FAMOUS LEADERS SERIES 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES H. L. JOHNSTON 
 
 Each one volume, lar^e 12mo, illustrated, 
 $1.50 
 
 FAMOUS CAVALRY LEADERS 
 FAMOUS INDIAN CHIEFS 
 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 £2 
 
 L. C. PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 53 Beacon Street, Boston, Mass. 
 
SHOUTS AND FIERCE CRIES WENT UP ON ALL SIDES. 
 {See page 176.) 
 
FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 Including Trappers, Pioneers, and 
 Soldiers of the Frontier 
 
 Their hazardous and exciting adventures 
 
 in the mighty drama of the White 
 
 conquest of the American 
 
 continent 
 
 By 
 CHARLES H. L. JOHNSTON 
 
 Author of " Famous Cavalry Leaders," 
 "Famous Indian Chiefs," etc. 
 
 Illustrated 
 
 BOSTON. L. C. PAGE & 
 COMPANY. ^ MDCCCCX 
 
■1^ 
 
 Copyright, igio. 
 By L. C. Page & Company. 
 
 (incorporated ) 
 Entered at Stationers' Hall, London 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 First Impression, November, 1910 
 
 Printed by 
 THE COLONIAL PRESS 
 C.H.Simonds &> Ca., Boston, U.S. A. 
 
 ©CIA275414 
 
/ 
 
 Dedicated 
 
 aCo tlje g>cljaoHja|>s; anb |?oung ifWen 
 
 of tf)e ?Hntteb States;, €nglanb 
 
 anb Canaba 
 
 whose many tokens of appreciation of my work 
 
 have made it a labor of love 
 
 to write these tales of the famous pioneers 
 
 and men of mettle, 
 
 who lived adventurous lives, 
 
 and left full records of their gallant deeds, 
 
 which should live for all time. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 These are the stories of men who, impelled by 
 love of adventure and fascinated by wild nature, de- 
 serted the places where those of their kind clustered 
 together in towns, cities, and small settlements, to 
 plunge into a country peopled by men of a hostile race. 
 These adventurers had music in their souls. They 
 possessed temperaments of a poetic nature, and loved 
 the great, wide vistas of the plains; the scream of the 
 eagle; the bark of the coyote; the splash and gurgle 
 of crystal rivers which plunged in a reckless course 
 between the shelving sides of narrow canons. Their 
 eyes reveled in the skies of the golden West, and in 
 the sight of plateaus decked with those flowers of a 
 million colors which clothe the mountain valleys in 
 the hot months of summer. Their senses were keen; 
 their love of the unrestrained life in camp and log 
 cabin was resistless; their ready rifles supplied them 
 with the wherewithal to sustain their strength and 
 spirits; and in their veins ran warm, red blood. 
 
 Urged onward by the romantic, these hardy in- 
 dividuals made history. Emerson speaks with truth 
 when he says, ^'Romance is never present, but always 
 remote. Things which are cruel and abominable 
 when they occur, become romantic in memory. Un- 
 principled bandits are Red Cross Knights, and Tem- 
 plars and Martyrs even, in the thoughts of those of 
 
 vii 
 
viii INTRODUCTION 
 
 this century. In individual history, disagreeable oc- 
 currences are remembered long after with complacency. 
 A romantic age, properly speaking, cannot exist. Never- 
 theless, romance is the mother of knowledge; and it 
 is in searching for wonders that the truth is discovered. 
 If the unknown were not magnified, no one would ex- 
 plore. Had it not been for the belief that an El Dorado 
 lay in America, European navigators would have 
 lacked the stimulus for adventurous voyages. The 
 history of all sciences is alike: men guess, and, to verify 
 their guesses, they go and see, — and are disappointed; 
 but bring back truth." 
 
 So with these heroes of the plains. Irresistibly 
 drawn on by that strange, magnetic call of the wild, 
 they searched for their El Dorados, and brought back 
 truth. They returned with tales of a glorious, un- 
 peopled country; of herds of game; strange tribes of 
 red-skinned people; of clear rivers, and sage-covered 
 wastes of alkali. And these tales — stirring the im- 
 aginations of their fellows — led to that great, sweeping 
 emigration of the white pioneers to the land of the 
 setting sun. These men were, perhaps, of uncouth 
 manners and untutored brains; but they made history. 
 
 In the far West it is no unconmion sight to meet 
 the pioneer with his wife, his herds and his family, 
 as they push into the unsettled wastes, always in search 
 of ^'something better than they left behind.'' This vision- 
 ary reaching for what always lies beyond is what has 
 appealed to men of a certain temperament. Some 
 wander — always wander — discontented with what 
 they find; searching with uncertain longings for their 
 
INTRODUCTION ix 
 
 Utopia. Others, satisfied with that which has come 
 to them, have remained in one place, to build a factory; 
 till a farm, raise a family, and be a stationary unit 
 in world progression. These men of whom I write 
 were often restless, roving blades. They continually 
 looked into the beyond; if they did not do so, they 
 were not satisfied with the quiet life, but had to be in 
 the maelstrom of action. The perpetual boy was in 
 them. 
 
 For this reason I wiite of their active lives for 
 young men, for is it not young men for action, old men 
 for counsel? To the young man the philosopher does 
 not appeal: Franklin is superseded by Light Horse 
 Harry Lee. The red blood of youth sees heroes in the 
 individuals of dash and courage; while, to him, the 
 man of the diplomatic circle, the scientific dreamer, 
 the scholar and poet, have little place in the affections 
 of one in whose veins is the hot impulse to do, and not 
 to meditate. 
 
 Hark, then, to the stories of the men who were of 
 the forest, the mountain, the plain and the camp; 
 men who, in living their wild lives, made records upon 
 the pages of history, and were the scouts of that surging 
 mass of white adventurers which has taken possession 
 of a great and fruitful continent. Under the sledge- 
 hammer blows of the toilers of the white race, this 
 silent land has produced a wealth which is unsurpassed, 
 and which has meant little to the men of the pack, the 
 saddle and the rifte; who lived, scouted and toiled, 
 in the enjoyment of a full-blooded existence. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 Introduction ....... vii 
 
 . I. General Israel Putnam: Pioneer, Sol- 
 dier, AND Heroic Adventurer . . 1 
 ^ II. Daniel Boone, the First Pioneer of 
 
 Kentucky and Courageous Explorer 38 
 
 III. Simon Kenton: the Pluckiest Woodsman 
 
 UPON THE Ohio Frontier ... 75 
 
 IV. Captain Samuel Brady: the Greatest 
 
 Long Distance Jumper of American 
 History ...... 97 
 
 V. The Two Athletic Poes, and Major Sam 
 
 McCuLLOCH, THE DESPERATE RiDER OF 
 
 West Virginia . . . .113 
 
 ^ VI. Lewis and Clarke: the First Bold Ex- 
 plorers TO Reach the Pacific by the 
 Northern Route .... 123 
 
 1^ VII. Colonel Davy Crockett: Bear Hunter, 
 Congressman, and Defender of Texan 
 Liberty ...... 140 
 
 «- VIII. General Sam Houston, the Savior of 
 
 Texas 163 
 
 t IX. Kit Carson, the Nestor of the Rocky 
 
 Mountains ..... 181 
 
 X. General William S. Harney, the Ever- 
 glade Fighter and Marvellous Run- 
 ner . . . . . . .211 
 
 XI. Wild Bill Hickok: Trapper, Scout and 
 
 Fearless Gun Fighter . . . 232 
 
 XII. Captain D. L. Payne, the Cimarron Scout. 264 
 
 XIII. White Beaver — Dr. D. F. Powell — 
 
 Chief Medicine Man of the Winne- 
 bago Sioux ..... 279 
 
 XIV. The Hon. William F. Cody — Buffalo 
 
 Bill — Last and Most Noted of the 
 Great Scouts of the Frontier . . 296 
 Conclusion 337 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGB 
 
 ** Shouts and fierce cries went up on all sides " {See page 
 
 176) • . Frontispiece 
 
 General Israel Putnam 2 
 
 Daniel Boone 38 
 
 " Kenton rode well and hard " 81 
 
 Captain Meriwether Lewis. ^ — Captain William Clarke 123 
 
 Colonel David Crockett 140 
 
 Kit Carson 181 
 
 " The crash of rifles waked the echoes of the sombre forest " 195 
 
 General William A. Harney 211 
 
 Wild Bill Hickok 232 
 
 Captain D. L. Payne 264 
 
 White Beaver (Dr. D. F. Powell) 279 
 
 Buffalo Bill (William F. Cody) 296 
 
 " When the Sioux saw the charging soldiers, pandemo- 
 nium broke loose among them" 328 
 
FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 GENERAL ISRAEL PUTNAM: PIONEER, 
 
 SOLDIER AND HEROIC 
 
 ADVENTURER 
 
 WHEN the American troops were throwing up 
 intrenchments on Ploughed Hill — half a mile 
 from the breastworks of the Bi itish regulars on 
 Bunker Hill — during the American War of Independ- 
 ence, a stout-bodied major-general of the Colonial 
 forces was superintending the work with great diligence. 
 Addressing a soldier who was standing not far from 
 him, he said: 
 
 ^'Here, my man, we are in need of quick action, for 
 the enemy will soon open fire upon us. Place these 
 sods upon the wall, and bolster up these weak defenses." 
 But the soldier did not proceed with any speed. He 
 hung back, and continued with great slowness to execute 
 the order. 
 
 "Oho," remarked he who had given the command, 
 in mock apology, " I see that you are an officer, my fine 
 fellow"; and, jumping forward, he placed the sods in 
 position himself. 
 
 This action was seen by the rest of the troops and 
 had tremendous effect upon them; for men are quick to 
 
 1 
 
2 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 notice the democratic side of their leaders, and nothin 
 pleases them more than to see an officer who will shai 
 their dangers and privations with them, and, if necessary 
 do the same work which they must undertake. Wash 
 ington, Stonewall Jackson, Welhngton, Sir John Moor( 
 and Sheridan, owed their popularity with their troop 
 to their simplicity of life and whole-souled democrac 
 of spirit. Thus bold, bluff and generous Israel Putnai 
 — the man who had not been too dignified to do th 
 labor of a common soldier — was loved, respected an 
 revered by the bedraggled and unkempt Continenta' 
 who fought behind him during the war of the secessio 
 of the American colonies from the British yoke. 
 
 Putnam was born in Massachusetts when a portio 
 of that state was a wilderness; when the shy and ui 
 gainly moose roamed through the unbroken forest; whe 
 the beaver bred in the clear streams; when bears an 
 wolves still had their habitations in the dark recess^ 
 of the uncut woodland; and when many hostile red me 
 menaced the safety of the few dauntless pioneers wh 
 made their homes in the open clearings. 
 
 An old farmhouse now stands upon the road betwee 
 Newbur3^port and Boston — just halfway between th 
 two places — and although part of it is new, an olde 
 portion of rough-hewn logs dates from 1648, a tim 
 when bitter warfare was waged between the settler 
 and Indians, and when the building of a frontier hom 
 was often interrupted by an unforeseen attack fror 
 the skulking red foeman in the underbrush. 
 
 The date of Putnam's birth, 1718, shows that hi 
 youth was spent at a time when the roads were narrow 
 
GENERAL ISRAEL PUTNAM. 
 
GENERAL ISRAEL PUTNAM 3 
 
 and dangerous; the settled clearings were few and far 
 apart; and it was unsafe for little children to go alone 
 to school because of the unfriendly redskins. 
 
 Fortunate is he who is born in the country, for the 
 free existence and clear air builds up a muscular body 
 that is of tremendous value in after life ; and it was fort- 
 unate for Putnam, as he had good need of a vigorous 
 frame in the life of action which he was to lead. He 
 loved the forest. He learned early how to shoot, trap, 
 and fish ; how to find his way — without even a com- 
 pass — in the dark and uncut recesses of the wood; and 
 although he went to school, he left before he had become 
 thorough master of the art of spelling. 
 
 Self-reliance makes the man. The pioneer's son, 
 accustomed from early youth to battling with adversity, 
 secures a rough and hard-grained philosophy which 
 makes him lose the supersensitiveness of the scion of a 
 man of wealth. You say to yourself. Would that I 
 had been born rich! but, had you been born to great 
 wealth, you would lack your fire, your determination, 
 and your perseverance. The city boy cannot be ex- 
 pected to have the virtues of the country lad. He has 
 no quiet wilderness for a home; no early, healthy hours; 
 no ice to break in the well of a cold, winter's morning. 
 From the very nature of things, the son of a pioneer 
 must struggle with adversity; and, by conquering the 
 disagreeable, he gains a certain rough virtue that is a 
 tremendous asset in life's hurly-burly. 
 
 So with Israel Putnam. It is said that he could 
 scarcely write his own name, but he did things. 
 
 He did things at a rather crucial time in the history of 
 
4 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 the then unformed United States. He did things when 
 forests were deep, men were rough, passions were strong; 
 and to those that were looking for adventure was given 
 an ample opportunity to gratify their desires. He did 
 things; and he has left a name which will always abide 
 as being synonymous with courage, audacity, and sound 
 common sense. 
 
 As a small boy, the little backwoods man possessed 
 a coolness and daring which made him a leader among 
 the few companions whom he found to play with in the 
 sparsely settled neighborhood of his home. One day, 
 with his usual daring, he climbed a tree in order to 
 secure a bird's nest upon a limb many feet from the 
 ground; but — just as he was about to reach it — his 
 clothes caught on a branch, he slipped to one side, and 
 would have fallen to the ground had not a curved 
 branch caught and held him. Fortunately a boy 
 named Randall was in the group, with a rifle under his 
 arm, and, as he was noted for being a crack shot, Put- 
 nam called out, 
 
 "Jim Randall, is there a ball in your rifle?'' 
 
 "Yes," replied the smiling marksman, who was 
 chuckling at the ludicrous sight Putnam presented. 
 
 " Do you see the limb which holds me up here?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " Then fire at it," continued the anxious youth, who 
 was swaying in the air like a large, ripe apple. 
 
 "What? And cut you down?" 
 
 " Of course. For what else could I ask it of you?" 
 
 " But I might strike your body and hurt you," said 
 Randall, eyeing the sight of his rifle anxiously. 
 
GENERAL ISRAEL PUTNAM 5 
 
 "Shoot/' answered the now red-faced Putnam. 
 "Better blow out my brains at once than allow me to 
 choke to death, as I shall do in fifteen minutes. Shoot! 
 I tell you! Shoot!'' 
 
 "But you will fall a great distance and break your 
 leg," said the anxious Randall. 
 
 Putnam was now sputtering with rage and loss of 
 breath. 
 
 "Will you fire?'' cried he. 
 
 As he ceased speaking, a sharp crack sounded above 
 the noises of the forest; the splinters flew from the branch 
 which held the anxious captive; and, with a sudden 
 rush, the future general fell headlong to the ground. 
 Inmiediately his companions gathered around him and 
 asked if he were hurt. "Bah!" answered the sturdy 
 youth to their questioning, "I am bruised, as you see, 
 but I can still walk. Furthermore, I intend to have 
 that bird's nest." Two da3^s later, the undaunted 
 climber returned and captured the prize. 
 
 In the old New England days when land was cheap 
 and easily had, men married early in life, and had large 
 families. Putnam took a wife at the age of twenty, or 
 twenty-one, and settled upon the Mohegan River at 
 Pomfret, Connecticut, upon a plot of cleared ground 
 which his father had owned and had given to him. Here 
 he lived peacefully and happily for a number of years, 
 interesting himself in the cultivation of his farm and ir> 
 the breeding of sheep. His flocks waxed in size and 
 brought him considerable return from the sale of wool; 
 but there was a wolf in the neighborhood — a large and 
 powerful female — who liked mutton as well as did the 
 
6 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 stout yeomen of New England and their families. By 
 the dusk she would steal close to the unsuspecting flocks 
 of the farmers, sneak to within easy distance of the 
 least active, and then, with a mighty rush, would be 
 among them. In a second, the cruel jaws would close 
 around the throat of an inoffensive lamb, and it would be 
 dragged to the lair of the ferocious mother, — for there 
 were numerous young which had to be fed. 
 
 As young Putnam saw his flock gradually diminish- 
 ing under the depredations of the hungry animal, he 
 naturally grew extremely angry. Traps were set for 
 the woodland marauder and her cubs, and many of the 
 latter were captured. The old wolf was herself half 
 trapped, one day, but she gnawed away her toes and 
 regained her liberty. Frequently Putnam and his 
 neighbors would pursue her over hill and valley, but she 
 always eluded them and their half-bred dogs, to escape 
 in the rocky hills where was her cave. The pioneers 
 of Connecticut were determined to rid the country of such 
 a pest. They persisted in their endeavor to capture 
 the scourge of the sheepfolds, and at last were 
 successful. 
 
 One day the mixed hounds which composed the 
 pack of the first hunt club in America — a hunt club 
 founded for self -protection, not for pleasure — seemed 
 to be more fortunate in finding the scent of the wolf 
 than usual. Like a fox she first ran in a circle over hill 
 and vale, then doubled and came back towards her 
 cave. All night the sturdy hounds drove the quarry, 
 and in the early morn had tracked her to her den at a 
 place only seven miles from the home of the rugged 
 
GENERAL ISRAEL PUTNAM 7 
 
 Putnam, who was burning with righteous anger to 
 avenge the loss of a score or more of his fattest sheep. 
 A large number of men and boys assembled around the 
 mouth of the cave, with dogs, guns, straw and sulphur, 
 prepared to smoke out the enemy of the countryside. 
 Sneaking to the very back of the cavern, the infuriated 
 animal, with flaming eyes and bristling hair, growled 
 ominously, and prepared to spring upon whomsoever 
 should approach. 
 
 Several of the more courageous hounds entered the 
 cave and neared the dangerous animal. But she rushed 
 upon them with fury; bit and clawed savagely and drove 
 them, yelping, to the open, with their bodies bleeding 
 from the bites and scratches which she had inflicted. 
 Smoke and the fumes of sulphur could not move her. 
 She clung to her position with all the tenacity of her 
 race, and, with glowing eyeballs and savage growls, faced 
 the dim light at the mouth of the cave, where she could 
 see the shadows of her pursuers. 
 
