The Life of Buffalo Bill William F. Cody (best ereader for academics .txt) 📖

o’clock was on the road to Fort Hays, which was sixty-five miles distant across the country. The scouts had all bidden me a hearty goodbye, and wished me success, not knowing when, if ever, they would again gaze upon “my warlike form,” as the poet would say.

It was dark as pitch, but this I rather liked, as there was little probability of any of the redskins seeing me unless I stumbled upon them accidentally. My greatest danger was that my horse might run into a hole and fall down, and in this way get away from me. To avoid any such accident, I tied one end of my rawhide lariat to the bridle and the other end to my belt. I didn’t propose to be left on foot, alone out on the prairie.

It was, indeed, a wise precaution that I had taken, for within the next three miles the horse, sure enough, stepped into a prairie-dog’s hole, and down he went, throwing me clear over his head. Springing to his feet, before I could catch hold of the bridle, he galloped away into the darkness; but when he reached the full length of the lariat, he found that he was picketed to Bison William. I brought him up standing, and after finding my gun, which had dropped to the ground, I went up to him and in a moment was in the saddle again, and went on my way rejoicing keeping straight on my course until I came to the ravines leading into Walnut Creek, twenty-five miles from Fort Larned, where the country became rougher, requiring me to travel slower and more carefully, as I feared the horse might fall over the bank, it being difficult to see anything five feet ahead. As a good horse is not very apt to jump over a bank, if left to guide himself, I let mine pick his own way. I was now proceeding as quietly as possible, for I was in the vicinity of a band of Indians who had recently camped in that locality. I thought that I had passed somewhat above the spot, having made a little circuit to the west with that intention; but as bad luck would have it this time, when I came up near the creek I suddenly rode in among a herd of horses. The animals became frightened and ran off in every direction.

I knew at once that I was among Indian horses, and had walked into the wrong pew; so without waiting to apologize, I backed out as quickly as possible. At this moment a dog, not fifty yards away, set up a howl, and then I heard some Indians engaged in conversation;⁠—they were guarding the horses, and had been sleeping. Hearing my horse’s retreating footsteps toward the hills, and thus becoming aware that there had been an enemy in their camp, they mounted their steeds and started for me.

I urged my horse to his full speed, taking the chances of his falling into holes, and guided him up the creek bottom. The Indians followed me as fast as they could by the noise I made, but I soon distanced them; and then crossed the creek.

When I had traveled several miles in a straight course, as I supposed, I took out my compass and by the light of a match saw that I was bearing two points to the east of north. At once changing my course to the direct route, I pushed rapidly on through the darkness towards Smoky Hill River. At about three o’clock in the morning I began traveling more cautiously, as I was afraid of running into another band of Indians. Occasionally I scared up a herd of buffaloes or antelopes, or coyotes, or deer, which would frighten my horse for a moment, but with the exception of these slight alarms I got along all right.

After crossing Smoky Hill River, I felt comparatively safe as this was the last stream I had to cross. Riding on to the northward I struck the old Santa Fe trail, ten miles from Fort Hays, just at break of day.

My horse did not seem much fatigued, and being anxious to make good time and get as near the post as possible before it was fairly daylight as there might be bands of Indians camped along Big Creek, I urged him forward as fast as he could go. As I had not “lost” any Indians, I was not now anxious to make their acquaintance, and shortly after reveille rode into the post. I proceeded directly to General Sheridan’s headquarters, and, was met at the door, by Colonel Moore, aide-de-camp on General Sheridan’s staff who asked me on what business I had come.

“I have dispatches for General Sheridan, and my instructions from Captain Parker, commanding Fort Larned, are that they shall be delivered to the General as soon as possible,” said I.

Colonel Moore invited me into one of the offices, and said he would hand the dispatches to the General as soon as he got up.

“I prefer to give these dispatches to General Sheridan myself, and at once,” was my reply.

The General, who was sleeping in the same building, hearing our voices, called out, “Send the man in with the dispatches.” I was ushered into the General’s presence, and as we had met before he recognized me and said:

“Hello, Cody, is that you?”

“Yes, sir; I have some dispatches here for you, from Captain Parker,” said I, as I handed the package over to him.

He hurriedly read them, and said they were important; and then he asked me all about General Hazen and where he had gone, and about the breaking out of the Kiowas and Comanches. I gave him all the information that I possessed, and related the events and adventures of the previous day and night.

“Bill,” said he, “you must have had a pretty lively ride. You certainly had a close call when you ran into the Indians on Walnut Creek. That was a good