounding a thick clump of trees he was rejoiced to meet Denver Jim, a prominent scout, in company with a private soldier, driving a wagon toward the post.
A moment spent in explanation determined the three men upon an ambush. Accordingly, the wagon was hastily driven into the woods, and posting themselves at an advantageous point they awaited the appearance of the red-skinned pursuers. "Look out!" said Bill, "here they come, right over my trail." True enough, the twelve painted warriors rode swiftly around the clump of brush, and the next instant there was a discharge of shots from the ambush which sent two Indians sprawling on the ground, where they kicked out there miserable existence. The others saw the danger of their position, and making a big circle, rode rapidly back toward their war party.
When the three men reached Larned, Buffalo Bill and Denver Jim each displayed an Indian scalp as trophies of a successful ambush, and at the same time apprised Capt. Parker of the hostile character of Santanta and his tribe.
On the following day about eight hundred warriors appeared before the fort and threatened to storm it, but being met with a determined front they circled around the post several times, keeping the soldiers inside until their village could move off. Considerable fear was entertained at the fort, owing to the great number of hostile Indians who practically invested it, and it was deemed by Capt. Parker as of the utmost importance to send dispatches to Gen. Sheridan, informing him of the situation. Fort Hays was sixty-five miles distant from Fort Larned and as the country was fairly swarming with the worst kind of "bad" Indians, Capt. Parker tried in vain to find some one who would carry the dispatches, until the request was made to Buffalo Bill. This expedition was not within Bill's line of duty, and presented dangers that would have caused the boldest man to hesitate; but finding all the couriers absolutely refusing to perform the necessary service, he agreed to deliver the message, provided he could select the horse that he wanted to ride. Of course this requirement was readily assented to, and at ten o'clock at night, during a terrible storm, the brave scout set out, knowing that he had to run a very gauntlet of hostiles, who would make many sacrifices if by so doing they could lift his coveted scalp.
The profound darkness of the night afforded him some security from surprise, but his fears of riding into an Indian camp were realized when he reached Walnut Creek. A barking dog was the first intimation of his position, but this was speedily followed by several Indians pursuing him, being directed by the sounds of his horse's feet. By hard riding and good dodging, however, he eluded these, and meeting with no further mishap than being thrown over his horse's head by reason of the animal suddenly stepping into a gopher hole, he reached Fort Hays shortly after daylight and delivered the dispatches he carried before Gen. Sheridan had arisen from bed.
After delivering the message Bill went over to Hays City, where he was well acquainted, and after taking some refreshments lay down and slept for two hours. Thinking then that Gen. Sheridan might want to ask him some questions regarding the condition of affairs at Larned, he returned to the fort and reported to him. He was somewhat astonished to find that Gen. Sheridan was as anxious to send a messenger to Fort Dodge, ninety-five miles distant, as Capt. Parker had been to communicate with his superior officer at Fort Hays, and more surprised was he to find that of the numerous couriers and scouts at the fort not one could be induced to carry the General's dispatch, though the sum of five hundred dollars was offered for the service. Seeing the quandary in which Gen. Sheridan was placed, Bill addressed that official and said:
"Well, General, I'll go over to the hotel and take a little more rest, and if by four o'clock you have not secured some one to carry your dispatches I will undertake to do it."
The General replied: "I don't like to ask so much of you, for I know you are tired, but the matter is of great importance and some one must perform the trip. I'll give you a fresh horse and the best at the fort, if you'll undertake it."
"All right, General, I'll be ready at four o'clock," replied Bill, and then he went over to the hotel, but meeting with many friends, and the "irrigating" being good, he obtained only the rest that gay companionship affords. At the appointed time Bill was ready, and receiving the dispatches at the hands of Gen. Sheridan he mounted his horse and rode away for Fort Dodge. After his departure there was much debate among the scouts who bade him good-bye respecting the probability of his getting through, for the Indians were thick along the whole route, and only a few days before had killed three couriers and several settlers. Bill continued his ride all night, meeting with no interruption, and by daylight next morning he had reached Saw-Log Crossing, on Pawnee Fork, which was seventy-five miles from Fort Hays. A company of colored cavalry under Major Cox was stationed here, and it being on the direct route to Fort Dodge, Bill carried a letter with him from Gen. Sheridan requesting Major Cox to furnish him with a fresh horse upon his arrival there. This the Major did, so after partaking of a good breakfast, Bill took his remount and continued on to Dodge, which point he gained at ten o'clock in the morning, making the ninety-five miles in just eighteen hours from the time of starting.
The commanding officer at Fort Dodge, after receiving the dispatches, remarked:
"I am very glad to see you, Cody, and I'll tell you that the trip just made is one of the most fortunate I know of. It is almost a miracle how you got through without having your body filled as full of holes as a pepper-box. The Indians are swarming all around within fifty miles of here, and to leave camp voluntarily is almost equal to committing suicide. I have been wanting to send a message to Fort Larned for several days, but the trip is so dangerous that I can't find any one who will risk it, and I wouldn't blame the bravest man for refusing."
"I don't think it would be policy for you to make the trip now, especially since you have done so much hard riding already. Besides, the best mount I could give you would be a government mule."
"All right, Major, I don't want the best; second best is good enough for me, so trot out your mule. I'll take a little nap, and in the meantime have your hostler slick up the mule so that he can slide through with me like a greased thunderbolt should the reds jump us."
Bill then went off, and after "liquidating" in true Western style, lay down in the Major's quarters, where he slept soundly until nearly five o'clock in the evening, when, having replenished his canteen, he mounted the patient mule and set out for Fort Larned, which was sixty-five miles east of Fort Dodge.
After proceeding as far as Coon Creek, which was nearly half way, Bill dismounted for the purpose of getting a drink of water. While stooping down the mule got frightened at something and jerked loose, nor did the stupid animal stop, but followed the trail, keeping ahead of the weary and chagrined scout for thirty-five miles. Half a mile from the Fort Bill got within rifle range of his exasperating steed and gave him a furlough to the eternal grazing grounds.
After reaching Larned—carrying the bridle and saddle himself—Buffalo Bill spent several hours in refreshing sleep, and when he awakened he found Gen. Hazen trying to induce some of the couriers to take his dispatches to Gen. Sheridan, at Fort Hays. Having been warmly and very justly praised for the long and perilous sides he had just completed, Bill again proffered his services to perform the trip. At first Gen, Hazen refused to despatch him on the mission, saying: "This is like riding a free horse to death; you have already ridden enough to kill an ordinary man, and I don't think it would be treating you properly to permit you to make this additional journey."
But when evening came and no other volunteer could be engaged, as a matter of last resort Bill was given a good horse and the dispatches entrusted to him for transmission. It was after nightfall when he started on this last trip, and by daylight the next morning he was in Fort Hays, where he delivered the dispatches. Gen. Sheridan was profoundly astonished to see Bill before him again in so short a time, and after being informed of his wonderful riding during the three days, the General pronounced it a feat that was never equaled, and even now Gen. Sheridan maintains that no other man could accomplish the same distance under similar circumstances. To this day the rides here described stand on record as the most remarkable ever made. They aggregated three hundred and fifty-five miles in fifty-eight riding hours, or an average of more than six miles an hour including an enforced walk of thirty-five miles. When it is considered that all this distance was made in the night time and through a country full of hostile Indians, without a road to follow or a bridge to cross the streams, the feat appears too incredulous for belief were it not for the most indisputable evidence, easily attainable, which makes disbelief impossible.
Gen. Sheridan was so favorably impressed with the self-sacrificing spirit and marvelous endurance of Buffalo Bill, and being already acquainted with his reputation as a brave man, that he called the noted scout to his headquarters directly after receiving Major Hazen's dispatches, and said:
"Cody, I have ordered the Fifth Cavalry to proceed against the Dog Soldier Indians who are now terrorizing the Republican River district, and as the campaign will be a very important one I want a first-class man to guide the expedition. I have therefore decided to appoint you guide and also Chief of scouts of the command."
ON A MUSTANG.