 "For twenty hours,'' says an old historian, "the 
 savage varmint kept the dogs and huntsmen at bay,'' 
 and when Israel Putnam arrived upon the scene, a few 
 of the pioneers were about to give up in despair. One 
 of the farm-hands was standing near the mouth of the 
 cavern. 
 
 "Take a torch and gun, go into the cave, and shoot 
 the old she-devil," said Putnam to him. 
 
 The fellow peered curiously into the opening. A 
 savage snarl came from the darkness within, and the 
 gloomy depths did not appeal to him as much as stout 
 Israel could have wished. 
 
8 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 "I would rather not/' said he. "I don't think that 
 I could handle myself to advantage in such a small 
 space." 
 
 "By Jove," cried Putnam, his eyes flashing, "I'm 
 ashamed to have such a coward in my family. I, my- 
 self, will go in and dispatch this marauder of the country- 
 side." 
 
 "No! No!" shouted several of his friends. "Don't 
 expose yourself to certain injury. Stay outside!" 
 
 But Putnam could not be moved in his intention, 
 and seizing several pieces of birch-bark he soon had 
 lighted one for a torch, held it before him, and penetrated 
 the gloomy depths of the cavern. The way was small 
 and narrow, — so low, in fact, that he had to crawl upon 
 his hands and knees. But he pressed onward with a 
 rope tied to one foot — like a diver — and, by worming 
 his way, soon came to the very rear of the cave. The 
 wolf backed against the wall and snarled at the bold 
 intruder. She snapped vindictively with her jaws, and 
 moved forward as if she were about to spring upon the 
 adventurous Yankee. 
 
 At this moment the anxious partisans of the daring 
 Putnam felt a jerk upon the rope, and, recognizing this 
 to be a signal for quick action, they began to pull lustily 
 upon it. "Now give away, boys," shouted a stout 
 farmer who held the end nearest the opening, and like 
 sailors upon the windlass of a vessel, hand over hand 
 they dragged the courageous Putnam into the open. 
 His clothes were much torn when he was jerked into 
 view. He was bruised and badly scratched, but his 
 first words were, " Boys, give me my gun, for I'm going 
 
GENERAL ISRAEL PUTNAM 9 
 
 in again and will finish the depredations of Mrs. Wolf 
 forever/' 
 
 Some one had loaded his flintlock and placed it in 
 his hand as he ceased speaking; and, without further 
 ado, he fell upon his hands and knees. In a moment 
 more he had entered the mouth of the cavern, and was 
 clambering slowly towards the savage animal, who, 
 somewhat terrified at the burning birch, slunk back into 
 the end of the cave as far as she was able. Nearer and 
 nearer came the undaunted Putnam until the flickering 
 gleam of his torch made it possible for him to see his 
 quarry. Then, raising his musket to his shoulder, he 
 took deliberate aim, and fired at the head of the wolf. 
 A dull roar was followed by a suffocating cloud of smoke, 
 and, giving a kick to the rope as a signal, the fearless 
 yeoman was again dragged into the open. 
 
 When Putnam had fired, the old wolf had given one 
 tremendous howl, so he was not certain that his ball had 
 taken effect. But when he again clambered into the 
 cave and advanced cautiously up the passage, he saw, 
 by the flickering flame of the birch, that the animal 
 was lying dead. So, seizing her by the ears, he signalled 
 to his friends by a kick upon the rope, and was soon 
 dragged into the open, with the wolf held fast by the 
 head. 
 
 "Hurrah!" shouted his companions. "Hurrah for 
 Old Put! Hurrah for the wolf-killer!'^ and, surrounded 
 by his admiring helpmeets, the fearless huntsman was 
 the recipient of many a hearty hand-shake. 
 
 "Here! Let us carry the old wolf home! Come, 
 boys, we'll make a litter of trees for her," said Putnam, 
 
10 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 after the noise had subsided. "And I hope that all of 
 you will journey to my house to dine, for we should 
 certainly have a feast now that we have rid the country 
 of its greatest pest/' 
 
 "That we will do/' cried the majority, and on a 
 quickly fashioned litter of boughs the dead carcass of 
 the wolf was soon being borne in triumph to the home 
 of the courageous "Old Put." His wife welcomed 
 them right royally, and, as they clustered about the 
 rough-hewn table, all toasted the courage, nerve, and 
 audacity of the Connecticut farmer who had at last 
 brought to bay the scourge of their sheepfolds. 
 
 Who would think it? Even the papers of France 
 and England copied a description of this exploit. It 
 was said that there were ten wolves in the cave; that a 
 bear and her two cubs were also inside; that the entrance 
 was so narrow that it had to be blasted; that it was of 
 tremendous length. The feat was distorted and mag- 
 nified in every way until the well-meaning Putnam had 
 a reputation far greater than he was entitled to. Yet 
 he bore himself graciously beneath the favorable com- 
 ment which he heard upon all sides, and, because of his 
 agreeable manner, generous spirit, and uniform good- 
 humor, was not only popular, but also held in great 
 affection by his neighbors. 
 
 It is no wonder that a man of his disposition was 
 among the first to enlist in the French and Indian War 
 which broke out in the year 1755. "Old Put" was 
 then a subject of the British crown. He was commis- 
 sioned a captain of volunteers, although he had never 
 served a single day in any military command; and he 
 
GENERAL ISRAEL PUTNAM 11 
 
 marched to the front with spirited enthusiasm. Many 
 of his neighbors joined him; young men all, and men 
 who were thrifty, hard-working, and intelligent enough 
 to recognize in this Connecticut farmer a born fighter 
 and leader of troops. Not a single one of them had ex- 
 perienced any training in military affairs, yet they were 
 rugged fellows, with strong arms, stout bodies, bold 
 hearts, and absolute confidence in their captain. 
 
 In General Braddock's fatal march upon Fort Du- 
 quesne, Putnam and his rangers took no part; but later 
 on he and his men became attached to the force under 
 Sir William Johnson, which moved against Crown Point 
 and other strongholds of the French upon the shores of 
 Lake Champlain. Putnam's rangers were known as 
 scouts. Their duties were active and perilous. In 
 advance of the army, they were expected to surprise 
 the enemy's pickets; cut off or capture any detached 
 parties which were small enough for them to cope with; 
 waylay all convoys of provisions which they could 
 overpower; and obtain information in regard to the 
 movements of the French and their redskin allies. 
 These duties suited "Old Put" to perfection, for he 
 knew the forest thoroughly, and could give play to pow- 
 ers of invention and stratagem which had distinguished 
 him as a boy. He and his men were overjoyed at the 
 opportunity to engage in this hazardous warfare, and 
 made a good record. They were of splendid service 
 to the fighting Baronet. 
 
 At Crown Point, at the northern end of Lake George, 
 a strong fortification of the French menaced the peace 
 of the frontier, and was an effectual barrier to the ad- 
 
12 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 vance of the English upon Canada. To learn its strength 
 was one of the first duties of the British commander, 
 and so he dispatched ''Old Put" and Major Rogers 
 (a well-known woodsman) to find out the best method 
 of reaching their stockade. They were told to " obtain 
 accurate knowledge of the position of the enemy; to 
 gain any intelligence which they could of his movements; 
 to surprise any advance pickets which they could; and, 
 if they could capture any stragglers, to bring them in.'' 
 The two sturdy woodsmen left Fort Edward — the 
 English frontier fortress on the Hudson River with 
 a number of buckskin rangers. Their men were hardy 
 fellows, well used to the ways of the redskin, and well 
 able to fight them with their own method of warfare. 
 With silence and care they threaded their way through 
 the depths of the forest, and approached the vicinity 
 of Crown Point well prepared to meet any sortie of the 
 French and Indians. 
 
 It was night when the little party neared the wooden 
 walls of the frowning fortress at Crown Point. " Hush V 
 said Putnam to his men. "Let not a single one of you 
 show a single light, for the redskin allies of the French 
 are all about us. We will camp here without any fires, 
 and when the first streak of dawTi reddens the east, we 
 will approach the fortress in order to make our observa- 
 tions. Remember what I tell you. No lights, and 
 absolutely no noise!'' 
 
 His counsel was well heeded. Silently and quietly 
 the men stopped to rest. WTiile the tree-frogs croaked 
 and the whippoorwills called mournfully to each other 
 in the dusk, the little band of scouts lay down upon the 
 
GENERAL ISRAEL PUTNAM 13 
 
 fallen leaves to slumber. With sentinels upon the look- 
 out, they formed themselves in a circle, each with his 
 ready rifle at his elbow and his powder horn tied to the 
 barrel, in case of a sudden call to arms. Soon all was 
 silence in the dark recesses of the wood, and only a 
 soft pattering noise could be heard as the moccasins 
 of the sentinels crept across the moss and carpet of 
 brownish yellow leaves. 
 
 At dawTi every man was up and doing, and, after 
 a light repast of uncooked food, they moved off in single 
 file towards the fortifications of the French. In the 
 dim light of the coming day men could be heard in the 
 works: so Putnam and Rogers moved on alone, caution- 
 ing their followers to come no closer, and to wait for 
 them behind the screening branches of some thick 
 bushes. 
 
 "Old Put," creeping upon his hands and knees, 
 wormed his way to a position where he could see the 
 stockade, and get an excellent idea of the strength of 
 the French defenses. Rogers, the ranger, was a short 
 distance from him, a bit in the advance, and — wishing 
 to count the number of cannon which the Canadians 
 had mounted upon the stockade — he had wriggled to 
 the top of a small hillock, when a voice rang out, " Sap- 
 risti! Eet ees an Eenglish dog! Come, guards, to 
 ze capture!" 
 
 In an instant Rogers had leaped to his feet, pointing 
 his long hunting rifle at the breast of a swarthy French- 
 man, who was but a pace off. "Ta done!" shouted the 
 Canadian, seizing the end of the rifle with his left hand. 
 "I vill haf you, you spy." As he spoke he aimed a 
 
14 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 thrust at the body of the ranger, with a long knife; but 
 Rogers dodged the blow, grappling with his assailant 
 as he did so. They rolled to the ground in deadly 
 embrace. 
 
 Now "Old Put'^ leaped upon them from his hiding- 
 place, realizing that did he not act quickly the entire 
 garrison would be upon them. "Roll him over," he 
 called to the struggling ranger; and, as Rogers obeyed, 
 the butt of "Old Put's'' rifle crushed the skull of the 
 Canadian soldier. With a groan he collapsed in the 
 tangle of brush and briars, as the two English scouts — 
 perceiving that they must immediately fly — turned 
 about and bounded away into the deep forest; while 
 behind them the cries of the French garrison could be 
 heard, as they swarmed from the fortification to rescue 
 their now dying comrade. The two fugitives soon joined 
 their party, and, without waiting an instant, hurried 
 toward Fort Edward, where the information which they 
 brought was of inestimable value to the conmaandant. 
 "Mr. Putnam," said he, "you are a soldier of whom the 
 army has good reason to be proud. I will employ you 
 soon again, and upon like duty." 
 
 But there was to be no duty for some time to come, 
 as the colonial troops were disbanded. They had en- 
 listed for one campaign only, and realizing that it would 
 be foolhardy to attack the strong fortress at Crown 
 Point, Sir William Johnson determined not to make 
 an attempt to subdue it until the following summer. 
 "Old Put" returned to the domestic tranquillity of his 
 farm, where his fifteen-year-old son was in charge, and 
 where his sheep had increased in peaceful quiet since 
 
GENERAL ISRAEL PUTNAM 15 
 
 the death of the notorious wolf. Here he was busily 
 engaged in his homely duties, when, one day in spring, 
 a lusty yeoman rode up to the doorway, and, dismount- 
 ing, soon found the well-known owner. 
 
 ^'If you want to fight once more,'^ said he, "the 
 army is about to have a second brush with the French 
 and Indians; and no one will be more welcome among 
 the rangers than yourself. Will you come?'' 
 
 A smile lighted the countenance of the courageous 
 young frontiersman, as he responded : 
 
 "Will I come? My son, I've been itching for a good 
 brush with the redskins for the past three months. My 
 old rifle is getting rusty from lack of use. Wait until 
 I kiss my wife and son good-bye, and then I'm off again 
 for the dangers of the campaign. Hurrah!" 
 
 When the British and American troops had gathered 
 at Fort Edward for an advance upon the French strong- 
 holds at Crown Point and Ticonderoga on Lake George, 
 "Old Put" was again sent forward to see what he could 
 discover in regard to the numbers of the enemy and the 
 disposition of their forces. With him, this time, was a 
 Lieutenant Durkee, who was as brave and as skilled 
 in woodcraft as was the famed Rogers, the ranger. 
 
 The French had a different method of arranging their 
 sentinels from that of the English, and this caused the 
 two bold scouts to get into much difficulty. While 
 the English posted their sentinels near their fires, where 
 they could often be seen by the skulkers, the French and 
 Indians kindled their fires in the centre of their line, and 
 posted their sentinels in the surrounding darkness. 
 Supposing the French sentinels to be behind the fires, 
 
16 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 Durkee and Putnam crept stealthily forward, and were 
 soon well within the circle of bright flames. Suddenly 
 a wild war-whoop rang out, and they found that they 
 were discovered by their Indian enemies. A shot 
 echoed in the gloom, which wounded Durkee in the 
 thigh; and, perceiving that safety lay only in flight, the 
 two bold adventurers turned to make good their escape. 
 
 It was intensely dark. This was fortunate. As the 
 two adventurers plunged and stumbled in the direction 
 of their own lines, Putnam suddenly fell forward into 
 a large clay-pit. A sudden thud warned him that 
 another man had fallen beside him. Thinking that it 
 was an Indian, he turned to strike him with his knife, 
 but as he did so he recognized the voice of Durkee. 
 "Are you hurt?" said he. "No," answered "Old Put." 
 " Let's get out of this as soon as we can, for we are abso- 
 lutely surrounded by red devils, who are thirsting for 
 a shot at us. Come on! We wifl run for it." 
 
 So jumping out of the pit, they rushed away again. 
 Crash! Crash! sounded the volleys of lead in their 
 rear, and a perfect hail of leaden missiles fell around 
 them. The luck which always pursues the great was 
 upon their side, however, and they were soon crouching 
 behind a great log, well beyond the range of the hostile 
 bullets. 
 
 Putnam began to laugh as he perceived that they 
 were now out of all danger. 
 
 "Let's drink to the eternal confusion of those ras- 
 cally French sentinels," said he. "I've a little rum in 
 my canteen. Here, Durkee, take a pull of it!" 
 
 His companion seized the proffered flask, but uttered 
 
GENERAL ISRAEL PUTNAM 17 
 
 a loud exclamation. Alas for the generous intention of 
 "Old Put!'' A bullet had gone clear through the tin, 
 and not a single drop of liquor remained. But the two 
 scouts laughed at this; and laughed still more next 
 day when they found fourteen bullet-holes in the blank- 
 ets which they carried with them, wrapped around 
 their shoulders. It was a narrow escape, indeed. 
 
 One more incident in this campaign bears full witness 
 to the sureness of aim possessed by " Old Put.'' 
 
 A certain sentry-post had been repeatedly fired upon; 
 and so accurate had been the aim of him who fired that 
 three English sentinels had thus been killed. Men dis- 
 liked to be put on guard at this point; but "Old Put" 
 was anxious for a chance to go to this position, and 
 asked to be given an opportunity of watching for the 
 unseen enemy who was so accurate with his rifle fire. 
 
 "Certainly, I will place you there. Captain Putnam, 
 if you so wish,'' said the commanding officer to whom 
 Putnam applied; "but the danger is great. Be sure 
 not to recklessly expose yourself. If you hear a noise 
 from beyond the lines, don't fire unless you are certain 
 that it is not one of your own men at whom you are 
 taking aim." 
 
 "All right," replied the sturdy farmer and soldier; 
 "I will surely come back from tha.t post, and you can 
 be certain that no sneaking redskin will catch me nap- 
 ping." 
 
 Carefully selecting a position near a shadowy oak, 
 Putnam was in place by nightfall, with both eyes and 
 ears alert for any indication of a skulking foe. Silently 
 he tramped back and forth upon his beat; while the 
 
18 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 whippoorwills called in the sombre blackness of the 
 forest, and the tree-toads made their sad and unpleasant 
 croakings. Time passed. It was soon midnight; and, 
 as Putnam rested in the dense shadow of some hemlock 
 trees, he heard the sharp rattle of pebbles, as if a f )x 
 were skulking in the underbrush. He peered carefuLy 
 into the darkness. A crunching sound came to his ears, 
 as if some animal had found food and was munching it. 
 Quickly his rifle was held upwards, — in instant readi- 
 ness to be placed at his shoulder. 
 
 As he stood immovable he saw the bushes parting 
 very stealthily, and something dark was clearly visible 
 among them. " I will give this thing, if a man, a chance 
 for its life, ' ' said Putnam to himself. " W^o goes there T ' 
 he called with careful distinctness. 
 
 There was no answer, and the shadowy form was 
 still. 
 
 Raising his rifle to his shoulder, the careful Putnam 
 pulled the trigger. The crack which sounded forth 
 was followed by a groan. Quickly loading, he fired 
 again. Another groan came to his ears, this time plainly 
 a human one; and, darting forward, Putnam saw lying 
 upon the sod the expiring form of a burly Indian brave, 
 his rifle clutched convulsively in his hand. The mur- 
 derer of the sentinels was no more. 
 
 The war went merrily on. Both French and English 
 determined to gain possession of the continent, but it 
 was soon evident that the English and Americans were 
 better fighters than the French and Indians. Among 
 the Americans none was a better frontiersman than 
 Rogers, the ranger, — a man of undaunted nerve, cour- 
 
GENERAL ISRAEL PUTNAM 19 
 
 age, and skill in woodcraft; a match for any redskin 
 who ever trod the silent forest, and more than a match 
 for any white man. He was ordered, this particular 
 summer, to embark a force of one hundred men — with 
 Captain Putnam along — and to row down Lake George 
 to assault a body of about six hundred French and 
 Indians, who had just made a successful attack upon a 
 detachment of Americans guarding a train of provisions, 
 en route for the British camp. The French were in 
 boats, and, realizing that the best place to attack them 
 was in the narrows, the two American soldiers soon 
 had their men in boats and canoes, and had them 
 concealed on either side of the winding sheet of water, 
 through which the French had to pass. 
 
 Patiently they waited, and before very long the 
 batteaux of the enemy came slowly down the lake. 
 A wind in the rear helped the boats along; and as they 
 came to a position directly opposite the bank upon 
 which the frontiersmen were resting, Putnam gave a 
 low whistle. Imimediately fire belched from the hun- 
 dred rifles, many oarsmen fell prostrate upon their seats, 
 and a few lurched into the water. Volley after volley 
 resounded, and, amid the rain of balls, the French 
 made a vain attempt to reply. A few of the boats were 
 totally disabled; but a few, driven by the force of the 
 severe wind, drifted down through the narrows, to 
 escape to Fort Ticonderoga (a French stronghold), 
 where the garrison was immediately informed of the 
 presence of the band under Putnam and Rogers. It 
 was not long before a body of three hundred fresh troops, 
 French and Indian, had left the Fort in order to cut off 
 
20 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 the successful adventurers before they could return to 
 Fort Edward, — the British stronghold from which 
 they had started. 
 
 The chronicles of the period say that Rogers and 
 Putnam were fully twenty miles from their boats and 
 canoes, — but I doubt this. They had, undoubtedly, 
 some distance to go through the woods before they 
 found them; but this distance was probably about five 
 miles. At any rate, as they hastened toward the foot 
 of Lake George, they were sighted by the pursuing 
 French and Indians; who, confident of soon overcoming 
 this small force, set up a mighty yell of joy as they 
 advanced to the attack. 
 
 "Smng the canoes across the lake in two lines,'' 
 shouted Putnam to his men. "We'll teach these 
 Frenchies not to follow us! Don't waste a shot, and 
 aim low whatever you do!" 
 
 As he spoke the men obeyed him, and the French 
 and Indians came on with a will. Crash! Crash! 
 sounded the volleys from Rogers' and Putnam's men. 
 A small cannon in one of the English boats struck a 
 French boat and scuttled her. Oars were splintered; 
 men fell into the water on every side; and, although 
 the French replied with spirit, the aim of the Americans 
 was so accurate that they were forced to retire. "We 
 are beaten!" shouted a French officer. "We must go 
 back." And so they withdrew to recover, while the 
 men under the two American frontiersmen turned and 
 paddled swiftly towards the southern end of Lake 
 George. It is said that five hundred Frenchmen were 
 disabled, and only one Englishman, — an erroneous 
 
GENERAL ISRAEL PUTNAM 21 
 
 statement, no doubt. At any rate, the French had 
 enough of fighting, and did not pursue, while the Httle 
 band of rangers marched into Ticonderoga with wild 
 hallooings and songs of ^dctory. They had certainly 
 given a good account of themselves. 
 
 "Old Put,'' you can see, was in all kinds of hazard- 
 ous adventures. He was strong, active, nervy, and 
 cool in difficulty and danger. With an eye like a hawk's 
 he could shoot as straight as could the celebrated Daniel 
 Boone, and he rarely missed his man. A hundred times 
 he would have been caught or captured had his quick- 
 ness and ability not extricated him from the dangerous 
 position in which he had been placed. Had he lived 
 today, he would have been the champion shot of a 
 modern gun club, and would have been an athlete of 
 distinction, with honors won in a hundred contests. 
 He kept no careful journal, as did Washington and 
 Jefferson. All that we know of this intrepid and daunt- 
 less spirit has come down to us from a few stories in 
 old newspapers, and from a few tales handed down from 
 mouth to mouth. Naturally there is much that can 
 never be known of his woodland escapades, and this 
 is, of course, most unfortunate. 
 
 An incident which soon occurred gives ample proof 
 of his extraordinary coolness. Had he for one instant 
 lost his head, he could never have extricated himself 
 from the position in which he was soon to find himself. 
 
 One day, with a few men, the gallant soldier was 
 in a boat on the eastern side of the Hudson River. Sud- 
 denly a warning whistle from the opposite shore told 
 him that he was in danger; while, soon afterwards, a 
 
22 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 companion shouted to him that a force of Indians was 
 descending upon his position from the upper portion 
 of the stream. Below were a spuming waterfall and 
 rapids of unknown dangers. What was he to do? 
 Even as the warning reached him, the Indians were in 
 view, and he was in easy range of their rifles. Should 
 he cross the river to his companions, he would un- 
 doubtedly be killed by the unerring aim of the enemy. 
 There was one course open. He chose it; and turning 
 the bow of the boat towards the rapids, was soon headed 
 for the eddying current. One of his men fell from a 
 volley by the redskins. The Indians gave a loud yell 
 as they saw the little boat swirl into the current of boil- 
 ing froth and foam. Even Putnam's companions 
 looked about them in terror as the boat whirled down 
 the seething course, but "Old Put'' did not once lose 
 his unfailing courage in adversity. Seizing an oar, he 
 stuck it through a rowlock in the stern, and guided the 
 little vessel through the foaming vortex. " Ugh ! Ugh ! ' ' 
 cried the red men. "The Great Spirit is with him. 
 Ugh! Ugh! He has a charmed life. See! He goes 
 through the big waters. He comes out at the other 
 end. He is one of the Great Spirit's children. We 
 will not again shoot at the man with the courage from 
 the Mighty One. Ugh! Ugh! He is charmed with 
 the magic of our ancestors." 
 
 Thus the valiant ranger escaped, and thus his fame 
 became so well established among the red men that 
 they ever afterwards feared him, and could scarcely be 
 led on to the attack by the French when they knew 
 that "Old Put" opposed their line. 
 
GENERAL ISRAEL PUTNAM 23 
 
 At the close of the year 1756, it looked black for 
 the English cause in the New World; but by July of 
 1758, the tide had turned, and the French were put 
 upon the defensive. Sir Jeffrey Amherst captured 
 Louisburg, a strong French fortress on Cape Breton 
 Isle; Fort Duquesne (now Pittsburg, Pa.) was taken; 
 and Amherst took the field at Lake George, and drove 
 the French and Indians from Ticonderoga and Crown 
 Point. France, under a corrupt government at home, 
 was becoming nerveless, and gave its American settle- 
 ments but little assistance. 
 
 Wliile fierce fighting was going on near Lake George, 
 Rogers and Putnam were dispatched to cut off a party 
 of the enemy that had plundered a train of baggage 
 teams. The French heard of their approach, and es- 
 caped to their canoes. They were far up the lake when 
 the rangers reached its edge; and, with many cursings 
 upon their misfortunes, the men in buckskin started 
 homewards toward Fort Edward, with some hope of 
 surprising some straggling party of the enemy. Through 
 the thick forest they crept in single file. Major Putnam 
 leading, and Rogers, the famous ranger, in the rear. 
 
 Now it was conunon talk among the soldiers that 
 Rogers was very jealous of ''Old Put.'' Both were 
 fearless m.en. Both were great scouts and woodsmen. 
 Both excelled with the rifle and in woodcraft. Just as 
 boys are jealous of each other, so are men; and in the 
 breast of the far-famed ranger slumbered the fire of 
 bitter envy. 
 
 As they pressed forward, Rogers amused himself 
 with a trial of skill with a British officer, and in firing 
 
24 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 at a mark. All know that this was arrant foolishness. 
 Where the greatest silence should have been kept, be- 
 cause the woods were filled with enemies, these two 
 overgrown boys began to whoop and laugh over their 
 poor shooting. Sounds carry far in the stillness of the 
 vast northern woodland, and it was not long before the 
 noise of this silly play came to the ears of some rene- 
 gade Indian scouts. "Hist!'^ said they. "The English 
 are near. Let us tell the white General." 
 
 So, as Putnam's little party again resumed the 
 march, an ambuscade of eager French and Indians 
 awaited them. Under Molang — an able soldier — 
 this body of enemies was effectively arranged, so that 
 it was well-nigh impossible for gallant Putnam and his 
 men to escape their murderous rifle fire; and soon, 
 with a wild, ear-splitting yell, the woodland echoed 
 with the volleys of those hidden in ambush. 
 
 An English captain called Dalyell, who was in the 
 centre of the line, immediately moved up to help " Old 
 Put." But the arrogant Rogers — filled with jealousy, 
 no doubt — formed a circular file between Putnam's 
 and Dalyell's commands, — apparently in readiness to 
 prevent an attack from the rear. He made no move 
 to come to the aid of the Connecticut wolf-killer, who 
 was soon surrounded by numerous painted braves. 
 The English officers and men fought with desperate 
 valor, from behind stumps, tree trunks, and logs. Thus 
 they were struggling, when a powerful Indian Chief 
 sprang forward towards the valorous "Old Put," who 
 raised his rifle to fire. Alas! It refused to go off; and, 
 as the tomahawk of the red man gleamed above his head, 
 
GENERAL ISRAEL PUTNAM 25 
 
 the American major cried out reluctantly, "I surrender. 
 I am your prisoner." He was immediately disarmed, 
 and bound to a tree, while his captor re-entered the 
 fray. 
 
 As "Old Put" remained tied to the tree, the fight 
 ebbed and flowed about him. Bullets of both friend 
 and foe cut his clothing, and knocked chips from the 
 bark of the very oak to which he was attached; and, 
 worse than this, an Indian brave amused himself by 
 hurling his tomahawk near his head five or six times, — 
 just grazing his face by a hair's breadth upon several 
 occasions, and yelping with joy at the discomfiture of 
 the American officer. But fortunately the fight ebbed 
 by his position, for a moment, and the miscreant was 
 driven into the underbrush by several well-directed 
 shots from some of Rogers' rangers. 
 
 Putnam was not to be left alone for long. As the 
 French and their allies drove the Americans once more 
 beyond the tree, a young French officer ran up, and, 
 levelling his musket at Putnam's breast, pulled the 
 trigger. As luck would have it, it failed to go off. " I 
 am a prisoner of war. Monsieur," cried "Old Put." 
 "You should treat me as such." 
 
 "You deserve death, you American dog," answered 
 the Frenchman in a rage, striking him in the ribs with 
 his musket. "Here, take this!" and, so saying, he beat 
 him violently in the jaw with the butt-end of his musket. 
 
 Just then, with a wild cheer, the Americans charged 
 upon their enemies, and drove them back. "Ah! I 
 will be free," thought Major Putnam; but no such luck 
 was to come to him. As the redskins retired, the same 
 
26 FMIOUS SCOUTS 
 
 burly Indian who had captured the stout-hearted soldier 
 ran up and unbound him. He was seized by four others, 
 and, in spite of his struggles, was carried along with the 
 retreating allies. His wrists were bound together with 
 deer thongs. Four packs were tied to his back; and 
 he was commanded to carry them, or suffer death. So 
 he struggled forward, until, bleeding and exhausted, he 
 cried out in half French, ''Pray kill me, for death is 
 better than this." 
 
 A French officer heard his words, and, drawing his 
 sword, ordered the savages to unbind the thongs upon 
 the captive's wrists. "Here are a pair of moccasins," 
 said he. " I perceive that your feet are bleeding. These 
 Indian dogs never know how to treat a prisoner. They 
 are brutes." 
 
 Gallant Putnam now thought that he would receive 
 good treatment, but he was mistaken. No sooner had 
 he arrived at camp, that evening, than he was carried 
 off to the Indian encampment without a protest from 
 a French officer or soldier. His fears that he would 
 have to run the gauntlet were soon put at rest; for he 
 discovered the Indian women piling brush around a 
 tall stake, and realized, with a shudder, that he was to 
 be burned alive. He was stripped, carried to the 
 stake, and bound to it so that he could not possibly 
 escape; while the redskins leaped about in a wild frenzy, 
 cut at him with knives and tomahawks, and made 
 many a scar which marked him throughout the rest of 
 his days. 
 
 At length the torch was applied, and the flames 
 began to crackle beneath the feet of the helpless soldier. 
 
GENERAL ISRAEL PUTNAM 27 
 
 Wild yelpings sounded in the dark forest, as the red- 
 skins leaped about in murderous joy. Hope died in 
 his heart. He resigned himself to his fate, — when 
 suddenly a shout was heard. "Cease, you brutal red 
 men," came the voice of Molang, commander of the 
 French force. "Unhand this brave American, or I 
 will kill you all." And rushing into the flame, the 
 officer quickly cut the thongs which held the half faint- 
 ing Putnam to the stake. Staggering into the open, 
 the half-burned ranger was assisted to the French camp 
 by his deliverer; who there gave him food and clothes, 
 and, what was still more useful, protection from his 
 inhuman tormentors. It was an episode which had 
 tried out all the courage and endurance that he pos- 
 sessed, — and he had escaped death by a hair^s breadth. 
 No wonder that he looked ten years older when next 
 he was seen by his followers who had fought with him 
 in the dense woodland near Lake George. 
 
 When one passes up this quiet sheet of water now- 
 adays it is hard to realize that the little picture lake 
 was once the scene of such fights, tortures, and bloody 
 attacks and repulses. Surrounded by magnificent 
 forests, which reflect themselves in the calm surface 
 of the blue water, it is such a restful, peaceful, and 
 poetic vista, that the cruelties of savage warfare seem 
 hardly to have a place in such a setting. All is as clean 
 as a gentleman^s park. The woodland is as beautiful 
 as that in a fairy book. When last I viewed it, no dead 
 wood marred the perfect verdure. A number of hotels 
 graced the curving banks of the gentle, calm-faced 
 lake, and a score of sail-boats and canoes of summer 
 
28 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 campers dotted the water. Civilization and refine- 
 ment enjoyed a quiet which not long before had been 
 disturbed by the most savage and cruel of wars. Peace 
 reigned where once had been chaos. 
 
 When Putnam reached Fort Ticonderoga he was 
 placed under the guard of French soldiers, and, needless 
 to remark, was not tortured or harassed by them. He 
 was sent to Montreal; and, as the English soon captured 
 Fort Frontenac, an exchange of prisoners made it pos- 
 sible for him to return once more to his own lines. He 
 was welcomed by his soldiers with hilarious shouts of 
 joy; for long since they had given him up for dead. 
 Things were going well with the English cause. Ticon- 
 deroga and Crown Point fell into the hands of the British, 
 and, before very long, Quebec also yielded before the 
 onslaughts of Wolfe. 
 
 Montreal was next to be attacked, as it was the last 
 place of any size still held by the men of sunny France. 
 We find " Old Put,'' in 1760, as a lieutenant-colonel in 
 the British army, about to assault this place; and to 
 him much is accredited for an English victory. On 
 an island in the river was a strong French garrison, 
 which had to be dislodged before the town could be 
 properly approached; but two armed vessels, of twelve 
 guns each, protected it against an onrush of the small 
 British batteaux. One broadside from a single boat 
 could crush the entire fleet which was necessary for the 
 transportation of the English. The question was, how 
 to destroy these two ships. 
 
 AVhile General Amherst, the English leader, was 
 reflecting upon this subject, " Old Put" approached him. 
 
GENERAL ISRAEL PUTNAM 29 
 
 "General/' said he, "those ships must be taken, at 
 all hazards/' 
 
 "Yes,'' answered the commander. "I would give 
 a half-year's pay, egad, if one of them were taken." 
 
 "I'll take one of them, sir," cried the ingenious 
 Yankee. 
 
 Amherst smiled incredulously. "Pray, how, my 
 brave fellow?" said he. "Pray how, and when?" 
 
 " Give me some wedges, a mallet, and a few men of 
 my own choosing, — and I guarantee that, in four 
 hours' time, I'll have a French vessel useless for de- 
 fense." 
 
 "All right/' cried Amherst, catching some of Put- 
 nam's enthusiasm. "Go ahead — and win!" 
 
 At nightfall, brave "Put" was ready. Selecting 
 a dozen chosen men, he placed them in a light boat, 
 and, with muffled oars, rowed towards the French 
 vessel, just as it became quite dark. They stole un- 
 perceived under the stern, — for the French were so 
 confident of their safety that they kept a poor watch. 
 Noiselessly some wooden wedges were driven between 
 the rudder and sternpost, so as to make the rudder 
 absolutely useless. Then, pulling carefully to the bow, 
 the hawser was severed, and the vessel was left to drift 
 with a tide which was sending her towards the shore 
 upon which rested the English troopers. She swung 
 slowly to her doom, while the French sentries slept 
 on, unaware of the danger that threatened them. 
 
 In several hours the boat ran ashore; and, with a 
 wild cheer, the British and Americans were soon upon 
 the deck. Without firing a shot, the crew surrendered; 
 
30 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 and as the other boat was soon surrounded by a number 
 of whaleboats, manned by soldiers, and with heavy 
 guns in each prow, she too ran up the white flag. The 
 way was now open to an attack upon Montreal, and 
 only because of the genius and daring of "Old Put", 
 to whom Abercrombie is said to have remarked, "To 
 you, Colonel, is due my victory; and should you ever 
 wish a commission in the King's army, pray call upon 
 me for my assistance. If any man is worthy of high 
 command, that fellow is yourself/' 
 
 Montreal soon fell, and Canada became a British 
 dependency, which she has since remained; although 
 her people will, no doubt, some day either form an 
 independent state, or amalgamate with the United 
 States. Soon after the capitulation of the French at 
 their last standing-ground, Putnam met the vigorous 
 Indian brave who had captured him in the woodland 
 near Fort Edward. "How! How!'* said the redskin. 
 "You are one brave man. When you need a warrior 
 in any of your paleface wars, call upon me. Ugh! I 
 can fight for such a brave warrior as yourself. Ugh! 
 Ugh! I would follow you to the end of the world." 
 