The majority of Texas ponies buck, or pitch, as it is sometimes termed, whenever circumstances seem to demand an exhibition of this facetious break, or the condition of things seems to justify the sportive caprice. In fact, some ponies will buck for hours, only stopping to get breath for a fresh start. This kind is recommended for the use of dyspeptics and invalids suffering from torpidity of liver. A pitching mustang, when working on full time and strictly devoting his attention to business, is the most moving sight I ever beheld. His spine seems to be of whalebone, and he appears to possess all the elements of a steamboat explosion, a high-pressure pile-driver, an earthquake, in addition to the enthusiasm of a county convention. We were glad to find that ours were not bucking ponies, and we congratulated each other on the fortunate circumstance. Of course, as we argued, if there had been any buck in them it would have developed itself at an early stage in the journey. Understand, we were not afraid. I named my pony "Deliberation"; the name seemed so appropriate—no pomp or circumstance about him—and he was so gentle and tranquil; nothing seemed to flurry him. You could throw the reins on his neck and strike a match on the pommel of the saddle. I say you could do this, but the after fate of that match would be of no moment to you; you would be otherwise engaged. I regret to say that I tried the experiment. I lighted a match—at least I think I did—but there was a haziness about the subsequent proceedings that
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[drawing]
prevents accuracy of statement. I distinctly remember striking the match. At that moment, however, I was fluently propelled upwards; a tornado caught me — whirled me around eleven times. As I came down a pile-driver drove me in the stomach, and I came to earth with that sensation (only intensified) that a man feels who sits down in what he imagines to be a high chair, and which he afterwards thinks was about seven feet lower than his estimate. I saw whole milky ways of constellations that never before existed. I realised for the first time the dense solidity of the earth, and made the astonishing discovery that under certain circumstances our planet, instead of revolving on its own axis once in every twenty-four hours, can rush around at the rate of at least one hundred revolutions a minute. There is not in the whole range of languages, ancient, modern, or profane, terms sufficiently expressive to describe the state of my feelings, the amount of mud on my person, or the chaotic condition of my brain. As soon as the earth settled down to the usual speed of her diurnal motion, I came to the conclusion that it was not always best to judge by appearances. I had been hasty in bestowing a distinctive cognomen on my erratic steed. He had no more deliberation in him than has a fugitive flea under the searching scrutiny of a determined woman. I re-named him. This time I called him "Delay," because delay is—but it does not matter.
Come to think of it since, the reason was weak. If, however, the reader should pierce the intricate labyrinth of mental ingenuity that constitutes the conundrum, I trust he will be charitable enough to consider the circumstances connected with it perpetration.
There are times that try men's souls. There are seasons in every Christian's life when he wishes he was not a church member for just about five minutes, that he might have a chance to do justice to the surroundings. Such to me was the trying moment when I gathered my bruised remains together, and, looking around, saw the festive "Delay" quietly eating grass, while a little distance off sat the doctor on his pony, complacently whistling, "Earth hath no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal."
EVERY INCH A FRONTIERSMAN.
The Supremacy of Buffalo Bill in Sport and in Work.
The canvas city of the plains and its motley inhabitants of Indians, scouts, greasers, and Castilians now occupying the Park is quite a study to the visitor, especially so if the privilege be enjoyed during the hours when, in the abandon of everyday life, when the crowd of auditors have not assembled, and, unrestricted, the little community revels in its usual Western modes of amusement and social intercourse. Then it is the favourite leader, known to romance as the knight of the plains—and to his familiars by even stronger and more enduring title—"Buffalo Bill," is seen at his best. Raised on the frontier, he has passed through every grade and won fame in each line, while to be proficient in one brings celebrity sufficient to gratify most ambitions. Thus it is he holds supremacy in fact, and receives from his associates an adoration surpassing even his public popularity. Visitors to the camp early the other morning found him joining in every frolic, game, and contest with each and all, and generally excelling. In shooting, in running, in jumping, in trials of strength, feats of agility, horsemanship, handling the ribbons behind four or six, riding the vicious, manipulating the revolver, etc., tackling each specialist, and coming to the front with a generous modesty admired by the defeated.
On Monday, before the auditors, when the big bull Buffalo threatened to make things more lively than was desirable, and when one of the most expert ropists had missed at a very necessary moment, up dashed Cody, and, with one of those extraordinary efforts that stirring emergency necessitates, he made an "underthrow," with the lasso, and, in the nick of time, caught the right hind ankle of the infuriated beast, throwing him, and gaining a salvo of plaudits from the audience, and a ringing cheer from Mexicans, Indians, and cowboys. In the camp, when the champion handler of the bull-whackers' whip, Old Nelson, finished a trial, Bill took the same and made the welkin ring as if a Gatling gun was working, and as he finished Sergeant John Ryan, formerly of the 7th U.S. Cavalry, under Col. Custer, who had often followed him on the trail of the Sioux, exclaimed: "Didn't I tell you he was every inch a Prairie-man?"—Boston Herald.
Genl. Dave Cook, of Denver, Col., says:—"As one who has travelled in the States and territories from which he has brought so many representatives; as one who has been with the Indians in their homes in the wilderness; as one who has ridden horses and with the cowboys of Texas helped to herd and to lasso wild cattle; as one who has been stopped and made to dismount from a Wild West stage coach, we can say that this bringing thousands of miles of the West to our doors is the grandest realism ever presented. We should call it Cody's Wild West Realism.
"It is not a show. It is a resurrection, or rather an importation of the hottest features of wild Western life and pioneer incidents to the East, that men, women and children may see, realise, understand and forever remember what the Western pioneers met, encountered, and overcame. We see pictures of Washington at Valley Forge, and crossing the Delaware. Pictures of the landing of Columbus, the discovery of the Mississippi by De Soto, pictures of the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers, the battle of Bunker Hill, surrender of Cornwallis, etc., etc. They represent on canvas or plate what once transpired as great historical incidents. Here we have not pictures, but actual, living, powerful, very much alive and in earnest delegates from the West, all of whom have most effectively participated in what they here reproduce as a most absorbing entertainment.
"Indeed, New York has never before seen so remarkable, enjoyable, and educational an exhibition as this, to the credit of all concerned be it said. It brings the West to the East, and brings its living, everyday pictures just as they are, with the real heroes and heroines of the times that try the souls of men, and that are fast passing away.
"Men travel thousands of miles to see even one of these incidents in the West—here for two hours they are passing in review with rapidity and remarkable realistic intensity.
"Those who fail to witness the exhibition and to study the reserved forces of its great projector, will lose far more than they can gain by one or more trips West or a hundred trips to Europe."
CODY'S WONDERFUL PONY-EXPRESS RIDE.
While riding Pony-Express between Red Buttes and Three Crossings, a distance of seventy-six miles, Cody had a most dangerous, long, and lonely route, including the perilous crossing of the North Platte river, one half-mile wide, and, though generally shallow, in some places twelve feet deep; often much swollen and turbulent. An average of fifteen miles an hour had to be made, including changes of horses, detours for safety and time for meals.
Once, upon reaching Three Crossings, he found that the rider on the next division, who had a route of eighty-six miles, had been killed during the night before, and he was called on to make the extra trip until another rider could be employed. This was a request the compliance with which would involve the most taxing labours, and an endurance few persons are capable of; nevertheless young Cody was promptly on hand for the additional journey, and reached Rocky Ridge, the limit of the second route, on time. This round trip, of three hundred and twenty-four miles, was made without a stop, except for meals and change of horses, and every station on the route was entered on time, the longest and best ridden pony-express journey ever made.
["] BUCK" TAYLOR.
King of the Cow-boys.
[drawing]Wm. Levi Taylor, known to his associates as "Buck," was born at Fredericksburgh, Gillespie County, Texas, and is now about thirty years of age. Frontiersmen come from all grades of society and from all classes of people, who develop peculiarities of their early surroundings and circumstances; therefore, it is seldom the Eastern public meet face to face one so thoroughly "to the manor born," or who is so completely a typical Westerner by ancestry, birth and heritage of association as this noted herdsman, whose eminence is based on the sterling qualities that rank him as a "King of the Cow-boys." His family lived in Taos, in the Lone Star State, when tributary to Mexico; fought for its independence with Crockett and Col. Travis at the Alamo, where a grandfather and uncle fell—under Sam Houston at San Jacinto, and after success had crowned a new empire with liberty, but two male members of the family were left, "Buck's" father and a younger brother. Joining the Texas Cavalry at the outbreak
of the late war his father was killed in one of the first skirmishes, and in two years after, his mother dying, left him when about eight years old dependent upon his ranchman uncle and good luck to wrestle for existence. Texas—always famous for its immense herds of cattle roaming at will over the vast and fertile plains, was then, as now, the supply camp of the trade—gave unusual facilities; in fact, required the cultivation of sturdy qualities to follow daily a life so replete with privations, hardship and danger that it is a marvel to the luxuriously raised how a man can voluntarily assume it, much less come to actually like it to infatuation. Still this solitary life, with its excitements and adventures, has its charms for its votaries, who, often knowing of none other, never weary of its continuous duties, trials and exposures. Taylor from his childhood then knew no other ambition than to try and excel in his occupation, and inheriting a strong physique, he early became hardy and proficient in horsemanship, lassooing, and general "cow-sense." Becoming able, he soon became famous as the "boss of the outfit" on the ranges and on the trail, conducting vast herds over the "Chisholm" to the Northern markets, leading in the stampede, excelling on the round-up, and gaining such distinction as a rider and tamer of the mustang and broncho that his surname has become absolute among his confreres, and he is known from Idaho to the Rio Grande by the cognomen of "Buck," a title worthily won in a profession of great risk and danger, and which his appearance in daily public exhibitions gives a very good idea of, but when seen in the corral among herds of the obstinate equines, challenges the admiration of the spectator and the envy of his kind. His remarkable dexterity won the attention of Major North and Buffalo Bill, and they secured his services for several seasons on their ranch on the Dismal River, where his feats of strength, easily throwing a steer by the horns or tail, lassoing and tying single-handed, his mastery of wild horses, caused his engagement with the review of prairie-land, "The Wild West." Standing six feet three and half inches, with a powerful, well-proportioned frame, possessed of a strength that is marvellous, he is a fine representative of his class. Amiable as a child, "Buck's" genial qualities combined, with his well-known abilities, make him a favourite not only with his fellows, but on his first visit East last summer easily had the same position accorded him by an admiring public.
THE LIGOWSKI CLAY PIGEONS
Have been adopted as a Standard Target by the National Gun Association, an incorporated organization composed of the best sportsmen in the country. Send stamp for details to the Secretary, Box 1,292, Cincinnati, Ohio, U.S.A.
MISS ANNIE OAKLEY.
This celebrated girl-shot was born at Woodland, Darke County, Ohio, August 13, 1866. Ever since a toddling child she has had an inherent love for fire-arms and hunting, and at the age of ten she, as often as ammunition was obtainable, would smuggle her brother's musket and steal into the woods, where game, at that time, was plentiful. Naturally she was a good shot, and came home well supplied with game. At the age of twelve she was presented with a 14-gauge muzzle-loading shot- gun. With this she improved rapidly, and became such a fine shot that she rarely missed quail or pheasant; and at the age of fourteen she had paid off a mortgage on her father's homestead with money earned from the sale of game and skins, shot and trapped by herself alone. Then came a local repu- [drawing] tation, and with improved fire-arms she attracted wider notice. For the past five years she has been shooting before the public with great success; though, like the modest little girl she is, she never laid claim to being a champion, yet in 1883-4 Richard K. Fox, of New York, had so much confidence in her ability that he offered to back her against any other so-called champion. Sitting Bull, the great Indian chief, after seeing her shoot in St Paul, Minn., adopted her in the Sioux tribe, giving her the name of "Watanya Cicila," or Little Sure Shot.
The first two years before the public she devoted to rifle and pistol shooting, and there is very little in that line she has not accomplished. At Tiffin, Ohio, she once shot a ten-cent. piece held between the thumb and forefinger of an attendant, at a distance of 30 feet. In April, 1884, she attempted to beat the best record made at balls thrown in the air, using a 22-cal. rifle. The best record was 979, made by Mr. Ruth. Miss Oakley used a Stevens 22-cal. rifle, and broke 943. Her first attempt at clay pigeon and trap shooting was made about three years ago, in Cincinnati, shooting with such fine shots as Bandle, McMurchy, and other notes shots. In February, 1885, she attempted the feat of shooting at 5,000 balls in one day, loading the guns herself. In this feat she used three 16-gauge hammer guns. The balls were thrown straight away from three traps, fifteen yards rise. Out of the 5,000 shot at, she broke 4,772. On the second thousand she only missed 16, making the best 1,000 ball record—984. This feat was accomplished near Cincinnati, Ohio, in less than nine hours.
Besides the thousands of exhibitions she has given, she has shot in thirty-one matches and tournaments, winning twenty-five prizes. Her collection of medals and fire-arms, all of which have been won or presented to her, is considered the finest in America.
She has hunted in many of the game sections of America and Canada, and says, with a pardonable pride, that she has shot quail in Virginia, ducks in Illinois, prairie chickens in Kansas, and deer in northern Michigan. Her style and position at the trap is considered perfection by such critics as Budd, Stice, Erb, Bogardus, Cody, Carver, and the English champions, Graham and Price. Shooting clay pigeons she has a record of 96 out of 100. At live pigeons her best record is 23 out of 25, made in a match for $100.
That she understands how to manage a horse, the following will show: In the fall of '84 a gentleman near Greenville, Ohio, who owned a valuable but vicious and unbroken horse, told her he would give her the animal if she could ride him in less than three days; and without any assistance she broke him to saddle, and has since used him when not engaged, sometimes riding as high as fifty miles in one day. At the fair at Newton, N. J., she proved herself to be at home in the saddle by winning four out of five half-mile races, although the horse she rode was selling for third place. What makes Miss Oakley's feats more surprising is the fact that she is small in stature and weighs only 110 pounds.
BUFFALO BILL'S WILD WEST.
The attendance of visitors to this extraordinary exhibition of the realism of life on the frontier seems to increase with each day's performances. The grand stands are packed long before the hour of commencement, and the throng elsewhere on the grounds is, in its size, a spectacle of crowded humanity worthy of remembrance. There has never been in or near this city any attraction of any sort which has had, "rain or shine," such an uninterrupted succession of immense and constantly increasing audiences, and, it can be truthfully added, no attraction which in subject and in the realism of its illustrations, more deserving of patronage.
It is not a matter of wonder then, that, after witnessing Buffalo Bill's "Wild West," Mark Twain should have become "enthused," and written to the famous scout, Mr. Cody, these lines:—
[drawing]"I have now seen your 'Wild West' show two days in succession, and have enjoyed it thoroughly. It brought vividly back the breezy, wild life of the great plains and the Rocky Mountains, and stirred me like a war song. Down to its smallest details the show is genuine—cowboys, vaqueros, Indians, stage-coach, costumes and all: it is wholly free from sham and insincerity, and the effects produced upon me by its spectacles were identical with those wrought upon me a long time ago by the same spectacles on the frontier. Your pony expressman was as tremendous an interest to me yesterday as he was twenty-three years ago, when he used to come whizzing by from over the desert with his war news; and your bucking horses were even painfully real to me, as I rode one of those outrages once for nearly a quarter of a minute. It is often said on the other side of the water that none of the Exhibitions which we send to England are purely and distinctively American. If you will take the 'Wild West' show over there, you can remove that reproach."
"The Wild West," with its wonderful gathering of vaqueros, cowboys, hunters, Indians, sharpshooters, and its transcripts of real life in the far West—the robbery of the Deadwood coach—hunting the buffalo—the Indians' attack on the settler's cabin and their repulse—and a score of other illustrations—make up a panorama of events which are but pages in the history of the American frontier.
The number of visitors during the past week aggregated—according to the returns—a total of 193,960—and the present week doubtless will go beyond 200,000, in the actual estimate.