 Although the war was ended, "Old Put" was not 
 yet to retire to the paths of peaceful labor on the farm. 
 He was in a British expedition to Havana, in the West 
 Indies, in 1762; and also was with Bradstreet's forces 
 which marched to relieve the brave Major Gladwyn, 
 besieged by Pontiac and his red warriors at Detroit 
 in 1764. This has been fully described in "Famous 
 Indian Chiefs"; and one can but bestow the greatest 
 praise upon the brave English who marched and fought 
 
GENERAL ISRAEL PUTNAM 31 
 
 in this desperate affair. Colonel Putnam commanded 
 the troops from Connecticut; and, as his allies, had 
 Joseph Brant, the celebrated Mohawk chieftain who 
 fought so bitterly against the Americans in the Revolu- 
 tion ; and also the old Indian warrior who had captured 
 him at Lake George. As you know, the British won; 
 Pontiac was defeated and murdered by one of his own 
 race; and, when peace once more came to the frontier, 
 the war-begrimed ^'Old Put" returned at last to the 
 long-neglected farm in Connecticut. He had won new 
 laurels. His courage, complete indifference to danger, 
 and fruitfulness of resource when under fire, com- 
 manded the respect and admiration of all. 
 
 For ten years he had been actively engaged in war; 
 but for many years longer he was to continue to hear 
 the roar and rattle of arms. Although preferring the 
 peaceful repose of the farm to the shock of battle, when 
 the storm of the American Revolution broke over the 
 colonies, "Old Put" was among the first to join the 
 cause of the people of America against Great Britain. 
 He was ploughing in a field with a yoke of oxen, when 
 a drummer-boy came riding down the road. "Open 
 hostilities with Great Britain have commenced," cried 
 he. "Our men have been fired upon at Lexington. 
 To arms! To arms!" In a few minutes the bold old 
 campaigner had put his oxen in the barn, had mounted 
 his horse, and was spurring for Boston. In twenty- 
 four hours he rode the one hundred miles that inter- 
 vened between his farm and this important city, and 
 saw for himself that war was begun. "I'll fight for 
 Connecticut and the Continentals," cried he. "I'll 
 
32 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 never pay these infernal taxes to Great Britain without 
 representation in their parhament. No, I am for 
 battle/' 
 
 When the noted fighter returned to his farm he found 
 the whole country in a furor. All, save a very few, 
 were for armed resistance to Great Britain. Most were 
 for fight, not compromise. The legislature of Con- 
 necticut made him a brigadier-general. He well de- 
 served the honor, for his reputation in the French and 
 Indian War, and in the Pontiac Rebellion, had been 
 brilliant. So well, indeed, was he thought of by the 
 British, that he was offered a commission of major- 
 general in their own army, with posts of honor, also, 
 for his sons. "I'll never serve the King again,'' "Old 
 Put" is said to have remarked at these overtures. "He 
 has paid me well, 'tis true, but I'll fight for no man who 
 treats his people as he has treated us. My cause is that 
 of my countrymen. Away with such offers." 
 
 "Old Put" was very much in evidence at the first 
 real fight of the Revolution, at Bunker Hill. Wash- 
 ington greatly admired him. "You seem to have the 
 faculty, sir, of infusing your own industry and spirit 
 into the men whom you employ," he is reported to have 
 said to the old veteran. " You are a valuable man, sir, 
 and I trust that we shall see service together in many 
 fields." You all know how the British charged many 
 times against the redoubt of the Americans; and, al- 
 though suffering terrible slaughter, carried it, at length, 
 because the powder of the Continentals gave out. Put- 
 nam was often upon the rampart, urging on his men, 
 but he was never struck by a bullet. His old com- 
 
GENERAL ISRAEL PUTNAM 33 
 
 mander, General Abercrombie, led one of the assaults 
 upon the hill, in person. "If you take General Put- 
 nam," he cried to his men, "do not hang him, for he 
 is a brave and noble fellow.'' Shortly afterwards the 
 gallant Britisher was struck by a ball, and went down; 
 but his men swept over the rampart, to see the Con- 
 tinentals making a vigorous retreat, — among them 
 "Old Put," who brought them off in good order, and 
 presented a solid front to the advancing British, in 
 spite of the lack of ammunition. 
 
 Not long after this "Old Put" had a rather interest- 
 ing affair with a British officer, on parole, who took 
 offense at some of the general's reflections upon the 
 character of the British, and demanded satisfaction 
 in a duel. "Certainly, sir, I will grant your request," 
 cried the American soldier. "But, as you have chal- 
 lenged me, I have the choice of weapons. I will meet 
 you tomorrow in a clearing in yonder woodland, where 
 — by all that is true — you will rue the day that ever 
 you challenged me." So saying, he walked away, 
 humming a tune. 
 
 When the proper time for the duel arrived, the 
 Englishman found Putnam at the appointed spot; un- 
 armed, save for his sword, and sitting upon the side of 
 a powder-barrel, calmly smoking a pipe. There was 
 a small opening in the top of the barrel, in which was 
 inserted a fuse. 
 
 "Pray seat yourself here," said "Old Put," point- 
 ing to his side, and, as he did so, he lighted the fuse 
 with his pipe. 
 
 " I reckon that our chances are about equal," said he. 
 
34 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 For a moment the Englishman watched the burn- 
 ing fuse. Then, as it crept down to the powder, he 
 jumped up, and ran headlong into the forest. 
 
 Putnam burst into a hearty laugh. 
 
 ''You are just as brave as I took you to be," said 
 he, as he strolled leisurely towards the pale-faced Brit- 
 isher, who had now halted. ''That is nothing, my 
 bold soldier, but a barrel of onions, with a few grains of 
 powder scattered over the top, in order to try your 
 nerve. Ah! But I see that you don't relish the smell. 
 Good day, sir. I consider that my honor, and yours, 
 also, has been well satisfied.'^ And, so saying, he 
 walked awaj^ 
 
 Not long afterwards he did a feat of bravery that 
 gave him renewed fame as a man of resource and 
 nerve. 
 
 When in the vicinity of Horseneck, New York, 
 where the American army had retreated, he was one 
 day out scouting, and was seen by six British hussars, 
 well mounted and well equipped. Putting spurs to 
 their steeds they galloped after ''Old Put,'' and soon 
 were so close that he saw he must retreat, or be cap- 
 tured. So, digging his heels into his horse's flanks, he 
 turned to fly. Leaping over several rail fences and 
 boulders, he soon found himself upon the brink of a 
 steep precipice. Should he go on, or turn back? He 
 gave one thought, and then, hitting his steed a fierce 
 rap with his hand, deliberately leaped down the steep 
 decline. 
 
 Fortune favors the brave. As he reached the bot- 
 tom, the hussars arrived at the top of the gorge. Their 
 
GENERAL ISRAEL PUTNAM 35 
 
 amazement can well be imagined, as they saw the ro- 
 tund form of ''Old Put'' swiftly disappearing down 
 the valley beneath them. ''By Heavens!" cried one. 
 "There is truly a brave man. I, for one, would not 
 fire at such a true soldier. Let us let him depart in 
 peace.'' Aad to this the others smilingly agreed. 
 "For," said one, "he is a wonder, and deserves a place 
 with Pegasus, the renowned winged horse of ancient 
 history. Hurrah for yonder American!" 
 
 A life in the woods, exposed to every variation of 
 the elements, with improper covering and improper 
 food, will break the frame of the strongest. "Old 
 Put" had roughed it in many a storm, and had sub- 
 jected himself to so much hardship that at length 
 the privation which he had undergone began to tell 
 upon his rugged constitution. Early in December, 
 1779, he began to feel unwell, obtained leave of absence, 
 and went to visit his family in Connecticut. He was 
 received with the greatest regard and affection; and he 
 deserved it. 
 
 Before the close of the month he began to return to 
 the army, riding his favorite horse that had saved his 
 life by leaping with him down the gorge. When a 
 few miles from his own home, a numbness seized upon 
 him; and he found, to his distress, that he was unable 
 to move either the arm or leg upon one side of his body. 
 He reached the house of a friend; was assisted to the 
 ground, and soon saw that an attack of paralysis had 
 seized him. " By Heavens!" he cried, not ill-humoredly, 
 when he discovered what was the matter with him, 
 " I'll never again fight for flag or country. But — as 
 
36 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 all clocks have to stop — I believe I must be sort of 
 run down. At any rate, I've done my duty.'' 
 
 '^Old Put" recovered somewhat. He recovered to 
 such an extent that he could take moderate exercise 
 in walking and riding for full ten years. His mental 
 faculties were unimpaired; and for all that time he 
 enjoyed his quiet existence, retaining undiminished 
 his love of humor, pleasantry, and social enjoyment. 
 At length he died quietly at his farm, surrounded by 
 his family and loving neighbors, who buried him with 
 all the honor it was possible to bestow upon one who 
 had so prominently figured in the history of the New 
 World. Peace to ''Old Put," the hardy adventurer 
 and master of woodland campaigning. He lived his 
 rough life well, and his name should be honored by 
 all. 
 
 It seems strange to think that when this celebrated 
 soldier was a boy, the frontier was near the Hudson 
 in New York. He had helped to make history. First 
 he had battled for the cause of England against the 
 French and their red-skinned allies. He had seen the 
 lilies of France driven from the New World. He had 
 been present at one of the most memorable Indian 
 sieges of history, — that of Detroit. He had witnessed 
 the triumph of the white over the red men, as far west 
 as the Mississippi. Again he had seen what the English 
 had captured wrested from their grasp by their own 
 sons. He had been prominent in three wars. He had 
 fought for three causes. And with it all, he had been 
 an industrious and sensible man; a good husband and 
 father; an excellent soldier; a fighter full of nerve and 
 
GENERAL ISRAEL PUTNAM 37 
 
 courage. All honor to this hardy pioneer; if such 
 talents as his are preserved in the Republic, it will 
 never lack for leaders when the time and events shall 
 need them. 
 
DANIEL BOONE: COURAGEOUS EXPLOR- 
 ER, AND THE FIRST PIONEER 
 OF KENTUCKY 
 
 IN the month of July, 1899, I was sitting at 
 Moener's Ferry on the south bank of the Snake 
 River in Wyoming. To the southwest rose 
 the three glorious peaks of the brownish-yellow Tetous, 
 and all around stretched the yellow, arid, sagebrush 
 plateau. On a log before me sat a man of fifty odd, 
 with a seamed face and squinting blue eyes. He re- 
 sided in a low, log hut, which graced the south bank 
 of the roaring stream. 
 
 ''Do you like it here?'' I asked. 
 
 "You bet, young man.'' 
 
 "Where'd you come from?" 
 
 "Texas. I rounded up th' last herd of buffaler in 
 that ar country.'^ 
 
 "You're pretty far away from friends, out here," 
 I suggested. "Must be lonely, eh?" 
 
 "Not a bit uv it. Young man, I settled right here 
 to git away from cities an' th' bloomin' railroad." 
 
 And, as I thought it over, I saw that he was right. 
 He had come to a place where the antelope grazed 
 upon the plain; where the elk fed upon the long bunch- 
 grass in winter, within a stone's throw of his door; 
 where, according to his own words, two moose were 
 accustomed to browse during the cold of February 
 
 38 
 
DANIEL BOONE. 
 
DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER 39 
 
 and March; and where the coyote and timber wolf still 
 held their ground untrapped and unabashed. His 
 was the true spirit of the pioneer. He wished to be 
 in the wilderness, and away from "the civilization and 
 refinement of the province.'' 
 
 Such was the spirit that animated Daniel Boone; 
 woodsman, pathfinder, builder of frontier settlements, 
 Indian fighter, and fearless explorer. Such was the 
 spirit which drove him across the trackless Blue 
 Ridge mountains, from North Carolina into Kentucky; 
 and made him blaze a way for hardy families of pio- 
 neers, who followed in the wake of the first white man 
 who penetrated the unknown West. Daniel Boone, 
 like the grizzled buffalo hunter of Moener's Ferry, 
 wanted to " git away from th' railroad." His restless 
 spirit loved the solitude of the vast, unpeopled forest; 
 his eye delighted in the beauties of nature; his ear was 
 charmed by the rush of crystal streams and the songs 
 of woodland birds; his whole being revelled in the in- 
 dependent existence of the trapper and adventurous 
 pioneer. 
 
 Of old English stock, Daniel Boone was the eldest 
 of seven children born to a Pennsylvania farmer. Squire 
 Boone, who settled in what is now Berks County, 
 Pennsylvania. His father had here founded a small 
 settlement, and called it Exeter — after his birth- 
 place in England; and at this quiet spot the future 
 pioneer grew up on the farm. Philadelphia was sixty 
 miles off, with about ten thousand inhabitants; but, 
 even then, Exeter was an isolated little settlement, 
 and practically in the wilderness. Young Daniel 
 
40 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 early learned to use the rifle, and, upon more than one 
 occasion, had use for the expert knowledge which he 
 obtained by firing at squirrels and other small game 
 near the homestead. 
 
 One day, when out squirrel shooting with some 
 companions of his own age (about eleven years), he 
 penetrated a deep woodland, where a panther was 
 startled from a rock upon which it was dozing in the 
 sun. Young Boone's companions fled, overawed by 
 the snarls of the beast. But, as one who has hunted 
 well knows, the panther (the mountain lion of the 
 Rocky Mountains) is a great coward, and will not at- 
 tack a person unless very hungry, in midwinter. Boone 
 was unabashed by the size and noises of the tawny 
 beast; and, creeping to within range, drew a bead upon 
 the animal as it clung to the branch of a low tree. He 
 fired. The animal dropped to the earth. With a 
 loud shout, the young huntsman called to his com- 
 panions; and, when they came leaping to his side, it 
 was found that the bullet from his small flintlock 
 squirrel rifle had penetrated the heart of the fierce- 
 looking beast. With shouts of joy, the boys swung 
 the carcass upon a pole, and carried it in triumph to 
 Exeter, where young Boone's valor and courage were 
 much praised by the older people of this small com- 
 munity. He was thus inspired to do loftier deeds. 
 
 For several years he continued his life of hunting 
 and trapping, even building a log hut in the dense forest 
 for his own use. He had some schooling, but practi- 
 cally devoted himself to outdoor pursuits; until in 1850 
 or '51, Squire Boone, his father, moved from Exeter to 
 
DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER 41 
 
 a spot on the Yadkin River, North CaroHna, in what 
 is now Wilkes County. History records Httle of Boone's 
 life at this period. It is known that, when he reached 
 his majority, he married Rebecca Bryan, and had nine 
 children, — showing that he had more family cares 
 than most. It is not known what part he took in the 
 French and Indian War, or in the great warfare with 
 the Cherokees, which brought massacre and ruin into 
 the Carolinas; but no doubt he developed those quali- 
 ties of energy and resolution which only needed the 
 opportunity to show themselves. His was a life of 
 hunting, trapping, and cultivating a small garden 
 patch. 
 
 The Cherokees were defeated and were driven west- 
 ward over the undulating hillocks of the Blue Ridge. 
 Peace reigned in the Carolinas; but to the eager ears of 
 Boone came stories of a vast and unpeopled region west 
 of the mountains, — a region filled with elk, bear, wolves, 
 antelope, and bison. It was, said some, "a dark and 
 bloody ground,'' called Kaintuckee by the red men, 
 who had agreed among themselves that it should be 
 a neutral territory; lived upon by no particular tribe 
 or tribes, and used only as a place for hunting the vast 
 herds of game which here abounded. Occasionally 
 Boone would meet with a traveller who had wandered 
 into this untrodden country, and had returned rich 
 with skins of the bison and the beaver. He would 
 pour tales of wonder and amazement into the ready 
 ears of the expectant frontiersman; until, no longer 
 able to curb his restless desire to go into the unknown 
 land, Boone left his wife and children, in order to plunge 
 
42 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 into the wilderness. He says in his autobiography: 
 ''It was on the first of May, in the year 1769, that I 
 resigned my domestic happiness for a time, and left 
 my peaceable habitation on the Yadkin River, in North 
 Carolina, to wander through the wilderness of America, 
 in quest of the country of Kentucky, in company with 
 John Finley, John Stuart, Joseph Hoi den, James Monay, 
 and William Cool." The spirit of adventure out- 
 weighed the spirit of domesticity, which should have 
 kept him with his family. 
 
 Although Boone states that in 1769 he first plunged 
 into the wilderness, upon a large beech tree that stands 
 within sight of the present stage road between Jones- 
 boro' and Blountsville, Tennessee, could be seen (up 
 to a few years ago) the following inscription, carved 
 by the pioneer: 
 
 D. Boone 
 
 CillED A. BAR On 
 
 in ThE Tree 
 
 yEAR 1760 
 
 Hence it is evident that when he dictated his auto- 
 biography he had forgotten that it was as early as 
 1760 that he and his buckskin-clad companions pene- 
 trated the vast wilderness of the dark and bloody ground. 
 But he was an old man when he spoke of his early 
 life, — and age forgets. 
 
 Guided by Finley, who had made more than one 
 trip into the West, Boone and his companions trudged 
 onward through dense coverts, over rocky boulders, 
 by whose side rushed clear mountain brooks, across 
 
DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER 43 
 
 giant hills wooded heavily with the spruce, oak, and 
 pine. Game was abundant, and they did not lack 
 for food. Keeping a close lookout for Indian signs, the 
 four explorers kept bravely on, fording creeks and 
 building rafts in order to cross the larger streams; 
 until, at last, they clambered upon a jutting peak on 
 the Cumberland range, and upon the enraptured eyes 
 of Boone burst the first view of Kentucky. There, 
 far below, shimmering in the sunlight, flowed the head- 
 waters of the Kentucky River, through vast groves 
 of trees, and by fertile valleys, on which grazed great 
 herds of buffalo and of deer. Boone's eyes drank in 
 the scene of peace and beaut}^, and he sank to the earth, 
 saying, "Boys! This is God's country. It is the 
 finest and most magnificent scene that my eyes ever 
 fell upon. I feel that here will be the future home of 
 a great and prosperous people." Far off rang the call 
 of a cardinal bird; a buzzard soared in the distant blue 
 ether; and, enraptured by the scene of peace and beauty, 
 his companions stared before them, silent and motion- 
 less. 
 
 Finally the hunters crept in single file down into 
 the valley; and, finding a suitable spot, prepared a 
 rude log hut, about ten feet by fifteen, with a roof of 
 bark from the linden tree. Here they lived and hunted, 
 undisturbed and unattacked by ro\dng bands of Chero- 
 kees or Shawnees, until after Christmas. They were 
 on neutral ground. Two years previous the Iroquois 
 had ceded to Great Britain all their claims to 
 the land lying south of the Ohio River; so Boone 
 and his companions were upon soil which no Indian 
 
44 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 tribe laid claim to. The red men had named it Kain- 
 tuckee, because this means ''at the head of a river"; 
 and this magnificent game land was between the head- 
 waters of the Big Sandy and of the Tennessee, which 
 rippled aw^ay to the southwest in silent splendor. 
 
 As spring came, Boone and Stuart grew anxious 
 to see what lay beyond them; and, leaving their com- 
 panions, pushed towards the northwest, in order to 
 explore the district lying near the Ohio River. They 
 journeyed onward for several days until they reached 
 the banks of the Kentucky River, where — in fancied 
 seclusion — they built a small bark lean-to and lay 
 down to rest. But, just as night was falling, and as 
 they lay dozing upon their bed of boughs, suddenly 
 shadowy forms bounded from the forest; their guns 
 were snatched away; and, rousing themselves, they 
 found themselves helpless in the hands of a dozen red- 
 skinned warriors. They had been completely sur- 
 prised, for in all their wanderings they had seen no 
 signs of Indians. 
 
 Boone purposely smiled, laughed, and appeared 
 to be overjoyed to be among his red-skinned brothers. 
 He had heard that this was the only way to act in order 
 to get on with the ferocious red men; for nothing wins 
 the good opinion of an Indian so much as bravery, just 
 as cowardice is certain to arouse his hatred of a cap- 
 tive. Crafty Boone now awakened the respect of his 
 captors. They relaxed their vigilance over him, and 
 soon allowed him to take part in their sports and hunt- 
 ing expeditions; and although he meditated escape, 
 he gave no signs of it to the watchful braves. 
 
DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER 45 
 
 One day Stuart and Boone were taken to a dense 
 canebrake, and were made to assist in the building of 
 an encampment. Here they lay down to rest in a 
 circle of Indians; but at about one in the morning 
 Stuart was aroused by a tugging at his arm. 
 
 "Hist! Hist!'^ came the well-known voice of 
 Boone. "Awake, and steal sharply off. The Indians 
 are all asleep, and you must step lightly, or you will 
 awaken them. Then I will not answer for our lives." 
 
 "All right," Stuart replied. "Count upon me for 
 silence." 
 
 The two fugitives now stepped gingerly over the 
 prostrate forms of their captors; and, turning towards 
 their old camping-ground where they had left their 
 companions months before, they stumbled off in the 
 darkness. They travelled rapidly that night and 
 upon the following day. In several days they felt 
 that they were safely beyond pursuit, and soon they 
 came to the neighborhood of their first camp in the 
 new country. With eager eyes they hastened onward, 
 already smiling with the thought of the joyous wel- 
 come which they would receive; and suddenly they 
 burst into the clearing where had stood their former 
 home. All was silence. The cabin was gone and a 
 few logs smouldered where once had stood their habi- 
 tation. Their companions had vanished. 
 
 Nor did they ever view them again. These pioneers, 
 in fact, disappeared, and it has never been known 
 whether they were killed by skulking red men, or wan- 
 dered to some other section of country. Owing to the 
 few persons at this time in the western world, it is al- 
 
46 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 most certain that they would have been heard of had 
 this been the case; so it is probable that the Indians 
 made away with them. Had they been massacred, 
 there is no doubt that this would have finally reached 
 the ears of some white settlers, as all such atrocities 
 eventually did. At any rate, the fate of these four 
 men remains to this day a mystery of Kentucky, — that 
 land of many mysteries. 
 
 But Boone and Stuart were not overawed by the 
 calamity. Instead, they set to w^ork to build another 
 house with the two hatchets which they carried with 
 them. In this hut they lived until February, subsist- 
 ing upon the game which they killed. Then one day, 
 as they were scouring the woods for game, they saw 
 two figures approaching. 
 
 "Indians!" whispered Stuart, dropping to one 
 knee. "No, white men,'' answered Boone, with his 
 finger upon the trigger of his rifle. "It looks exactly 
 like my younger brother. Squire.'' 
 
 And so it was. Anxious about the whereabouts 
 of the wandering huntsman. Squire had come to look 
 for him, and had brought much needed supplies of 
 powder and salt. "My wife and children?" asked 
 Daniel. " How are they?" 
 
 "Prospering," answered Squire. 
 
 "Then we will stay the winter here, and get enough 
 furs to bring much money to my people," said Daniel, 
 smiling. And so they remained in Kentucky. 
 
 It was to be a winter of death. They amassed a 
 great store of peltries; but while hunting one day 
 Daniel and Stuart were surprised by Indians. They 
 
DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER 47 
 
 shot Stuart and killed him instantly, but Boone ran 
 through the thicket with tremendous strides. Jump- 
 ing over fallen trees and dashing through the brush, 
 he soon eluded the red men, and returned to the camp, 
 absolutely exliausted. Brooding over the fate of Stuart 
 seemed to upset the mind of Squire's companion, for 
 he went away from the camp early the next morning 
 and was never afterwards seen. Some months later 
 his skeleton was found in a swamp a few miles from 
 the camp; so it was evident that the poor fellow had 
 wandered there to die, reflecting, with unbalanced 
 mind, upon the perils that surrounded him. 
 
 When spring came the ammunition was so low 
 that Squire bade Daniel good-bye on May 1st, 1761, 
 and set out to traverse the five hundred miles that lay 
 between them and the settlements in North Carolina. 
 The first pioneer of Kentucky was thus left absolutely 
 alone, ^'without salt, bread, sugar; without the society 
 of a fellow creature; without the companionship of a 
 horse, or even a dog, — often the affectionate com- 
 panion of a lone hunter." He was so lonely that he 
 made a journey of exploration in the country lying 
 between the Kentucky and the Green rivers. After 
 a month he returned, only to find that the cabin and 
 its contents had been burned by some roving redskins. 
 It was thus fortunate that he had wandered away, for 
 had he remained he would either have perished or 
 been taken prisoner. 
 
 On the 27th of July — a wonderfully beautiful 
 month in Kentucky — Squire returned with a large 
 supply of ammunition and two horses, and with the pleas- 
 
48 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 ing intelligence that Daniel's family Vas in good health 
 and easy circumstances. These horses were probably 
 the first animals ever ridden by a white man in Ken- 
 tucky. They did good service for the two trappers, 
 who moved their habitation to the Kentucky River, 
 in an excellent country for game. No Indians molested 
 them; so in the spring they returned to the Boone home- 
 stead on the Yadkin River, North Carolina, where 
 their furs and peltries brought excellent prices. Daniel 
 Boone had been absent for two years. All of his white 
 companions, save one, had been killed by the redskins. 
 But instead of being depressed by this he was more 
 anxious than ever for further adventure. He deter- 
 mined to move his entire family into Kentucky. 
 
 The first pioneers of America were brave men, — 
 but what of their wives? A woman naturally leans 
 towards comfort and civilized refinement; and it was 
 not strange that Boone had to argue long and arduously 
 with his wife before she would consent to plunge into 
 a land of unknown dangers. Before her were intense 
 hardships, hostile Indians, w^arfare, and suffering. 
 Yet, with true heroism, she consented to join her for- 
 tunes with those of her intrepid husband. Five 
 other families, with pack-horses and three milch cows, 
 decided to link their existence with the explorers. So, 
 on September 25th, 1773, the first band of English- 
 speaking pioneers turned their faces towards "the 
 dark and bloody ground." 
 
 Cumberland Gap is a magnificent thoroughfare 
 through the wooded Blue Ridge. As the little band 
 of first settlers pushed a cautious way through the 
 
DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER 49 
 
 narrow defile which led into Kentucky, suddenly a 
 wild war-whoop sounded from either side of the glen. 
 Shots sounded in the forest gloom; and as the seven 
 young men who brought up the rear turned to fight, 
 the discordant yelping showed that fully a hundred 
 hostile Cherokees or Shawnees were lying in ambush. 
 So accurate was their fire that six young frontiersmen 
 were soon dying upon the field of battle. A desperate 
 fight now commenced. The screams of the women 
 and children were drowned by the wild war-whoops 
 of the redskins and rattle of the flintlocks. The men 
 crouched low and fired only when they saw the head 
 and face of a painted warrior. They were all good 
 shots, for they had to be. Their accurate fire soon 
 began to tell. The Indians grew less bold. After fif- 
 teen minutes of furious yelping, they withdrew, carry- 
 ing with them the three milch cows, to be butchered 
 for a woodland revel. Daniel Boone's oldest son 
 James was among the dead; but the pioneer did not 
 speak of the intense grief which his loss undoubtedly 
 caused him. 
 
 The Indian attack had been so fierce that the pio- 
 neers determined to withdraw to the Clinch River, in 
 Virginia, where a settlement had been started two 
 years earlier. But Boone soon made a trip into Ken- 
 tucky, in order to rescue some surveyors who were 
 supposed to be sore pressed by an Indian war-party. 
 He found them without much difficulty, and brought 
 them back to Virginia, covering eight hundred miles 
 on foot in sixty-two days. 
 
 Governor Dunmore, the English ruler of Virginia, 
 
50 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 was now called upon to punish the Shawnees, who 
 were rendering life most insecure upon the border. 
 In " Famous Indian Chiefs " I have fully described 
 the Battle of Point Pleasant between the Indians, 
 under Cornstalk and Logan, and the English and Ameri- 
 cans. Boone was not in the fight, but commanded 
 a fortification upon the border. He did good work, 
 and always kept his British commission of captain in 
 the royal service; for, when captured by the Indians — 
 who were British allies —it frequently saved his life. 
 His wits were sharpened by wilderness life, and his 
 cunning and plausible speech often saved him from 
 death. 
 
 The Transylvania Company now employed Boone 
 to guide a party of surveyors, who were sent to open 
 a road to the Kentucky River, and to establish a sta- 
 tion at the mouth of Otter Creek — a branch of that 
 stream. A small company of brave, hardy, and ad- 
 venturous men was soon collected; and, under the 
 leadership of Boone, began a march into the land of 
 which Boone had often spoken with enthusiasm, prais- 
 ing its rich plains and game-filled forests. They cut 
 a path through the mountains and valleys, which to- 
 day is a great highway known as the "Wilderness 
 Road." Of this expedition he himself has written: 
 
 "We proceeded with all possible expedition until 
 we came within fifteen miles of where Boonesborough 
 now stands, when we were fired upon by a party of 
 Indians, that killed two and wounded two more of our 
 number; yet, although surprised and taken at a dis- 
 advantage, we stood our ground. This was on March 
 
DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER 51 
 
 20th, 1775. Three days after, we were fired upon 
 again, and had two men killed and three wounded. 
 Afterward we proceeded on to Kentucky River with- 
 out opposition; and, on the first day of April, began 
 to erect the fort of Boonesborough, at a salt lick about 
 sixty yards from the river, on the south side. 
 
 "On the fourth day the Indians killed one of our 
 men. We were busily employed in building this fort 
 until the fourteenth day of June following, without 
 any further opposition from the redskins; and, having 
 finished the works, I returned to my family on the 
 Chnch. 
 
 "In a short time I proceeded to move my family 
 from Clinch to this garrison, where we arrived safe, 
 without any other difficulties than such as are com- 
 mon to this passage; my wife and daughter being the 
 first white women that ever stood on the banks of 
 Kentucky River." 
 
 The fort was excellently planned, and was to repel 
 many an attack. Let us see how this — the first 
 structure of any size in Kentucky — was fashioned. 
 The length was about two hundred and sixty feet, a 
 bit shorter than the space allotted for the one hundred 
 yards dash in athletic meets. The breadth was about 
 one hundred and fifty feet. Every twenty feet was 
 a projecting cabin with loopholes in the sides. One 
 corner was quite near the river, and the other near a 
 hillside. Heavy timber gates were in the front and 
 rear. The walls were about twelve feet high, and of 
 timber, with, sharp ends upwards — so it would be 
 difficult for a redskin to climb over it. Hardly a nail 
 
52 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 was used in constructing this formidable obstacle to 
 Indian attack; and, in honor of hardy Daniel Boone, 
 it was called Boonesborough. A representative govern- 
 ment was here established, and Daniel Boone w^as one 
 of the legislators. He orginated two bills: one to im- 
 prove the breed of horses, and the other to preserve 
 the game. Both were passed unanimously. Hats 
 off to the first true sportsman of "Old Kentucky"! 
 
 And now families of whites commenced to flock 
 into the promised land; the plough and axe soon began 
 to turn the wilderness into a series of farms; and as 
 the Indians viewed the smoke from the settlers' cabins, 
 they vowed revenge upon those of the fair-skinned 
 race who were ruining their vast hunting-ground. 
 While Boonesborough was attracting hardy pioneers 
 from the East, the stirring news of the Battle of Lex- 
 ington, Massachusetts, was first received in the ter- 
 ritory of Kentucky by a party of hunters camped in 
 a beautiful section of this virgin soil, in what is now 
 Fayette County, about thirty miles from Boones- 
 borough. 
 
 "Hurrah for the brave Continentals who stemmed 
 the British advance !'* cried a stout pioneer. "We 
 will call this settlement Lexington, in honor of the 
 first battle-field of American independence.'' And 
 thus the far-famed metropolis of the fairest section of 
 all Kentucky, the celebrated Blue-grass region, received 
 its name. It is kno\\Ti as "God's Country," and has 
 the most bounteous crops, the finest thoroughbred 
 horses, and the loveliest women, in all America. 
 
 The redskins twice attacked the stockade at Boones- 
 
DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER 53 
 
 borough, but were driven off with no loss to the white 
 settlers. Ground was tilled for corn and wheat, and 
 crops were raised without much difficulty. But, as 
 hostilities between Great Britain and the American 
 Colonies were under way, the British secured the services 
 of several tribes of Indians, which led to a regular 
 Indian war; and Boonesborough was singled out as a 
 stockade which must be captured. Three girls who 
 were paddling on the river, near the fort, were cap- 
 tured one day by the redskins; but a vigorous pursuit, 
 led by Daniel Boone in person, secured their recapture. 
 This spread great alarm among the settlers. Many 
 returned to their old homes in the East. Forty-five 
 additional pioneers, however, strengthened the force 
 at Boonesborough, and caused much rejoicing among 
 the garrison, who lived in hourly dread of an attack 
 from the red men. 
 
 And it came. One warm evening in July over 
 two hundred Cherokees and renegade Indians were 
 seen in the clearing near the fort. The settlers re- 
 treated inside and prepared for a stout resistance, 
 while Daniel Boone, Simon Kenton, John Floyd, and 
 the four McAfee brothers went among them, telling 
 the men to keep cool and make every shot count, and 
 setting the women and children at work moulding bul- 
 lets. But the Indians apparently did not want a big 
 fight, and sat down to starve out the garrison. 
 
 "I see what they're after," said Boone. "We'll 
 march out and draw their fire; for, of course, they can 
 starve us out if they so wish." 
 
 So several men sallied forth, and fired at the red 
 
54 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 men at close range. The Indians replied, and, when 
 things got too hot, the pioneers retreated. Two days 
 and nights were spent in thus challenging the men of 
 the woods to battle; until, goaded on to anger, the 
 redskins opened the attack in earnest. With a wild 
 yell they rushed towards the walls of the stockade, 
 as if about to scale them; but, after seven of their war- 
 riors had dropped before the careful aim of the pioneers, 
 and about thirty had been badly wounded, they with- 
 drew. 
 
 "The savages,'^ says Boone, "had now learned 
 by experience the superiority of the 'Long Knife,' as 
 they called the Virginian, as we outgeneralled them 
 in every battle. Our affairs began to wear a new aspect, 
 and the enemy, not daring to venture an open war, 
 practiced secret mischief." 
 
 Unawed by the nearness of the red men, Boone and 
 thirty others went upon an expedition to the Lower 
 Blue Licks, on Licking River, in the winter of 1777-78, 
 in order to get salt for the pioneers. Boone was cap- 
 tain, hunter and scout; but his chief duty was to sup- 
 ply meat for the men, and to guard against surprise. 
 Everything went well for a time, and Boone looked 
 forward to a speedy return. 
 
 On February 7th, Boone was chasing a deer, some 
 distance from the encampment, when a wild war- 
 whoop sounded from the sides of a ravine in which he 
 found himself, and he was suddenly surrounded by a 
 large war-party of red men. He gave up without a 
 murmur; but as he saw that this big war-party would 
 make short work of the thirty men making salt, he 
 
DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER 55 
 
 determined to secure their capitulation, and save them 
 from slaughter. So he laughed, even sang, and ap- 
 peared to be delighted with his position. The Indians 
 were much pleased. ^^Ugh! Ugh!" said they, "he 
 make a good Indian. He no coward." 
 
 ''If I secure the surrender of my friends nearby," 
 said Daniel, the diplomat, "will you see that they are 
 honorably treated?" 
 
 "Ugh! Ugh!" said the red men, "if they no fight 
 and kill. We will take them to the Great White Father 
 (British Commander) at Chillicothe." 
 
 "Let me advance, then, and see them," urged Boone, 
 "and they they will give up without firing a rifle." 
 