MISS LILLIAN T. SMITH,
The California Girl, and Champion Rifle Shot,
Was born at Coleville, Mono County, Cal., in the fall of 1871; is, consequently, only past her fifteenth year. Born in a country where game was plenty, and good marksmanship as highly thought of as excellence in any particular accomplishment in the older localities of our variously constituted country, her childhood was passed amid an atmosphere well calculated to develop that precocious skill that has astonished the Pacific coast, and rendered her famous throughout the land. Horsemanship there being so nearly allied to the cradle—in fact, having been often carried in babyhood on the pommel of the saddle—it is little to be wondered at that she commenced horseback-riding as soon as she could sit one, and while on foot still "a toddler," mounted she was infantile expert. At six years
[drawing]of age she had a bow-gun and could kill birds readily, and at seven expressed herself as dissatisfied with "dolls," and wanted a "little rifle." When nine years old her father bought her a Ballard rifle, twenty-two calibre, weight seven pounds (which she uses yet), with which, after a little practice and instruction, she, on her first foray, mounted on her little pony, bagged two cotton-tails, three jack-rabbits, and two quails. From this out her enthusiasm was such, that after her studies were over, she spent her leisure time with horse, dog, and gun, on the surrounding ranges hunting, and generally bringing home a plentiful supply of game. On her father accompanying her to a lagoon near the San Joaquin River in Merced County, when ducks were plentiful, he was greatly astonished by her killing forty red-heads and mallards, mostly on the wing. On another occasion, when on a camping excursion in Santa Cruz County, hearing her dog bark in in a cañon, and thinking he had "treed a squirrel, sure," she mounted her mustang, and on her return amazed the campers and surprised her mother by depositing at her feet a very large wildcat that she had shot on a limb of a high redwood tree, hitting it squarely in the heart. The admiring campers on their return proclaimed through publication her remarkable feats, and at a party given in her honour christened her the champion "California Huntress." Her fame spread throughout the "Golden State," and her father was induced to present her to the public of San Francisco, where in July, 1881, she gave seven successful receptions at Woodward gardens— her marvellous accuracy and extreme youth creating the greatest sensation, winning for her a host of admirers and many compliments from those who, before seeing, had been incredulous. After a short practice at shooting glass-balls thrown from the hand, she made a score of 323 successive shots without a miss, and out of 500 breaking 495.
Miss Lillian, owning to the opportunities in that section, has made her reputation in practical shooting, such as a Turkey shoot at Hollister, San Benito County, in the holidays of 1883, where at 150 yards she killed so many turkeys she was set back to 200 yards, but her dexterity at that distance being equally destructive, the mangers arranged with her "to drop out and give the boys a chance at the turkeys, too." Being invited to a mud-hut shoot, at 50 to 175 yards, according to the accessibility of the marshy ground, she, in one-half hour, bagged fifty, receiving a valuable prize. July 4, 1883, at Hollister, distance 30 feet, at a swinging-bell target, with a one-inch center, she scored 200 bells, with a Ballard rifle, in fifteen minutes; and on July 23rd, at Dunn's Ranch, near San Filipe, she killed six dozen doves in two hours with a rifle. October 25, 1883, at a meeting of the Colusa Gun Club she was induced to try her skill at live pigeons thrown from three plunge traps, with a 10-pound shot-gun, 10 gauge, 2 drams powder, 1/2 ounce shot, and scored ten out of twelve, resulting in the club having the manufacturers at Meriden, Conn., present her as a testimonial, a 12-gauge Parker shot-gun. This remarkable little lady has shot successfully, in tournaments with various gun clubs on the Coast, matches with such noted shots as Geo. I Kingsley, Crittenden Robinson, John Kerrigan, taking two valuable prizes, the special prize given by Philo Jacoby, President of the Schuetzen Rifle Club, San Francisco, March 15, 1885. She will appear daily with the Wild West.
"Bill Bullock,"
One of the leaders among the cow-boys, is a half-breed Sioux, and is a good combination of the best blood of that justly-famed fighting nation, allied, through Indian rites and ceremonies, with the blue blood of the East. For daring, intrepidity, and skill, he is unsurpassed, possessing the sterling qualities that cause admiration in the races, red and white.
Capt. Fred Mathews,
Who manipulates the ribbons of the Old Deadwood Coach, is a man who all his life "has been thar" on the Overland and other routes, passing through every stage, and gaining a reputation in the West second to none and equaling his old friend and compatriot, "Hank Monk."
AN INDIAN'S RELIGION.
The Indian is as religious as the most devout Christian, and lays as much stress on form as a Ritualists. He believes in two Gods, equals in wisdom and power.
[drawing]One is the Good God. His function is to aid the Indian in all his undertakings, to heap benefits upon him, to deliver his enemy into his hands, to protect him from danger, pain, privation. He directs the successful bullet, whether against an enemy or against the "beasts of the field." He provides all the good and pleasurable things in life. Warmth, food, joy, success in love, distinction in war, all come from him.
The other is the Bad God. He is always the enemy of each individual red man, and exerts to the utmost all his powers of harm against him. From him proceed all the disasters, misfortunes, privations, and discomforts of life. All pain, suffering, cold, disease, the deadly bullet, defeat, wounds, and death.
The action of these two Gods is not in any way influenced by questions of abstract right or morality as we understand them.
The Good God assists in everything he wishes or proposes to do. If it is to steal a horse or the wife of a friend, to kill another Indian, or raid a settlement, it is the Good God to whom he turns for countenance, and by his assistance accomplishes his purpose.
Every thwarted thought or desire is attributed to the influence of the Bad God.
He believes not an hour passes without a struggle between these two Gods on his personal account.
The Indian firmly believes in immortality, and life after death, but the power of these Gods does not extend to it. They influence only in this life, and the Indian's condition after death does not depend either on his own conduct while living, or on the will of either of the Gods.
All peccadilloes and crimes bring, or do not bring, their punishment in this world, and, whatever their character in life, the souls of all Indians reach, unless debarred by accident, a paradise called by them "The Happy Hunting Grounds."
[drawing]
There are two ways in which an Indian's soul can be prevented from reaching this paradise. One method is by strangulation. The Indian believes the soul escapes from the body by the mouth, which opens of itself at the moment of dissolution to allow a free passage. In case of strangulation, either by design or even accident, the soul can never escape, but remains with or hovering near the remains, even after complete decomposition.
As the soul is always conscious of its isolation and its exclusion from the joys of paradise, this death has peculiar terrors, and he infinitely prefers to suffer at the stake, with all the tortures that ingenuity can devise, than die by hanging.
The other eternal disaster is by scalping the head of the dead body. This is annihilation; the soul ceases to exist. This accounts for the eagerness of Indians to scalp all their enemies, and the care they take to avoid being scalped themselves. Not unfrequently Indians do not scalp slain enemies, believing that each person killed by them, not scalped, will be their servant in the next world. It will be found invariably that the slain foe were either very cowardly or very brave. The first he reserves to be his servant because he will have no trouble in managing him, and the last to gratify his vanity in the future state by having a servant well known as a renowned warrior in this world.
This superstition is the occasion for the display of the most heroic traits of Indian character. Reckless charges are made and desperate chances taken to carry off unscalped the body of a loved chief, a relative, or friend. Numerous instances have occurred where many were killed in vain efforts to recover and carry off unscalped the bodies of slain warriors. Let the scalp be torn off and the body becomes mere carrion, not even worthy of burial. A Homer might find many an Indian hero as worthy of immortal fame as Achilles for his efforts to save the body of his friend, and no Christian missionary ever evinced a more noble indifference to danger, than the savage Indian displays in his efforts to save his friend's soul and ensure him a transit to the "Happy Hunting Grounds."—Col. Dodge in Our Wild Indians.
[drawing]
With all the attractions in the line of amusements, there seems to be no abatement in the interest manifested by the public in the peculiarities to be found in the daily presentation of the realistic scenes of the "Wild West." Each participant has passed through, in the Far West, all the various acts which they are called upon to represent, and the public are assured that everything and person is as stated in the programme.
INDIAN NAMES OF STATES.
Massachusetts, from the Indian language, signifying the country about the great hills.
Connecticut was Mohegan, spelled originally Quon-eh-ta-cut, signifying "a long river."
Florida gets its name from Kasquas de Flores, or "Feast of the Flowers."
Alabama comes from an Indian word, signifying "the land of rest."
Mississippi derived its name from that of the great river, which is in the Natchez tongue, "The Father of Waters."