 The Indians consented: and, after travelling through 
 the forest, Boone persuaded his own party to give 
 in without a battle. This was admirable strategy. 
 It not only saved his fellow-pioneers from massacre, 
 but prevented an attack upon Boonesborough. The 
 prisoners were marched to Chillicothe, on the Little 
 Miami River, and were there paroled by the British; 
 but Boone was claimed by Black Fish — head chief 
 of the Shawnees — who wanted him as his personal 
 prisoner, to take the place of a favorite son who had 
 fallen in battle with the white settlers. "It will be 
 months before I again see my wife and children," said 
 he to himself; "but I shall put on a good countenance, 
 make friends of my captors, and, when the time is 
 ripe, I will escape to Boonesborough/' This he did; 
 and soon he was most popular with the Shawnees, 
 who much admired his skill with the rifle. 
 
 Boone was soon allowed to go into the woods alone; 
 
56 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 but his powder and bullets were measured out to him, 
 and he had to bring back as much game as his ammuni- 
 tion warranted. Again he used strategy. By using 
 small charges of powder, and by cutting balls in half, 
 he managed to save a few charges of powder and ball, 
 for use in case he should find an opportunity to make 
 a break for it to the white settlements. 
 
 In the June following his capture, Boone returned 
 from hunting and found old Black Fish with his face 
 painted vermillion. Nearly five hundred Shawnees 
 were at Chillicothe, in war paint and with many 
 weapons. 
 
 " How is this?" asked he, with some distress. " What 
 are my red brothers intending to do?" 
 
 "Ugh! We will soon burn the log houses of our 
 white enemies to the ground," said a brave. "Ugh! 
 We will chop them like a tree. Ugh! Ugh!" 
 
 Boone walked away. "I must escape to-night," 
 said he, " and warn the people of Boonesborough. Else 
 all will perish. It is now, or never." 
 
 That night he stuffed some long strips of jerked 
 venison into his hunting shirt. Early the next morn- 
 ing he left the Indian village, with his rifle upon his 
 shoulder, as if he were going into the woods for his 
 customary hunt. He wandered about carelessly for 
 two hours, as if looking for game, and then suddenly 
 turned towards Boonesborough. The distance was 
 fully one hundred and sixty miles, but he struck out 
 at a long walk, and had soon traversed a great strip 
 of country. 
 
 For five days the great-hearted pioneer pushed 
 
DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER 57 
 
 through the wilderness. One regular meal sustained 
 him, and that from a turkey which he shot after crossing 
 the Ohio River in an old canoe that had floated into 
 the brush and lodged. There was a hole in one end of 
 it, but this he stopped with leaves, twigs and mud, 
 and thus paddled safely to the Kentucky shore. Luck 
 was with him; for he was a poor swimmer, and, know- 
 ing that he would be followed, feared capture in the 
 water. Finally the gaunt and half-exhausted woods- 
 man staggered into Boonesborough, where he was 
 received with wild rejoicings, for his friends never 
 again expected to see him alive. His wife, thinking 
 that the Shawnees had murdered him, had gone with 
 some of her children to her father's home in North 
 Carolina, on pack-horses. Boone's grief at not seeing 
 her was pathetic. 
 
 "Now, my men," said he, after he had looked 
 around him, ''you must quickly repair the walls of this 
 fort, for I see that in the time that I have been away 
 from here they have fallen into great neglect. A large 
 force of redskins will soon be upon us. We must fight, 
 and we must fight like Trojans." 
 
 Acting upon his sensible advice, the fort was soon 
 put into a good condition for defense. But no red 
 men appeared, although Boone and his companions 
 expected an attack at any moment. After a month 
 of quiet, the pioneer leader determined to make a foray 
 with a view to feeling the strength and position of the 
 enemy; so, with thirty well-armed men, he marched 
 to the banks of the Scioto River, where he fell upon 
 a camp of fifty Shawnees. The Americans immedi- 
 
5S FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 ately attacked. The redskins fled, leaving two dead, 
 and one captive, — from whom Boone learned that 
 this body was a detachment from a large party under 
 Black Fish and eight Canadian officers, en route to at- 
 tack Boonesborough. 
 
 '*We must go back at once,^' shouted Boone to 
 his men. "We must strengthen our defenses, and 
 make ready for this terrific attack that is to come. 
 Courage will beat them, I feel sure, in spite of our lack 
 of numbers.'' 
 
 The Indian party of attackers was under Captain 
 De Quindre, acting under orders from General Hamilton, 
 British Governor of the Northwest; and on the eighth 
 of July it appeared before Boonesborough, carrying 
 aloft both the French and the English standards. A 
 small body, under the British flag, advanced to the 
 gates and halted, while an officer (De Quindre himself) 
 called out: 
 
 " I demand the immediate surrender of the garrison; 
 and if you do not surrender I will capture the fort, 
 and massacre all of the inhabitants of this place." 
 
 "Wait until I consult my companions," cried Boone, 
 from the top of the stockade, ^'and then I'll tell you 
 what will be done." 
 
 "We'll never surrender!" cried his men. ''We'll 
 fight as long as an ounce of lead is left in our possession." 
 Consequently, horses and cattle were collected from 
 the surrounding fields, and all was made ready for a 
 stout resistance; and, on the evening following the call 
 for surrender, Boone cried out to De Quindre, who 
 approached near enough to the stockade to hear him: 
 
DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER 59 
 
 "We laugh at your demand. Thank you for giving 
 us notice and time to prepare for our defense. Your 
 efforts to take our fort will not prevail, for our gates 
 will forever deny you admittance. Now come on and 
 you'll get a dose of good American lead.'' 
 
 Captain De Quindre was plainly disappointed, 
 but asked for a conference with nine of the Americans. 
 Although from where they were they could talk very 
 well with the enemy, the wary pioneers allowed them- 
 selves to trust a foe whose perfidy they well knew. 
 Boone, with eight others, left the fort to treat with the 
 whites and red men; and so earnestly did De Quindre 
 declare that his orders were to take the Kentuckians 
 and not to kill them, that the backwoodsmen nearly 
 believed him. At any rate, a treaty was signed, the 
 contents of which have never come down to us. 
 
 " It is a singular custom among the Indians of whom 
 I am the leader," said De Quindre, when the articles 
 had been signed, "for each white man with whom they 
 have made a treaty, to give each hand to be clasped 
 by an Indian, in token of good faith." 
 
 "Cussed if it ainH a curious custom," Boone whis- 
 pered to his companions. "Be on your guard, boys, 
 and if a redskin makes a move towards his hatchet or 
 gun, skip to th' fort, inamediate." 
 
 The white men held out their knotted hands. The 
 red men selected for the occasion, advanced, each 
 uttering the word "Brother" in his softest tones. But 
 each could not conceal the snake-like glitter in his eye; 
 and as they took the hands of the pioneers, each grap- 
 pled w4th his would-be friend. A wild yell went up 
 
60 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 from the stockade, where the companions of Boone 
 and his men saw their peril. Quickly the Americans 
 wrenched themselves free; Boone knocked over two 
 red men with his fists; and, turning around, ran like 
 a deer to the doors of the stockade, his eight compan- 
 ions behind him. A shower of bullets, tomahawks 
 and arrows flew by them as they ran, but unscathed 
 they entered the sheltering walls of Boonesborough. 
 Ping! Ping! sounded the rifles of the Kentuckians; 
 and, falling back before their well-aimed volleys, the 
 followers of De Quindre retired to the forest, where 
 they returned the fire of the garrison with no effect. 
 
 "I'll blow up the cursed Americans!" cried De 
 Quindre, with an oath. "Men, we'll run a mine into 
 yonder fortress and blow it to a thousand pieces. '^ 
 
 Boonesborough fortress was but sixty yards from 
 the Kentucky River; and, beginning at the bank, a 
 tunnel was immediately directed towards the stock- 
 ade. But the mud in the river soon attracted the 
 wary eye of one of the garrison. "We'll countermine 
 them," cried Boone, "and when we meet there'll be a 
 battle fit for kings." So saying, a tunnel was started 
 outwards from the fort to meet that of the Indians. 
 
 For nine days heavy firing was kept up by the 
 besiegers, while both parties indulged in a rapid inter- 
 change of rude banterings. "If you red rascals think 
 you've got us, you're much mistook,'^ an old buck- 
 skinned hunter would yell to the Indians in the wood- 
 land. "We'll blow you all to the devil soon," a voice 
 would come back. "Oh, not yet," would be the reply; 
 "wait until our tunnel meets yours, and then there 
 
DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER 61 
 
 will be a big time. Oh — you just — wait!'^ Then 
 the roofs of the cabins caught on fire from blazing 
 arrows, but rain came down and spoiled the burn-up 
 which the Indians were expecting. The rain also 
 caved in the top of the mine, within a few yards of the 
 gate, and things looked black for the vainglorious 
 De Quindre. In utter discouragement he raised the 
 siege on the sixteenth of September, and, with a last 
 parting volley, his red followers retired towards the 
 Little Miami. The first stiff brush in old Kentucky 
 had been a complete and overwhelming victory for 
 the followers of Boone, the sturdy backwoodsman 
 and hardy pioneer. He had saved Kentucky. 
 
 Boone, himself, made one first-rate shot, for he 
 killed a runaway negro at one hundred and seventy- 
 five yards, just as he was firing into the fort from a 
 tree. The bullet hit him just in the centre of his fore- 
 head. One man only of the garrison was killed, 
 and four wounded; while the enemy lost thirty-seven 
 by death, and many were wounded. After the battle, 
 one hundred and twenty-five pounds^ weight of bullets 
 was picked out from the logs of the fort, where it had 
 been fired by the redskins; but it was a useless ex- 
 penditure of ammunition. Boonesborough was never 
 again attacked by a large body of Indians. 
 
 One reason for this was that many new stations 
 were established between this frontier fortress and 
 the Ohio River, the most important of which were 
 Bryan's Station and Harrodsburg. The Indians, fear- 
 ing an attack from the rear, were thus afraid to ad- 
 vance upon the scarred and battered log stockade 
 
62 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 upon the rippling Kentucky. Boone, having saved it, 
 was anxious to see his wife again; so he returned to 
 the Yadkin River in North Carohna, and with her 
 started for Boonesborough in the following year. 
 Among other valuables that he brought with him 
 was a sum of $20,000, entrusted to him by persons in 
 North Carolina to take to their friends in Kentucky. 
 But he was set upon by a large party of Indians and 
 white renegades, who had in some way heard of the 
 large treasure which he carried upon his person. He 
 was overpowered, the money was taken away from 
 him, and poor Boone trudged into Boonesborough 
 without the cash which he was supposed to be bringing. 
 
 Yet there were compensations for him in spite of 
 this ill fortune. He was court-martialed for surrender- 
 ing his men at the Blue Licks, and for parleying before 
 the fort with De Quindre; but was acquitted with 
 honor, and was promoted from major to lieutenant- 
 colonel. Hence he is invariably called Colonel Boone, — 
 one of the first and most glorious of Kentucky's many 
 colonels, both self-named and officially appointed. 
 
 Boone's life, always eventful, continued so until 
 his death. Abandoning his claim to all land near 
 Boonesborough, he moved across the Kentucky River 
 and settled in the wilderness again at a place called 
 Boone's Station, another tiny fort upon the frontier. 
 Here he resumed his trade of hunting, trapping, guiding, 
 and cultivating a small garden patch. The man seemed 
 to court danger, and always moved onward towards 
 the wilderness when his work of settlement had been 
 done. He was part gypsy, part general, part legisla- 
 
DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER 63 
 
 tor, part farmer; and he was only satisfied by the great 
 quiet of the unsulhed woodland. 
 
 So Boone was living quietly, when, on August 16th, 
 1782, a mounted messenger came riding up to his door 
 with the news that Bryan's Station had been attacked 
 by an overwhelming force of redskins and whites. 
 The next day found the splendid old fellow on the 
 march to the scene of conflict, with his rifle upon his 
 shoulder. With him were all the able-bodied men of 
 the neighborhood. 
 
 It seems that there had been but fifty men in the 
 fort at Bryan's Station, when a body of twenty Indians 
 had advanced close to the fort, delivered a volley, and 
 then had retreated. This was apparently a ruse to 
 draw out the garrison, but there were old Indian fighters 
 in the stockade, and they knew the tactics of the cun- 
 ning red men. Consequently none ventured beyond 
 the walls of the fort, but runners were dispatched to 
 the other settlements for assistance. These men crept 
 silently through the underbrush, eluded the watchful 
 red men, and escaped to bring the news of the attack 
 to Boonesborough. 
 
 The redskins were under the command of Simon 
 Girty, a white renegade who had joined them. Strange 
 as it may seem, this often happened on the frontier; 
 and many whites of weak morals and character joined 
 the Indians, a.nd took part in warfare against their 
 own race. This particular leader placed his red war- 
 riors about the garrison, in order to cut off any possibil- 
 ity of escape, and then settled down to a regular siege. 
 Whenever a head showed over the top of the rampart, 
 
64 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 the sharp zip of a bullet showed that the skulking 
 Indians were forever upon the watch. 
 
 Daniel Boone soon found that about fifty other 
 frontiersmen were hurrying towards the beleagured 
 stockade. Some on horseback, and others on foot, 
 pressed onward towards Bryan's Station and, at about 
 two o'clock in the afternoon, arrived near the scene 
 of conflict. But the redskins lay in ambush and, as 
 they made a run towards the stockade, poured a heavy 
 fire upon the trappers and pioneers with Daniel Boone. 
 The horsemen plunged through the circle of fire with- 
 out losing a man, the men on foot dashing through a 
 cornfield in order to drive off the Indians, only to be 
 met with a gruelling fire, which killed six of their num- 
 ber. Staggered by this, but returning the fire with 
 spirit, they rushed tow^ards the door of the stockade, 
 and were admitted amidst cheers from the garrison, 
 and wild yelpings from the red men, who had hoped 
 to kill them all. 
 
 Simon Girty now crawled to a stump, and demanded 
 parley. "If you surrender, you will all be treated 
 as prisoners of war," said he. "You will not suffer 
 harm, and will be sent to your homes after you have 
 been paroled." 
 
 A young fellow named Reynolds hurled back a 
 defiant reply. " I've got a dog here," he cried, "which 
 is the meanest, sneakiest, trickiest cur in all Kentucky. 
 I call him Simon Girty, because he looks hke you." 
 
 "I've got artillery and reinforcements," cried 
 Girty, angered by the young man's banter. "I'll blow 
 you all to atoms within two hours' time." 
 
DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER 65 
 
 "Blow away/' came the tart reply. "If any of 
 your redskins get into the fort, we'll discard our guns 
 and use whips against them. We're a match for all 
 the artillery this side of the Blue Ridge." 
 
 "Kill the renegade!" "Shoot the white scoundrel!" 
 "A bullet for the dirty dog!" came cries from the friends 
 and companions of Daniel Boone; and, seeing that he 
 could accomplish nothing, Girty crept back to his own 
 men, disappointed and enraged. Next morning he 
 and his red allies had departed. Boone and his fol- 
 lowers had saved the men and women of Bryan's Station. 
 
 But this was not all of the fighting; for the blood 
 of the Kentuckians was now up, and they were de- 
 termined to follow Girty's band, and bring his white 
 and red followers to bay. Trappers, farmers and 
 pioneers continued to come into Bryan's Station, so 
 by the day following the withdrawal of the attacking 
 force, fully one hundred and eighty well-armed men 
 were on hand. Daniel Boone's son Israel was among 
 the number, and also his brother Samuel. It was 
 decided to at once follow the trail of the retreating 
 savages, which was very plain; and so much that Boone 
 decided it had been purposely made so, in order to 
 draw the frontiersmen on to an ambuscade by a su- 
 perior force. 
 
 "I would not advance at this time," said he, when 
 his advice was asked. " The Indians have left a prom- 
 inent trail. Their cast off garments and utensils 
 are strewn along the path. They have even made 
 marks upon the trees in their line of retreat. These 
 are with a purpose. They mean to lead us into an 
 
66 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 ambuscade. Colonel Logan is hastening here from 
 Lexington with a large body of men. Let us wait 
 for him before advancing; divide our force; catch the 
 enemy between our two bodies; and win a big victory.'^ 
 
 "No! No!'' shouted the frontiersmen. "Let us 
 go forward and clean out the whole outfit. On! On!" 
 
 So the old pioneer's counsel was disregarded, and 
 they pressed forward through the forest. At Blue 
 Licks (where salt was usually procured by the settlers) 
 the trail grew very fresh. The men had their blood 
 up and, with a yell of pleasure, pressed on to the Lick- 
 ing River. A few redskins were skulking in the brush 
 on the opposite shore. They withdrew slowly, which 
 led the more prudent frontiersmen to believe that a 
 large party must be in front; consequently, a halt was 
 ordered, and a consultation was held. When Boone 
 was asked for his word, he said, "Boys! I know 
 this country well. I've hunted and trapped here often. 
 I was once captured here by the redskins. It is ap- 
 parent that the Indians are near here in force, for those 
 that we have seen have been in no hurry to get away. 
 I guarantee that they've made an ambuscade just a 
 mile in advance, where two ravines, one on either side 
 of a ridge, run in such a way that a concealed foe can 
 attack on both the flank and the rear at once. 
 
 " I advise one of two things : either wait for Colonel 
 Logan; or, if we do attack, split the force, sending a 
 part up the river to cross, and fall on the enemy's rear, 
 while the other presses him in front, — and by no means 
 cross the river until the ground has first been thoroughly 
 reconnoitercd." 
 
DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER 67 
 
 One of the Kentuckians, called McGarry, listened 
 with a great deal of impatience at this sage counsel. 
 He was a hot-tempered fellow, and impetuous. Spring- 
 ing upon his horse he dashed down the bank into the 
 shallow river, which could be easily forded here. And, 
 as he did so, he cried out, "all who are not cowards 
 will follow me." 
 
 "Hurrah! On! We want a fight!'' yelled the im- 
 patient frontier soldiers; and, rapidly crossing the 
 stream, they rode in a swift gallop towards the place 
 where the last redskins had been seen. Boone followed 
 in the rear with others who were on foot. 
 
 As the knowing pioneer had said, no sooner had 
 the headstrong riflemen reached the junction of the two 
 ravines than a galling fire was poured into the flanks 
 by swarms of redskins concealed in the scrub growth 
 of timber and underbrush. Scores of horsemen went 
 down, and the front lines were thrown into a panic. 
 The entire party was flanked; and, as the Kentuckians 
 could see no foe, they were shot like rabbits in a western 
 "drive.'' 
 
 But the Indians came out of the ravine where they 
 had lain hid, and rushed to close quarters. Boone's 
 son was shot, and the father fought like a tiger over his 
 prostrate body, in order to keep the red men from 
 scalping his beloved child. As he, single-handed, 
 kept several redskins at bay, a cry went up. "We are 
 surrounded. Retreat to the river, or we will be cap- 
 tured!" There was a stampede for the water, worse 
 than that of the soldiers under St. Clair in the fight 
 with Little Turtle. Boone found himself deserted, 
 
68 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 and made for a lower ford, known only to himself. 
 
 Meanwhile, the panic was general; and, as many 
 of the pioneers could not swim, the redskins cut them 
 down easily in the water. Some of the Canadians 
 were with the Indians, and Simon Girty took sweet 
 revenge for his disappointment at Bryan's Station. 
 Most of the Kentucky officers were killed. Several 
 who were well mounted got safely away, as did some 
 of the pioneers who were fast runners. Wild whoops 
 of delight went up on all sides as the red men viewed 
 the total rout of the aggressive Kentucky riflemen. 
 "Ugh! Ugh!" cried they. "We make big fight. We 
 teach the white men how to run on, and not back." 
 
 Daniel Boone easily passed through the forest to 
 Bryan's Station with the news of the disaster. For 
 twenty miles the redskins pursued what was left of the 
 little army; but, after the river was passed, the Ken- 
 tuckians turned towards them and put up such a 
 good retreating fire that the red men kept at a respect- 
 ful distance. 
 
 As Colonel Logan heard the bad news, he said to 
 Boone, 
 
 " Guide me to the spot. We'll make a forced march, 
 and yet redeem the day." 
 
 Had the hot-heads but listened to the advice of 
 the old pioneer, Boone, there would have been no tale of 
 defeat to bring to the anxious settlers at Bryan's Sta- 
 tion. When this new body of rangers reached the 
 scene of conflict, the red men and Canadians had with- 
 drawn to Old Chillicothe on the Ohio River, having 
 buried their own dead, but leaving the Americans to 
 
DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER 69 
 
 lie as they had fallen. These the men under Boone 
 and Logan interred upon the field; and, returning to 
 Bryan's Station, disbanded the troops, as the Indians 
 had apparently withdrawn. A large pile of stone 
 was all that marked where sixty-seven rash Kentuckians 
 had rushed to their doom. 
 
 This was the bloodiest battle ever fought between 
 red men and white for the soil of the beautiful Kentucky. 
 How differently it would have ended had the pioneers 
 but relied upon the counsel of the well-seasoned pioneer, 
 the founder of Boonesborough ! But men are rash; 
 courage among American frontiersmen has never been 
 lacking, and such disasters as this but taught those 
 good lessons which have been necessary for the white 
 pioneers who were to win the great and fertile West. 
 The 19th of August, 1782, was long celebrated in Ken- 
 tucky as the one day of greatest sorrow during the 
 early struggles of this border state. The redskins 
 never entered Kentucky again for another foray, for 
 shortly afterwards a treaty of peace between Great 
 Britain and the United States put an end to all war- 
 fare between the Canadians and American frontiers- 
 men. Without the backing of the English troops 
 the red men dared not again attack the settlements. 
 
 Colonel Boone erected a comfortable log hut on one 
 of the tracts of land which he had settled upon, and 
 nearby erected a small "tobacco house" for curing 
 tobacco in, and storing the leaves when dried. The 
 stalks of the tobacco plant were split, and strung upon 
 sticks about four feet in length, the ends of them being 
 upon poles placed in rows across the building. 
 
70 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 One day the colonel was busy moving a dry row of 
 tobacco leaves to the top of the little hut, and was up 
 in the air, supporting himself upon a row of poles, 
 when he looked below and saw four Indians enter the 
 low doorway. All had rifles in their hands, which 
 they proceeded to level at his breast. The old pioneer 
 was alarmed, though, being a perfect master of his 
 nerve, he did not show it, but smiled good-naturedly 
 upon the intruders. 
 
 "Now, Boone, we got you," said a large red man. 
 " You no get away again. We carry you to Chillicothe 
 this time, sure. You no cheat us any more. Ugh! 
 Ugh! Get down and come along with us.'' 
 
 The colonel recognized the speaker as a red man 
 who had captured him in 1778. Smiling benignly, 
 he answered: 
 
 "Ah, my old friend! Glad to see you. Wait a 
 moment, please, until I have finished with this tobacco, 
 will you? You can stand there and watch me until 
 I am through. Then I will come down and you can 
 do what you like with me.'' 
 
 "Ugh! Ugh!" grunted the redskins; and, lower- 
 ing their guns, they watched him very carefully 
 
 As the wily old pioneer gathered together the 
 tobacco leaves, he kept up a string of questioning. 
 The red men were very busy answering his remarks; 
 and meanwhile he collected a large armful of extremely 
 dry stalks and leaves. 
 
 "Look up here," cried the frontiersman. "I've 
 got a notion that one of you used to camp with me 
 when I lived with your chief." 
 
DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER 71 
 
 As he spoke the red men turned their painted faces 
 upward. In a moment Boone had jumped upon them, 
 breaking the tobacco stalks as he did so, and thrown 
 the pulverized tobacco leaf into their eyes. The red 
 men sputtered, and gasped for breath, while crafty 
 Boone raced out of the door, and to his own log cabin, 
 as if a hundred wolves were after him. As he reached 
 the door the redskins started in pursuit, but he banged 
 it in their faces, and the end of his trusty flintlock was 
 soon thrust out of a loophole. 
 
 "Be gone, you red devils," shouted the hardy pio- 
 neer. 
 
 Crack! A bullet whizzed by the head of the Indian 
 who had first spoken; and, without waiting longer to 
 parley with the most skilful shot in the wilderness, 
 the redskins rushed into the forest as if Old Nick him- 
 self were behind them. Boone, meanwhile, was roar- 
 ing with laughter; and, such was his fame among the 
 red men from this exploit, that never again was his 
 home invaded. 
 
 But the country around him soon became closely 
 settled; and, stirred with the true spirit of the real 
 pioneer, who is happy only where the game is and peo- 
 ple are not, the now middle-aged frontiersman moved, 
 with his family and few possessions, across the Missis- 
 sippi. Rogues and land speculators, who knew the 
 law, dispossessed him of what ground he had received 
 from the authorities. Sadly, but not bitterly, the 
 stout-hearted man of the woods began life anew in a 
 territory which then belonged to the Crown of Spain. 
 Recognizing his merit, this government appointed 
 
72 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 him a Justice of the Peace; but plenty of leisure re- 
 mained to him for hunting, and in two winters he ob- 
 tained enough furs to pay off numerous debts which 
 he had contracted in Kentucky. Honesty is the chief 
 characteristic of a true pioneer, and Daniel Boone was 
 as honest as could be. 
 
 When the noble old fellow returned to Missouri, 
 after paying his creditors in Kentucky, he said to the 
 members of his family : 
 
 ''Now I am ready and willing to die; I am relieved 
 of a burden that has long oppressed me; I have paid 
 all my debts, and no one will say, when I am gone, 
 ' Boone was a dishonest man ' ; I am perfectly willing 
 to die." 
 
 About eight thousand five hundred acres of land 
 had been given Boone by the Spanish Government, in 
 recognition of his official services; but, as he did not 
 take up his residence upon them, and did not receive 
 confirmation of the grant from the royal governor of 
 New Orleans, his claim was disputed by the officials 
 at St. Louis, when this property came into the posses- 
 sion of the United States Government by purchase 
 from Spain. Boone "reckoned that it would be all 
 right"; but it wasn't all right, and the claim was re- 
 jected by the commissioners appointed to decide such 
 matters. 
 
 Not pleased with this, the old colonel sent a peti- 
 tion to Congress, in 1812, praying that his original 
 claim of land be allotted to him. The Kentucky legis- 
 lature directed the two senators from the state to exert 
 themselves in his behalf. His appeal was neglected 
 
DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER 73 
 
 for some time, but at last it was taken up by Congress, 
 who granted him just the amount to which each settler 
 was entitled should he build a homestead. Boone 
 does not seem to have been depressed by this, and 
 spent his declining years in the belief that he had re- 
 ceived just treatment at the hands of his own govern- 
 ment. 
 
 The old scout and woodsman was now too infirm 
 for hunting, and occupied his time in making powder- 
 horns for his grandchildren, repairing rifles, and in 
 tanning deerskins and those of other animals. He had 
 lived to be over eighty. He had been the founder of 
 the first town of white people in Kentucky. He had 
 seen the red men driven from the "dark and bloody 
 ground." He had helped to do it, and had adventures 
 both startling and exciting. As he sat quietly before 
 his little home, a comfortable two-storied stone man- 
 sion, his eyes would light with pleasure as he called to 
 remembrance the many startling and exciting scenes 
 through which he had passed. So he lived peacefully, 
 until, on the 26th of September, 1820, Death — the 
 great and silent reaper — claimed him for his own. 
 
 The remains of Kentucky's first and most noted 
 pioneer now lie at Frankfort, Kentucky. A square 
 tablet of stone rests above the body of the frontiers- 
 man; and upon the four sides are bronze tablets depict- 
 ing his more noted conflicts with the red men. In his 
 old age (and in no boastful spirit) he had said, "The 
 history of the western country has been my history." 
 To him and to his bold pioneering the United States 
 owes one of its great highways — the Wilderness 
 
74 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 Road — over which thousands of homeseekers passed 
 in the first peopUng of the West, before the railroad 
 was known or constructed. During the American 
 Revolution he was first and foremost in defending the 
 small and weak settlements which had been planted 
 beyond the Blue Ridge. More than any other man, 
 he made English colonists acquainted with the vast, 
 fertile, and unoccupied region between the Alleghany 
 Mountains and the muddy waters of the Mississippi. 
 And when the people had followed him, he crossed the 
 turbulent stream to the further West, the land of the 
 setting sun ; and died, as he had Hved, — in the peace 
 of the wilderness, in the forefront of civilization. 
 
 The cardinal red bird — that sweet-throated minstrel 
 of Kentucky — often carols his mellow song above the 
 spot where, shadowed by the nodding tassels of the 
 blue-grass, peacefully sleeps the body of brave, cour- 
 ageous, imaginative Daniel Boone, father of the land 
 of plenty. 
 
 Peace to the memory of that intrepid explorer of 
 what was once the '* dark and bloody ground.^' 
 
SIMON KENTON: THE PLUCKIEST 
 
 WOODSMAN UPON THE OHIO 
 
 FRONTIER 
 
 IN the year 1773, three woodsmen lay before a 
 blazing fire in the American wilderness. Nearby 
 ran the muddy waters of the Great Kanawha 
 River, and all around were the dense forests which then 
 clothed the vast, unpeopled country of the Ohio. 
 
 One was a tall, lean fellow, clad in a soiled suit of 
 buckskin. The second, who bent over the fire, was a 
 middle-aged trapper, also in buckskin, but with a 
 calico shirt above, which showed that he had recently 
 been near the white settlements. The third was a 
 young chap of but eighteen, tall, well formed, and 
 swarthy. His uncut hair fell in dark waves around 
 his shoulders, and his whole form was supple and wiry 
 to the last degree. 
 
 "Well, Simon Butler,'' said the tall fellow, "I 
 reckon that this is about th' best place we've ever 
 struck fer a camp ground. An' now that we're here 
 we kin rest a bit. But tell me, son, ef you ain't travel- 
 lin' sorter under false pretenses. Fer I've a notion 
 that your name ain't quite exactly ez you say it is. 
 Come now, boy, ain't I right?" 
 
 The young fellow had turned very red beneath the 
 sunburn on his cheeks. He stammered out his reply, 
 
 "N-n-ow what do you know?" he asked. "I'm 
 75 
 
76 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 not going to tell you my whole history up to 
 now." 
 
 "Might ez well," grunted the tall man. "So long 
 ez a feller's a good sort out here, don't make no dif- 
 ference what his name might have been back in th' 
 settlements. Now, make a clean breast uv it. Ain't 
 I a-tellin' you what is right?" 
 
 The young fellow winced. " Well," said he, straight- 
 ening up, "I might as well make a clean breast of it. 
 My name is n't Butler; it's Kenton, Simon Kenton, 
 and I was bom in Fauquier County, Virginia. I had 
 as happy a home as any man, and I was expecting to 
 settle down upon a farm which my father had given 
 me, when I fell in love with as beautiful a girl as the 
 sun ere shone upon. But another fellow loved her 
 too, a fellow called Leitchman; and because I would 
 not give up my suit I was caught and pummeled by 
 his friends. I swore revenge upon the man who had 
 instigated this. I challenged Leitchman to a stand- 
 up fight. We had an awful battle, but finally I got 
 him down and tied him to a bush by winding his long 
 hair in the branches. Then I beat him so hard that 
 he finally lay lifeless before me, — at least, I feared 
 that I had killed him. 
 
 "Frightened at this, for I knew that I would be 
 hung, I immediately resolved upon flight. I struck 
 out for the West. I knew that a reward might be 
 offered for my capture, and so I turned my name into 
 Butler, instead of Kenton, and as Butler I wish to be 
 known. Mind me, now: never give away my secret, 
 and always call me Simon Butler, — or else some sharp 
 
SIMON KENTON, WOODSMAN 77 
 
 ear will catch my real name; I will be caught, and a 
 rope will be around my neck.'' 
 
 "I promise you, pardner," said the thin fellow. 
 "Strader is the name I go by, but I've had a dozen 
 others. Yager, here, our other pal, has also had his 
 own experiences about which we'd better say nothing. 
 Now, I'm goin' for my traps, and let's hope I've had a 
 good day's catch." And, so saying, he was off into 
 the wildwood. 
 
 The three men lived peacefully together, trapping 
 and hunting. Finally in March, 1773, a body of Shaw- 
 nees discovered the home of the bold white invaders, 
 and attacked it. As the trappers fled into the forest, 
 Strader fell dead; but Kenton and Yager got safely 
 off, with no blankets or provisions, but with their guns 
 and some ammunition. Hastily they fled through the 
 dense wood in the direction of the Ohio River, with 
 no guide but the moss upon the trees, on the north- 
 ward side, and with very little to eat save squirrels, 
 roots, and berries. Finally, upon the fifth day, they 
 reached the banks of the river, completely worn out. 
 But luck was with them. Below came the smoke from 
 a white man's encampment, and, crawling to this, they 
 soon found a party of explorers, who gave them enough 
 food to sustain their streng-th. They were, for the 
 time being, safe. 
 
 But Kenton soon left for a lonely trip into the 
 forest, in search of furs; and here he lived until the 
 breaking out of Lord Dunmore's War, when he was 
 enrolled as a ^scout with the English and Virginian 
 troops. He did good service, and with him often 
 
78 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 was Simon Girty, — that white renegade who made 
 the attack upon the pioneer settlement of Bryan's 
 Station in Kentucky. At this time Girty was con- 
 sidered to be a great scout and soldier, and brought 
 much valuable information to the camp of the English. 
 The war was soon over, and Kenton returned to his 
 life of woodland rover, trapper and explorer. 
 
 Drifting towards the then unknown West, he finally 
 reached Boonesborough when it was but a tiny little 
 settlement. His life had been adventurous and he had 
 many a brush with the redskins, but he now determined 
 to join the first settlers of Kentucky in their attempt 
 to establish a town in the land of insecurity. Here 
 he was employed as a spy, with excellent success, and 
 was in the two sieges of that stout and impregnable little 
 fortress. 
 
 In the year 1777, several men who were working 
 in the fields near Boonesborough were attacked by 
 Indians, and they ran towards the fort, which was some 
 distance away. A red man caught one of the whites 
 and tomahawked him, but as he stooped over to scalp 
 him he was covered by Kenton's rifle. A sharp crack, 
 and he fell dead. Kenton had shot him from a distance 
 of about two hundred yards. 
 
 ''Come, boys," cried Daniel Boone at this moment, 
 " let's outside to their rescue." 
 
 As he spoke, Kenton rushed out with him, and 
 hastened in the direction of the fleeing settlers. The 
 red men shot at them as they approached, and Boone 
 fell to the ground, badly wounded. A red man was 
 immediately upon him, with his knife in the air, but, 
 
SIMON KENTON, WOODSMAN 79 
 
 as he seized the great pioneer, Kenton sprang at him. 
 With the quickness of a cat he felled the red man with 
 a blow from his musket, and then seizing Boone in his 
 arms ran with him to the fort. The gates were opened 
 to receive them and soon all were inside. 
 
 Next morning the great Daniel Boone sent for 
 Kenton, and, seizing him warmly by the hand, said: 
 
 "Well, Simon, yesterday you behaved j^ourself 
 like a man. You are a fine fellow, Simon. May you 
 continue to live, and do other deeds as noble as the one 
 which you performed for me. I am deeply grateful.'' 
 
 Kenton smiled, for he knew what these few words 
 meant from Boone, the man of action, whose motto 
 was to do and not to talk. 
 
 In 1778 Boone led an expedition against the Shaw- 
 nee towns upon the Ohio and Little Miami Rivers. 
 Kenton went along as a scout, and was one day far 
 in advance of the party, when he heard voices in the 
 thicket. He stood still behind a tree. As he waited, 
 two Shawnees — mounted on a single pony — came 
 into view. Kenton waited until they neared him, 
 and then fired two shots in quick succession. One red 
 man fell dead, and the other was badly wounded, so 
 Kenton rushed from his hiding place with a yell of joy. 
 But it came near being his last cry, for, as he came up 
 to the two redskins, a yell arose from every side, and 
 he was soon surrounded by about forty Shawnees. 
 He turned and ran as fast as legs could be forced to go. 
 By dodging and hiding he at last reached his own 
 party, who, advancing to the attack, soon drove off 
 the red men. 
 