Arkansas is derived from the Kansas, "smoky waters," with the French prefix of "ark," a bow.
Tennessee is an Indian name, meaning "The river with a big bend."
Kentucky also is an Indian name, "Kin-tuk-ae," signifying "at the head of the river."
Ohio is the Shawnee name for "The beautiful river."
Michigan's name was derived from the lake, the Indian name for fish-weir or trap, which the shape of the lake suggested.
Indiana's name came from that of the Indians.
Illinois's name is derived from the Indian word "Illini (men) and the French affix "ois," making "Tribe of men."
Wisconsin's name is said to be the Indian name for a wild, rushing channel.
Missouri is also an Indian name for "muddy," having reference to the muddiness of the Missouri river.
Kansas is an Indian word for "smoky water."
Iowa signifies, in the Indian language, "The drowsy ones"; and Minnesota "A cloudy water."
"Utah Frank"
(THE GREAT INDIAN FIGHT AT HORSESHOE.)
Was born on the banks of the Missouri, and raised at Trader's Point, about eight miles below where now stands the city of Council Bluffs, at a time when the primitive state of that section was almost unmolested. He has followed "the march of empire" in its westward course, and always at the head of the column— riding pony express when a boy from Nebraska City (then the fitting-out depôt for "prairie schooner" caravans across the Great Desert) to the Otoe Agency. At the breaking out of the Pike's Peak excitement Frank endured the well-known vicissitudes attendant on a perilous journey to and return from that most disappointing of Eldorados. Fought the savages with General Sully's command, and was in the first party attacked by the Indians in the great outbreak on the South Platte, his partner being the first white man killed, and only by determined fighting and good horseflesh saved his own scalp. Drove stage on the Overland Route under Old Slade, Hi Kelly, and others, gaining a reputation for ability and courage in the most dangerous and trying times of that memorable line. Was considered a reliable train-wagon master, during which occupation he received his first idea of a locomotive on the completion of the U.P.R.R, to the Forks of the Platte and the arrival of the first "iron horse," indicating that "Othello's occupation" was gone. He started, with others, a ranch on the Horseshoe, twenty-eight miles north of Fort Laramie, where occurred the most startling experience of his life; one, the recounting of which will ever be a part of the history of the sanguinary border—in which his gallant and successful struggle against odds, while being well authenticated, will seem more like fiction than fact.
Anticipating the result, the ranch building was connected by an underground passage with a bush-covered ravine about sixty feet behind it, with a carefully concealed entrance, the ravine running down the hill to the bottom. One morning in January, 1868, a band of sixty savages where descried, who surrounded the place and demanded flour, bacon, and provisions, and captured the horses. Being sure of their fate, Frank, Marion Thornburg, John Smith, and Bill World, determined "to stand them off," and being well-armed, fought them all day successfully, killing two and wounding others, with only a slight flesh wound to Frank. At night they succeeded in setting fire to the cabin, compelling the little garrison to retreat. When all was still, the gloating victors, thinking the fire had done its work of death, approached, dancing and laughing around the blazing pile. Waiting until well bunched together, the quartet opened a fusillade from their repeating rifles with a murderous energy, born of desperation, so deadly effective and surprising, that consternation reigned supreme. Shouting, yelling, shrieking, halloing, down the hill they scrambled, rolled, or fell, while on an almost parallel line went the four avengers, re-loading as they ran. Assembling at the bottom, a hasty but noisy council was being held, at short range from the gallant four, when, at a quiet signal from Frank, five deadly volleys were poured into the crowd, which seemed doubly demoralising. In the confusion thus created, and assisted by an unusually dark night out on the level plains—spurred by a glimmer of hope, encouraged by a chance for life—sped the little party, and arrived at a ranch kept by two men named Jones and Harper. Hastily waking them, only to find their horses gone, and refreshing up, a start was made for the fort. In the morning the Indians re-appeared, and a running fight for two miles ensued, Jones and Harper both being killed, and Thornburg severely wounded. Reaching a point where a stand could be made, sand was thrown up for breast works, and the now despondent fugitives prepared to sell their lives at the highest price that total resignation to the evitable could command. All day long was one strategy after another tried, Thornburg receiving another wound, Smith a bad one in the shoulder, and World one in the arm. Jones and Harper's ranch being well stocked with provisions and whisky, created a diversion, however, and at evening the reds withdrew and held high carnival, as it was afterwards learned, resulting in a row among themselves. A cold, rainy night added to their fortunes, and wounded, foot-sore, yet thankful, they made the fort, survivors of one of the greatest fights in the annals of white and Indian warfare, and living examples of what may be accomplished by "those who never say die." The Indians accord it as the most stubborn and destructive fight they ever had, acknowledging seventeen killed outright and a great many wounded and after hostilities ceased, looked with wonder on "the heroes of the Horseshoe."
[drawing]
INDIAN BOYS' HORSE RACE.
Going to the Sweet Water mines, Frank scouted for the Second Cavalry, Major Gordon, and in '73 was on the Yellowstone with General Custer, and is known as "Utah" Frank. Being an all-round prairie man, he will be found in almost all the scenes represented in Buffalo Bill's Wild West.
JOHN NELSON—"CHA-SHA-SHA-O-PO-GE-O",
And his Indian Family.
Will be one of the objects of interest in the camp of "the Wild West." To the majority of dwellers in the realms of civilization it is hard to realise that hundreds of our own race and blood, very often intelligent and even accomplished men, gladly exchange all the comforts and the advantages of our mode of life for the privations and danger, relieved by the freedom and fascinations of the nomads of the plains. Such, however, is the fact, and many by their marrying into the tribe are adopted as members, achieve tribal honours and possess great influence for good or evil, generally becoming interpreters, through whom all Government communications pass. Among the most honoured and reliable of these in his section is John Nelson, who, by general honesty of character and energy, has gained fame and respect among whites and Indians. Being a thorough plainsman, years ago his standing as a train guide was most enviable, being sought for by all. He guided Brigham Young and the Mormons across the then "Great Desert" to their present location in Utah. He married Chief Lone Wolf's daughter of the Ogallala tribe, has six children whom he supports in comfort by hunting, being especially expert as a trapper of beaver and otter. Nelson is a representative of the best class of "Squaw Men."
[drawing]IMMENSE EXTENT OF ONLY ONE STATE — TEXAS.
A man once told me that "figures don't lie." Comparison is the only way by which we can realise quantity. From north to south, Texas measures 670 miles; from east to west, 825 miles. Inside her boundaries are 175,000,000 of acres of land, or 275,000 square miles of territory. Texas contains an area as large as France and Spain together. Take
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the States of Ohio, Maryland, and Virginia; add to them the Sates of New York, Delaware, and Pennsylvania; then, for good measure, throw in the whole of the six New-England States,—and the area of all these States combined will not equal that of the great State of Texas. It extends over ten degrees of latitude, and from the sixteenth to the thirtieth degree of longitude west from Washington. It has more than two hundred and fifty counties; some of the larger—Tom Green or Crockett, for instance—are each as large as the State of Massachusetts.
France has a population of 175 to the square mile; at that rate, Texas could support a population of 48,000,000. Great Britain has 260 inhabitants to the square mile; at that rate, Texas could support 70,000,000 people.
Within her borders can be found an immense variety of products. The soil is probably the most fertile and productive in the known world. Cotton, corn, sugar-cane, barley, and almost all the known cereals, grow side by side with the fruits of the tropics and the hardy plants of the more northern regions.
The United States are thirty-eight in number, and nine territories not yet admitted.
WHITE BEAVER.
The life of White Beaver (Dr. D. Frank Powell) bears all the colours and shades of an idyllic romance; his character stands our upon the canvas of human eccentricities in striking originality, and finds never its counterpart, save in stories of knight errantry, when hearts, names, and titles were the prizes bestowed for daring deeds evolved from generous sentiments. His has been the tenor of uneven ways, with characteristics as variable as the gifts in Pandora's box. A born plainsman, with the rough, rugged marks of wild and checkered incident, and yet a mind that feeds on fancy, builds images of refinement, and looks out through the windows of his soul upon visions of purity and fields elysian. A reckless adventurer on the boundless prairies, and yet in elegant society as amiable as a school-girl in the ballroom; evidencing the polish of an aristocrat, and a cultured mind that shines with vigorous lustre where learning displays itself. A friend to be valued most in driest extremity, and an enemy with implacable, insatiable, and revengeful animosities. In short, he is a singular combination of opposites, and yet the good in him so predominates over his passions that no one has more valuable friendships and associations then these strange complexities attract to him. He is an ideal hero, the image which rises before the ecstatic vision of a romancer, and he impresses himself upon the millions who know his reputation as a brave and chivalrous gentleman.
A description of White Beaver is not difficult to give, because of his striking features; those who see him once are so impressed with his bearing that his image is never forgotten. He is almost six feet in height, of large frame, and giant muscular development; a full, round face, set off by a Grecian nose, a handsome mouth, and black eyes of penetrating brilliancy. His hair is long, and hangs over his shoulders in raven ringlets. In action he is marvellously quick, always decisive, and his endurance almost equals that of a steam engine. His appearance is that of a resolute, high-toned gentleman, conscious of his power, and yet his deference, I may say amiability, attracts everyone to him. He is, in short, one of the handsomest as well as most powerful men among the many great heroes of the plains.
In addition to his other qualifications peculiarly fitting him for a life on the plains, he is an expert pistol and rifle shot; in fact, there are perhaps not a half-dozen persons in the United State who are his superiors; his precision is not so great now as it once was, for the reason that during the past three or four years he has had but very little practice, but even now he would be regarded an expert among the most skillful. For dead-center shooting at stationary objects he never had a superior; his eyesight is more acute than an eagle's, which enables him to distinguish and hit the head of a pin ten paces distant, and this shot he can perform now nine times out of ten. Any of his office employées will hold a copper cent between their fingers and let him shoot it out at ten paces, so great is their confidence in his skill; he also shoots through finger-rings held in the same manner. One very pretty fancy shot he does is splitting a
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bullet on a knife-blade, so exactly equally dividing it that the two parts will strike in a given mark; he also suspends objects by a hair, and at ten paces cuts the hair, which of course he cannot see, but shoots by judgment. Several persons have told me that they have seen him shoot a fish-line in two while it was being dragged swiftly through the water.
White Beaver and Buffalo Bill have been bosom friends and fellow-plainsmen since boyhood. History records no love between two men greater than that of these two foster brothers.
[drawing]
THE INDIANS AT HOME.
The winter camp is regarded by the Indian himself as his true home. The excitement of war, of [h]unting, of constant movement, is over, and he is now to settle down to a period of almost complete inac- [?] on Experienced warriors have been sent to all the streams, most loved by the tribe, and to make a [?] ough examination of all the country. When all have returned a council is held. The reports of the [?] are heard, and they are closely questioned as to shelter, wood, water, and grass or cotton-wood for [?] nies. As each locality has its champions, the council sometimes debates the momentous question [?] s, once in a while, even sending other warriors to examine a favorite stream, about which, however, [?] s now a difference of opinion.
[?] s not now a question of room for a compact camp, but of the shelter furnished by the bluffs on each [?] he stream, of the amount of timber and wooded thickets along its valley, of the sufficiency of grass [?] on-wood to keep the ponies alive.
[?] hen the stream has finally been selected, all go together. There is now no sort of attempt at order. [?] es of the followers of a chief may be scattered for miles, each taking advantage of the sheltered [?] rmed by thickets or bluffs. Here a single teepe is stuck away in a little corner, so hidden that one [?] ss within a few yards without seeing it; there two or three find room and shelter, there again
bluffs, and thickets, and bend of stream all favouring, a dozen find comfortable lodgment. The great questions with each Indian are, shelter, convenience, and feed for the ponies, and these questions are paramount, through the desire to keep as near to each other as possible is apparent through all.
According, therefore, to the nature of the stream, its bluffs and thickets, and level valley, will a winter camp be compact or scattered. One winter camp of one hundred and fifty lodges will occupy scarce a mile, another winter it may be extended four, five, or even six miles along the stream. Sometimes several friendly tribes occupy the same stream, making an immense camp.
To Indians at peace, and with food in plenty, the winter camp is a scene of constant enjoyment. After the varying excitements, the successes and vicissitudes, the constant labours of many months, the prospect of the winter's peace and rest, with its home life and home pleasures, comes like a soothing balm to all.
To those of the warriors who have passed the age of passionate excitements (who have reached the "whist-age" of their English-speaking contemporaries), this season brings the full enjoyment of those pleasures and excitements yet left to them in life. Their days are spent in gambling, their long winter evenings in endless repetitions of stories of their wonderful performances in days gone by, and their nights, in the sound sweet sleep vouchsafed only to easy consciences.
The women also have a good time. No more taking down and putting up the teepe, no more packing and unpacking the ponies. To bring the wood and water, do the little cooking, to attend to the ponies and possibly to dress a few skins, is all the labour devolved upon them.
To young of both sexes, whether married or single, this season brings unending excitement and pleasure. Now is the time for dances and feasts, for visits and frolics, and merry-makings of all kinds, and for this time, the "story-teller" has prepared and rehearsed his most marvellous recitals. Above all, it is the season for love-making. "Love rules the camp," and now is woman's opportunity.
Without literature, without music or painting as arts, without further study of nature than is necessary for the safety of the needs of their daily life, with no knowledge or care for politics or finance, or the thousand questions of social or other science, that disturb and perplex the minds of civilized people, and with reasoning faculties little superior to instinct, there is among Indians no such thing as conversation as we understand it. There is plenty of talk but no interchange of ideas, no expression and comparison of views and beliefs, except on the most commonplace topics. Half a dozen old sages will be sitting around, quietly and gravely passing the pipe, and apparently engaged in important discussion. Nine times out of ten, their talk is the merest camp tattle, or about a stray horse, or sick colt, or where one killed a deer, or another saw a buffalo-track. All serious questions of war and chase are reserved for discussion in the council lodge.
During the pleasant months, he has constantly the healthy stimulus of active life; during the winter he is either in a state of lethargy, or of undue excitement. During the day, in the winter season, the men gamble or sleep, the women work or idle as suits each, but the moment it gets dark, everybody is on the "qui vive," ready for any fun that presents itself. A few beats on a tom-tom bring all the inmates of [?] neighbouring lodges, a dance or gambling bout is soon inaugurated, and oftentimes kept up until n [?] morning.
The insufficiency and uncertainty of human happiness has been the theme of eloquent writers [?] ages. Every man's happiness is lodged in his own nature, and is, to a certain extent at least, indepe [?] of his external circumstances and surroundings. These primitive people demonstrate the ge [?] correctness of this theory, for they are habitually and universally happy people. They thoroughly [?] the present, make no worry over the possibilities of the future, and "never cry over spilt milk." I [?] be argued that their apparent happiness is only insensibility, the happiness of the mere animal [?] animal desires are satisfied. It may be so. I simply state facts, others may draw conclusions. [?] Indian is proud, sensitive, quick-tempered, easily wounded, easily excited, but though utterly unfor [?] he never broods. This is the whole secret of his happiness.
In spite of the fact that the wives are mere property, the domestic life of the Indian [?]
comparison with that of average civilized communities. The husband, as a rule, is kind; ruli [?] with no harshness. The wives are generally faithful, obedient and industrious. The children are [?]
and a nuisance to all red visitors. Fortunately, the white man, the "bug-a-boo" of their baby days, is yet such an object of terror as to keep them at a respectful distance. Among themselves, the members of the family are perfectly easy and unrestrained. It is extremely rare that there is any quarrelling among the women.
There is no such thing as nervousness in either sex. Living in but the one room, they are from babyhood accustomed to what would be unbearable annoyance to whites. The head of the lodge comes back tired from a hunt, throws himself down on a bed, and goes fast to sleep, though his two or three wives chatter around and his children tumble all over him. Everybody in the lodge seems to do just as he or she pleases, and this seems no annoyance to anybody else.
Unlike her civilized sister, the Indian women, "in her hour of greatest need," does not need any one. She would be shocked at the idea of having a man doctor. In pleasant weather, the expectant mother betakes herself to the seclusion of some thicket; in winter she goes to a teepe provided in each band for the women. In a few hours she returns with the baby in its cradle on her back, and goes about her usual duties as if nothing had happened.
Preparations for war or the chase occupy such hours of the winter encampment as the noble red man can spare from gambling, love-making, and personal adornment.
Each Indian must make for himself everything which he cannot procure by barter, and the opportunities for barter of the more common necessities are very few, the Indians not having even yet conceived the idea of making any articles for sale among themselves.
The saddle requires much time and care in its construction. Some Indians can never learn to make one, consequently this is more an article of barter than anything commonly made by Indians.
No single article varies so much in make and value as the bridle. The bit is always purchased, and is of every pattern, from the plain snaffle to the complicated contrivance of the Mexicans. The bridle of one Indian may be a mere head-stall of raw-hide attached to the bit, but without frontlet or throat-latch, and with reins of the same material, the whole not worth a dollar; that of another may be so elaborated by patient labour, and so garnished with silver, as to be worth a hundred dollars.
The Southern Indians have learned from the Mexicans the art of plaiting horsehair, and much of [t]heir work is very artistic and beautiful, besides being wonderfully serviceable. A small smooth stick of [o]ne-fourth of an inch in diameter is the mould over which the hair is plaited. When finished, the stick [?] withdrawn. The hair used is previously dyed of different colours, and it is so woven as to present [p]retty patterns. The hair, not being very strong, is used for the head-stall; the reins, which require [?] rength, are plaited solid, but in the same pattern, showing both skill, taste, and fitness.
The name "lariat" (Spanish, riata) is applied by all frontiersmen and Indians to the rope or cord [?] ed for picketing or fastening their horses while grazing, and also to the thong used for catching wild [?] imals—the lasso. They are the same, with a very great difference. The lasso may be used for picket [?] se, but the rope with which a horse is ordinarily picketed would never be of use as a lasso.
[?] od riata (lasso) requires a great deal of labour and patient care. It is sometimes made of [?] ir from the manes and tails of horses, but these are not common, except where wild horses are [?] e such riata requiring the hair of not less than twenty horses. It is generally made of raw [?] ffalo or domestic cattle, freed from hair, cut into narrow strips, and plaited with infinite patience [?] so as to be perfectly round and smooth. Such a riata, though costing less money than that of [?] initely superior. It is smooth, round, heavy, runs easily and quickly to noose, and is as strong as [?]
Those tribes, as the Utes, who are unable to procure beef or buffalo skins, make beautiful [?] in strips of buckskin plaited together; but as these are used only for securing their horses [?] ally plaited flat.
[?] e these articles is all that the male Indian "finds to do" in his ordinary winter life. Without [?] without literature, without thought, how he can persuade himself to continue to exist can be [?] y on the hypothesis that he is a natural "club man," or a mere animal.
" [?] rosy morn to dewy eve" there is always work for the Indian woman. Fortunately for her, the [?] inhabitants " have as yet discovered no means of making a light sufficient to work by at [?] true they beg or buy a few candles from military posts, or traders, but these are sacredly [?] dances and grand occasions.
But slave as she is, I doubt if she could be forced to work after dark, even if she had light. Custom, which holds her in so many inexorable bonds, comes to her aid in this case. In every tribe, night is the woman's right, and no matter how urgent the work which occupies her during the daylight, the moment that dark comes, she bedecks herself in her best finery, and stands at the door of the lodge, her ear strained for the first beat of the tom-tom, which summons her to where she is for then nonce queen and ruler.
There was formerly one exception to this immunity from night work, but it has gone with the buffalo. At the time of the "great fall hunt," there was no rest nor excuse for her. She must work at any and all hours. If the herds were moving, the success of the hunt might depend on the rapidity with which the women performed their work on a batch of dead buffalo. These animals spoil very quickly if not disemboweled, and though the hunters tried to regulate the daily kill by the ability of the squaws to "clean up" after them, they could not, in the nature of things, always do so.
When the buffalo was dead the man's work was done. It was woman's work to skin and cut up the dead animal; and oftentimes when the men were exceptionally fortunate, the women were obliged to work hard and fast all night long before the task was finished.
The meat, cut as closely as possible from the bones, is tied up in the skin, and packed to camp on the ponies.
The skins are spread, flesh-side upward, on a level piece of ground, small slits are cut in the edges of each skin, and it is tightly stretched and fastened down by wooden pegs driven through the slits into the ground. The meat is cut into thin flakes and placed upon poles or scaffolds to dry in the sun.
All this work must be done, as it were, instantly, for if the skin is allowed to dry unstretched, it can never be made use of as a robe, and the meat spoils if not "jerked" within a few hours.
This lively work lasts but a few weeks, and is looked upon by the workers themselves pretty much in the same way as notable civilized housewives look upon the early house-cleaning, very disagreeable, but very enjoyable. The real work begins when, the hunt being over, the band has gone into winter quarters, for then must the women begin and utilize "the crop."
Some of the thickest bull's hides are placed to soak in water, in which is mixed wood ashes, or some natural alkali. This takes the hair off. This skin is then cut into the required shape, and stretched on a form, on which it is allowed to dry, when it not only retains its shape, but becomes almost as hard as iron. These boxes are of various shapes and sizes, some made like huge pocket-books, others like trunks. All are called "parfleche."
As soon as these parfleches or trunks are ready for use, the now thoroughly dry meat is pounded to powder between two stones. About two inches of this powdered meat is placed in the bottom of a parfleche, and melted fat is lightly poured over it. Then another layer of meat is served in the same way, and so until the trunk is full. It is kept hot until the entire mass is thoroughly saturated. When cold, the parfleches are closed and tightly tied up. The contents, so prepared, will keep in good condition for several years. Probably the best feature of the process is that nothing is lost, the flesh of old and [?] animals being, after this treatment, so nearly as good as that of young that few persons can tell the [?] ence. This is the true Indian bread, and is used as bread when they have fresh meat. Boiled, it [?] soup very nutritious. So long as the Indian has this dried meat and pemmican he is entirely indep [?] of all other food. Of late years, all the beef issued to the Indians on reservations, and not nee [?] immediate consumption, is treated in this way.
The dressing of skins is the next work. The thickest hides are put in soak of alkali, for mater [?] making shields, saddles, riatas, etc. Hides for making or repairing lodges are treated in the sa [?] but, after the hair has been removed, they are reduced in thickness, made pliable, and most fre [?] soaked.
Deer, antelope, and other thin skins are beautifully prepared for clothing, the hair bein [?] removed. Some of these skins are so worked down that they are almost as thin and white as cot [?]
But the crowning process is the preparation of a buffalo robe. The skin of even the you [?] fattest cow is, in its natural condition, much too thick for use, being unwieldy and lacking pliabili [?] thickness must be reduced at least one-half, and the skin at the same time made soft and pliabl [?] the stretched skin has become dry and hard from the action of the sun, the woman goes to wo [?]
with a small implement, shaped somewhat like a carpenter's adze. It has a short handle of wood or elk-horn, tied on with raw hide, and is used with one hand. These tools are heir-looms in families, and greatly prized. It is exceedingly difficult to obtain one, especially one with an elk-horn handle, the Indians valuing them above price. With this tool the woman chips at the hardened skin, cutting off a thin shaving at every blow. The skill in the whole process consists in so directing and tempering the blows as to cut the skin, yet not cut too deep, and in finally obtaining a uniform thickness and perfectly smooth and even inner surface. To render the skin soft and pliable, the chipping is stopped every little while, and the chipped surface smeared with brains of buffalo, which are thoroughly rubbed in with a smooth stone.
When very great care and delicacy are required, the skin is stretched vertically on a frame of poles. It is claimed that the chipping process can be much more perfectly performed on a skin stretched in this way than on one stretched on the uneven and unyielding ground, but the latter is used for all common robes, because it is the easiest.
When the thinning and softening process is completed, the robe is taken out of its frame, trimmed, and sometimes smoked. It is now ready for use. It is a long and tedious process, and no one but an Indian would go through it.
But all this, though harder work, is the mere commencement of the long and patient labour which the loving wife bestows on the robe which the husband is to use on dress occasions. The whole inner surface is frequently covered with designs beautifully worked with porcupine quills, or grasses dyed in various colors. Sometimes the embellishments are paintings. Many elegant robes have taken a year to finish.
Every animal brought into the camp brings work for the squaw. The buck comes in with a deer and drops it at the door. The squaw skins it, cuts up and preserves the meat, dresses the skin and fashions it into garments for some member of the family. Until within a very few years the needle was a piece of sharpened bone, the thread a fibre of sinew. These are yet used in the ornamentation of robes, but almost all the ordinary sewing is done with civilized appliances.
All Indians are excessively fond of bead-work, and not only the clothing, moccasins, gun-covers, quivers, knife-sheaths and tobacco pouches, but every little bag or ornament is covered with this work. Many of the designs are pretty and artistic. In stringing the beads for this work an ordinary needle is used, but in every case, except for articles made for sale, the thread used is sinew.
Only a few years ago the foregoing description of the ordinary employments of Indians was true to [th]e letter for almost every tribe west of the Missouri and east of the Rocky Mountains. It is yet true [?] r most of them, but some few have taken, within these few years, long steps on the "white man's road," [?] d the occupations of both men and women of those tribes will not conform to this description.
The life in the winter encampment has scarcely been changed in any particular, but with the earliest [?] ing come evidences of activity, a desire to get away, not attributable, as in the "good old time," to [?] s of forays for scalps and plunder, but to the desire of each head of a lodge or band to reach before [?] else does the particular spot on which he has fixed for his location for the summer. No sooner [?] reached it than all hands, men, women and children, fall to work as if the whole thing were a [?] ul frolic.
[?] last five years, more than any twenty preceding them, have convinced the wild Indians of the [?] lity of their warfare against the United States Government. One and all, they are thoroughly [?] and their contests in the future will be acts of predatory parties (for which the Indians at [?] no more responsible than is the Government of the United States for the acts of highwaymen [?] lack Hills, or train-robbers in Missouri), or a deliberate determination of the bands and tribes [?] ting rather than by the slow torture of starvation to which the Government condemns them.
[?] e buffalo is gone, so also nearly all the other large game on which the Indians depended for food. [?] onfined to comparatively restricted reservations, and completely surrounded by whites. They [?] erfectly aware of the stringency of their situation than any white man can possibly be, for they [?] s pressure.
[?] o chance of success in war, with no possibility of providing food for themselves, they thoroughly [?] that their only hope for the future is in Government aid, grazing cattle, and tilling the soil.
They do not like it, of course; it would be unnatural if they did. They accept it as the dire alternative against starvation.
Does anyone labour for the sake of labour? A man who spaded up a field simply to give himself labour would be considered a fit subject for the lunatic asylum.
Labour is the curse on Adam, and, however necessary and ennobling, is not an end but a means. We labour for money, for ambition, for health, for anything except for labour itself.
Basing arguments on the Indian contempt for work, many men in and out of Congress talk eloquent nonsense of the impossibility of ever bringing him to agricultural pursuits. The average Indian has no more hatred of labour, as such, than the average white man. Neither will labour unless an object is to be attained. Both will labor rather than starve. Heretofore the Indian could comfortably support himself in his usual and preferred life, without labor; and there being no other incentive, he would have only proved himself an idiot, had he worked without an object.
But now, with the abundant acres of land that his white conquerors, with great justice, have allotted to him in the shape of reservation, with no opportunity to think of the excitement, honour and glory of battle, his life is changed. He now finds that fences are to be made, ground broken up, seed planted, and the peerless warrior, with "an eye like an eagle," whose name a few short years ago was a terror and whose swoop was destruction, must learn to handle the plough, and follow in fact, what he has often claimed in desire and spirit to follow, "the white man's road."
INDIAN'S NAMES.
While the Indian has very little idea of the origin of Creation, he has traditions as regards the origin of families. Some believe that people are the result of intercourse of some God, or Spirit, with animals, birds, fish or reptile, and the representation of that bird or reptile becomes the "coat of arms" of the family. The skin is carefully stuffed and ornamented, tied to the staff and greatly respected, sometimes being put up in front of the door or planted on the top of a pole on the grave of the head of the family when he dies.
This symbol of honour and ancestry is used by him as a signature. The Indian boy may be named by the family or have a nickname from his associates, and when he grows up to be a warrior, he then, as it were, is baptized, and has the right to change his name according to his success in war or chase. The name taken generally represents some event in which he has taken a prominent part, some exploit that he had accomplished, some animal he had killed in a chase in which he was pre-eminently successful.
Thus a warrior who, brought to bay, has beaten off his enemies, names himself the "Standing Bull"; another who makes a dash on a camp or village, and carries off a woman or child, calls himself the "Eagle"; yet another, who goes off alone, and prowling about the enemy's camp, returns with stories o [?] evidence of successful rapine, names himself "Lone Wolf." The paint used on all these expeditions ha [?] more or less potent influence on the "medicine," and he does not forget its efficacy, consequently n [?] names indicate not only the action, but the colour of his paint. The most common names, there [?] among Indians, are those indicating some animals or material object as a sort of surname, while the [?] with which he has bedecked himself furnishes the first, or what we would call the Christian na [?] "Yellow Bear," "White Eagle," "Black Beaver," "Red Dog," etc., etc.
But these changes of name, though gratifying to his own vanity, are not always accepted [?] companions or the tribe generally. Even the most renowned warriors cannot always control the dispos [?] ridicule or nickname, which the Indians possess in a remarkable degree, and however he may name h [?] he is likely to be addressed, known, and spoken of by the people of the tribe by an entirely different n [?]
Any personal defect, deformity of character, or casual incident furnishing ground for a good [?] eagerly seized upon as a fit name. "Powder Face," the war chief of the Arrapahoes, has won, [?] fought combats and desperate ventures, the right to adopt a dozen names, yet he is known to al [?] tribes, and to the whites, by the title which was given him from having his face badly burned by an e [?] of powder when he was a young man. "Man-afraid-of-his-horses," one of the greatest warriors in [?] history, before "Red Cloud" or Sitting Bull," received, it is said, his name from having, on the [?] of an attack on his camp by hostile Indians, saved his horses while unfortunately his family fell [?] hands of the enemy.—GEN. DODGE, "Thirty Years among the Indians."
[drawing]
[?] a JOHN (J. M. BURKE), BRONCHO BILL (Interpreter), RED SHIRT (Sioux Chief), JULIA NELSON (Sioux Girl).
Shakespeare on the Horse.
Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,
And now his woven girths he breaks asunder;
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds,
Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven's thunder;
The iron bit he crushes 'tween his teeth,
Controlling what he was controlled with.
His ears up-pricked, his braided hanging mane
Upon his compassed crest now stand on end;
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again
As from a furnace, vapors doth he send;
His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire,
Shows his hot courage and his desire.
Sometimes he trots, as if he told the steps
With gentle majesty and modest pride;
Anon he rears upright, curvets, and leaps,
As who should say, Lo! thus my strength is tried;
And this I do to captivate the eye
Of the fair breeder that is standing by.
What recketh he his rider's angry stir,
His flattering holla, or his "Stand, I say"?
What cares he now for curb of pricking spur,
For rich caparisons, or trapping gay?
He sees his love, and nothing else he sees,
Nor nothing else with his proud sight agrees.
Look, when a painter would surpass the life
In limning out a well-proportioned steed,
His art with nature's workmanship at strife,
As if the dead the living should exceed;
So did this horse exceed a common one,
In shape, in color, courage, pace, and bone.
Round hoof'd, short jointed, fetlocks shag and long,
Broad breast, full eye, small head, and nostrils wide,
High crest, short ears, straight legs, and passing strong,
Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide.
Look, what a horse should have he did not lack,
Save a proud rider on so proud a back.
[drawing]
Title: 1887 Buffalo Bill's Wild West
Publisher: Cody & Salsbury
Source: McCracken Research Library, Buffalo Bill Center of the West, MS6.1898, William F. Cody Collection
Date: 1887
People: Augur, Christopher Columbus, 1821-1898 Duncan, Thomas Fry, James B. (James Barnet), 1827-1894 Richmond, Frank, -1890
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