80 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 After returning to Boonesborough, Kenton went 
 upon a scouting expedition to steal Indian ponies, 
 and was so successful that he determined to make 
 another attempt. So with two other bold spirits — 
 Clark and Montgomery — he started for the Shawnee 
 town of Chillicothe on the Ohio River, where the red 
 men had many fine horses. He was a true adventurer 
 — was Kenton — and we will see how his uncurbed 
 spirit got him into many difficulties. 
 
 The three plainsmen reached the vicinity of this 
 celebrated Indian town without even seeing a redskin. 
 ''Ah/' thought Kenton, "this time I will astonish 
 those people of Boonesborough, sure. Come, boys, 
 we'll put some salt down here, capture the ponies when 
 they come up to lick it, and be off before the red men 
 know that we've been anywhere near." 
 
 It proved easy to catch the horses. Soon seven 
 were procured, and, putting halters on their heads, 
 the three scouts were soon riding towards the Ohio 
 River. But a terrible rain and wind storm arose. 
 They found it impossible to cross the stream, for the 
 Ohio boiled and surged like the current of Niagara. 
 The horses refused to swim the current, so they had to 
 be driven back seven miles to a pasture, where the 
 animals could be turned loose to graze. 
 
 Next day the horses were driven back to the Ohio, 
 but again they refused to cross. Here was a dilemma 
 indeed. Realizing that the red men were now in full 
 pursuit, three of the best animals were selected, and 
 the adventurers started for the falls of the Ohio River, 
 where some white soldiers were known to be. 
 
SIMON KENTON, WOODSMAN 81 
 
 "By George/' said Clark, when they had gone a 
 short distance, ''one of those horses which we turned 
 out was the best I ever saw. I, for one, am going 
 back to get it. I don't believe the redskins know 
 which way we have gone." 
 
 "And we'll go back with you," said both the others; 
 so, turning around, they were soon in search of the 
 four ponies. It was an unfortunate move. 
 
 The three men separated, in order to cover more 
 ground. Kenton, himself, started for the ford in the 
 river, where they had endeavored to take the horses 
 across upon the day previous. He went along cau- 
 tiously. Finally, as he was in a small belt of timber, 
 he heard a wild war-whoop just in front of him, warn- 
 ing that red men were near. Just then he came upon 
 a bank, and, mounting it, perceived a dozen redskins 
 before him, gazing at some tracks in the soil. He saw 
 that in a moment he would be discovered. So he 
 aimed at the nearest Indian, fired, and then ran his 
 horse through a clump of woods that had been up- 
 rooted by the storm. With a wild yell the red men 
 started in pursuit. 
 
 Kenton rode well and hard. As he came out of 
 the timber a redskin met him. Leaping from his pony 
 the Indian rushed at him with his tomahawk raised. 
 The scout had not time to load. He drew back to hit 
 him with his gun, when two arms were wound around 
 his body. A Shawnee had crept up in the rear, unseen, 
 and had him fast. "I surrender," cried Kenton. "Do 
 with me as you will." 
 
 The redskins bound him with deer thongs, and as 
 
82 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 they did so Montgomery (one of his white companions) 
 rode up and fired at them. He missed, and with a 
 loud yell the red men started in pursuit. In a half 
 hour they returned, brandishing his scalp on a long 
 pole. "Ugh! Ugh!'' said they. "Your friend he 
 make no fight. He one big coward!'' Clark escaped 
 their eyes, and arrived safely at a white settlement 
 called Logan's Fort.. 
 
 But the Indians were going to have some fun, and 
 in their own manner. Catching their wildest horse 
 they lashed Kenton to his back, tying mocassins on 
 his hands so that he could not untie himself. His 
 neck was bound with a thong to the neck of the horse, 
 while the red men crowded around, saying: 
 
 "You steal Injun hoss again, heh? Injun got heap, 
 good hoss, — you ride away with some? You Long 
 Knife like Injun hoss, heh? You steal whole lot, heh? 
 Now Long Knife on Injun hoss, but no steal it, heh? 
 Ugh! Ugh!" 
 
 Then, having Kenton securely bound, they struck 
 the pony with whips, and he ran off into the woodland. 
 The unfortunate man on his back was scratched and 
 torn by briars and twigs, besides being bumped against 
 trees and bruised by being struck by saplings. The 
 horse to which he was bound wandered about all day, 
 but at nightfall he grew lonely and returned to the 
 other ponies with the Indians. He jogged along quietly 
 by the side of that of the chief man. 
 
 That night the now half-exhausted Kenton was 
 laid upon his back and tied to stakes driven in the 
 ground. A pole was placed across his breast and his 
 
SIMON KENTON, WOODSMAN 83 
 
 arms tied to it; then his neck was tied to a tree. Clouds 
 of gnats and mosquitoes surrounded and stung him, 
 but, in spite of that, he was left this way for three nights. 
 
 Finally the little party neared Chillicothe, and all 
 the redskins in that encampment came out to welcome 
 the captors of poor Kenton. When they saw the white 
 man they yelped and danced around him, beating him 
 with clubs and kicking him. For about an hour they 
 continued this treatment, and then left him to the 
 gnats and mosquitoes while they had a feast. In the 
 morning they decided to make him run the gauntlet. 
 
 As Kenton looked down the two lines of redskins 
 — about two hundred in all — he saw that nearly all 
 had stout, hickory clubs, but one or two were armed 
 with sharp knives. He knew that these intended to 
 kill him when he ran by. In an instant his mind was 
 made up. When the word was given for him to go, 
 he ran as hard as he could, and, just before he reached 
 the first Indian armed with a knife, he broke through 
 the line and made off to the woods. He could run 
 like a deer, and was rapidly drawing away from his 
 pursuers, who, with savage cries, started after the 
 runaway. 
 
 "Now," thought Kenton, "I can get away.'' But 
 his hopes of freedom were to be speedily quenched. 
 An Indian, returning from hunting, just then came 
 through the woodland, and, seeing the escaped white 
 man, made a running dive at him. With a dull thud both 
 came to the ground, for the red man would have made 
 an excellent football player. In a moment poor Kenton 
 was seized and bound, kicked, beaten, and left for 
 
84 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 dead. But, fearing that their captive would die, some 
 red men returned and gave him food and water. " We 
 need you,'^ said they. "Ugh! Ugh! We give you 
 good trial.'' 
 
 Next day Kenton was taken to the council-chamber. 
 In the centre of a circle of warriors stood the oldest 
 chief with a knife and a stick in his hand. He passed 
 a war club to one of the surrounding warriors, and 
 the fellow struck the ground with it. This meant that 
 he wished to see the prisoner die. As he did so the 
 old man cut a notch upon one side of the stick. But 
 some of the red men passed it on, meaning that they 
 voted for the life of Simon Kenton, who just about now 
 began to wish that he had never seen an Indian pony. 
 The head man tallied upon the stick, first upon one 
 side, then upon the other; and when all was over it 
 could be plainly seen that the verdict was "death to 
 the prisoner." 
 
 Kenton looked cheerful, determined to show no 
 lack of courage in this trial, for the Indian detests a 
 coward. But it must now be decided where he was 
 to be put to death. After again taking a vote, it was 
 decided that he must die at Wapitomica, an Indian 
 settlement nearby. He was taken in charge, there- 
 fore, by several braves and marched towards the place 
 of execution, passing through many encampments 
 en route, in all of which he was forced to run the gaunt- 
 let, and was severely beaten and kicked. 
 
 Every moment young Kenton hoped to have an 
 opportunity to escape; but he had no chance. Finally 
 as they were passing through the last village, one of 
 
SIMON KENTON, WOODSMAN 85 
 
 his guards let go his hold upon him, and, turning to- 
 wards the woods, he ran as he had never run before. 
 Although weak from torture and lack of proper food, 
 he soon left his pursuers in the rear. Hope rose high 
 in his breast. He pushed on, panting, sure that he 
 could soon get into the dense forest where he could not 
 be tracked. But alas! Suddenly a body of fifty red- 
 skins on horseback came in his path. They saw him. 
 In a moment he was surrounded, caught, and carried 
 back to his guardians, who said with some show of 
 appreciation. "Ugh! You Long Knife run like the 
 red deer. Ugh! Your name not Long Knife but He- 
 Of-The-Winged-Foot." 
 
 They entered Wapitomica, and, as Kenton's face 
 had already been stained with black dye, which showed 
 that he had been condemned to death, he little hoped 
 to go free. But the love of life is strong when one is 
 but twenty-three. Eagerly he watched for another 
 opportunity to get away, and, as he peered about him 
 upon the yelping band which came from their wigwams 
 to view the new prisoner, his eye looked keenly for a 
 chance to free himself. Suddenly, as he gazed upon 
 the howling throng, his eye lighted with a spark of 
 pleasure, for there before him was Simon Girty, the 
 renegade, and a brother scout in earlier days. 
 
 "Girty!" he ejaculated. "Don't you know me?'' 
 The renegade looked at him carefully. "By all 
 that's true," he cried, "it's my old friend, Simon 
 Butler." Then, stepping to his side, he whispered, 
 "Leave it all to me. I'll see that you get away. Say 
 nothing, but do as I say, when the time comes." 
 
86 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 The young prisoner was hurried to the council- 
 chamber, and there was asked how many white men 
 were in Kentucky. He was true to his friends and 
 said that he did not know, but, thinking it better to 
 make the numbers greater than they really were, he 
 named every man who had some military title attached 
 to his name. He thus created the impression that 
 the whites were very strong. 
 
 "But what is your own name?" asked a chief. 
 
 "Simon Butler," answered the brave youth. 
 
 Immediately Simon Girty rushed up to him — for 
 he had just entered — and embraced him with ardor. 
 He kissed him upon both cheeks, and, turning to the 
 scowling warriors, addressed them in these words: 
 
 "Warriors, this man is my friend; I desire that you 
 give him over to me. See, I have just taken seven 
 scalps of the whites, which are at my belt. Warriors, 
 shall I be denied what I ask? Wlien has the hand of 
 Katepacomen (his Shawnee name) been clean when 
 that of his Indian brother was bathed in blood? Has 
 Katepacomen ever spared the white man's scalp? 
 Now the white brother of Katepacomen has fallen into 
 the hands of his Indian brothers, and they wish to tor- 
 ture him. Can I stand by and see my brother eaten 
 with the flames? To those who are born warriors of 
 the Shawnees, the life of a white prisoner is given for 
 the asking; will my brothers deny so little a thing to 
 the brother born among the white men, who has chosen 
 to live among his red brothers?" 
 
 This was spoken in the Shawnee tongue, so Kenton 
 did not understand a word of it, but, when the renegade 
 
SIMON KENTON, WOODSMAN 87 
 
 had finished, it could be plainly seen that the red men 
 did not all approve of the ideas which he expressed. 
 ''Ugh!'' said one chief. "This paleface is a bad man. 
 Has he not stolen our horses? Has he not tried to kill 
 one of our young men? Such a bad man can never be 
 a brother to us, as are you, 0, Katepacomen.'' 
 
 "Ugh! Ugh!'' said another. "Many of our people 
 have come a long way to see the paleface killed. We 
 cannot be like women who change their minds every 
 hour. It will be cruel to disappoint our people. Let 
 the paleface be tortured!" 
 
 Simon Girty listened with impatience to these 
 remarks. Then, springing to his feet, he said: 
 
 "Warriors, let the war club be again passed around, 
 and let us give the paleface his life. Has Katepacomen 
 ever spared the white man's scalp? Has he ever plead 
 before for the life of a captive? Never before has he 
 ever asked a boon of his red brothers, and they always 
 graiit such a request to their own brothers. If the 
 warriors of the Shawnees trust in the good faith and 
 love of Katepacomen, let them give him the life of his 
 white brother. I have spoken." 
 
 "How! How!" said the big chief. "Let the war 
 club be passed." 
 
 It was handed around, and this time the decision 
 was for freedom. 
 
 Thankful, but still afraid, Kenton went to the tent 
 of the renegade, who immediatelj^ gave him a suit of 
 clothes, as his had been torn from him by the infuriated 
 Shawnees. He was fed, warmed, and in a few days 
 felt as of old. The renegade had made good his promise. 
 
88 FAJVIOUS SCOUTS 
 
 So lived the plucky pioneer for about three weeks, 
 and he began to think that he would go free. But 
 he was to suffer many other misfortunes before he 
 would again see his own people. One day as he came 
 from Girty's tent, he heard a Shawnee warrior making 
 a peculiar whoop. 
 
 "What is that?" he asked of the renegade. 
 
 "That is a call to the council-chamber,^' was the 
 answer, " and I fear that your case is again to be tried. 
 Come, we must go there, as I am one of the tribe." 
 
 When they entered the dreaded room, the savage 
 who had been whooping, gave his hand to Simon Girty, 
 but scowled when he saw Kenton and refused to clasp 
 his outstretched fingers. Kenton felt a cold chill 
 creep down his spine. Many chiefs were there. They 
 scowled at the prisoner and refused his hand. "Ugh!" 
 said one to him. "This time Long Knife, the horse 
 stealer, must die. Your white brother cannot save 
 you. You must feed the crows." 
 
 But Simon Girty made an impassioned plea for his 
 life, to which the redskins listened courteously, and 
 then passed around the war club. Almost unani- 
 mously it was decided that the Long Knife should meet 
 with death; so, seeing that he could not save his brother 
 scout, the renegade came up to him, embraced him, 
 and said with feeling: "Well, my friend, good-bye. 
 I have tried to save you, but I cannot do so. Good- 
 bye." 
 
 Immediately a burly chief seized him by the collar; 
 he was bound with deer thongs and given to a guard 
 of scowling red men, who made off with him, after first 
 
SIMON KENTON, WOODSMAN 89 
 
 throwing the rope around his neck. They rode beside 
 him on horseback, while he trudged along on foot, en- 
 deavoring to keep up his courage, although he now felt 
 that his last day had surely come. "I can still smile 
 though," said Kenton to himself; and this he did, in 
 spite of his predicament. 
 
 Two or three miles beyond Wapatomica, and a 
 few yards from the trail, sat a warrior watching his 
 squaw chopping wood for the evening meal. When 
 he saw the white prisoner, he uttered a loud, guttural 
 exclamation. "Ugh! Ugh!" said he. "Paleface kill 
 my brother! now paleface die,'' and, seizing an axe, he 
 bounded toward the young Virginian. Before the 
 guards could stop him, he had struck the defenseless 
 young man, and had cut a deep gash in his shoulder- 
 blade. He raised his arm for another blow, but was 
 overpowered by the other Indians, who said to him, 
 "It is not now time for the Long Knife to die. Only 
 wait and you shall have revenge.'' 
 
 Almost fainting from loss of blood, the pluckiest 
 man upon the frontier staggered onward, and soon 
 entered a large village upon the headwaters of the 
 Scioto River. The party halted for the night, and 
 poor Kenton sank upon a blanket in a swoon. When 
 he opened his eyes, a large solemn-visaged Indian was 
 standing over him, gazing at his bleeding form with 
 an eye of deep compassion. It was Logan, that great 
 and eloquent leader of the Mingoes, whose life has 
 been sketched in "Famous Indian Chiefs." The great 
 chieftain's heart was touched by the manly beauty 
 and courage of the young Virginian. Always of a 
 
90 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 compassionate disposition, he was moved by the mis- 
 fortunes of the luckless captive, and his words bore 
 full witness to his thoughts : 
 
 "I am a great chief," said he. ''You are to go to 
 Sandusky, where they speak of burning you. But 
 you will not be burned, for I will send two runners there 
 who will speak well of you. What Logan commands 
 is seldom disobeyed. Be of good cheer. You shall 
 not be made away with. I have spoken.'^ And, so 
 saying, he walked solemnly away. 
 
 Kenton was much cheered by this piece of news. 
 He stumbled into Logan's tepee, and remained there 
 quietly throughout the evening. In the morning 
 the two runners were dispatched to Sandusky, as Logan 
 had promised, for he was a man of the greatest truth 
 and honesty. The prisoner did not again see the 
 solenm chieftain until he was about to leave for San- 
 dusky, when the friendly Indian walked up to him, 
 gave him a piece of bread, and said: 
 
 "You are to be taken to Sandusky. Logan says 
 good-bye, '^ and then walked away. 
 
 When the little party arrived at Sandusky, the 
 prisoner's high hopes were again dashed to the ground, 
 for he learned from his guards that Logan's intercession 
 in his behalf had been in vain. " You are to be burned 
 tomorrow morning," said one of his Shawnee com- 
 panions. "Pray to the Great Father, for nothing 
 now can save you." Kenton — as usual — smiled. 
 
 As he stood dejectedly in the village street, a French- 
 man called Captain Drewyer, who was employed by 
 the English as Indian agent, came in view. When he 
 
SIMON KENTON, WOODSMAN 91 
 
 saw the white man, his face changed its expression. 
 ''Voila/' said he. "A captive, eh? To be burned, 
 eh? We will see, — we will see;" and, so saying, he went 
 into the Indians' council house. 
 
 In a half an hour he came out smiling, and walking 
 up to Kenton said, with great friendliness: 
 
 '^ You are to go with me to Detroit. I haf won you 
 from the bloodthirsty redskin. Tiens! You owe me 
 a barrel full of beaver-skins, for I haf saved your own 
 skin. Voila! Be cheerful! You shall haf a dre-enk 
 of wine.'' 
 
 In a few moments Drewyer set out for Detroit 
 with his overjoyed captive. "At last," thought the 
 half-famished Kenton, "I am free from the shadow of 
 death. At last." But the English employee was most 
 curious to know the strength of the whites in far distant 
 Kentucky. 
 
 ''The Americans there, my boy. How many are 
 there? Eh? How many forts, eh? Are they as 
 strong as the English in Canada, eh?" 
 
 "I am only a private in the army," said Kenton. 
 '' Being so low in rank, my range of vision is small. 
 I have seen little, for I have had plenty to do wherever 
 I have been stationed. The men are many, but how 
 many I cannot say." The Frenchman saw that he 
 could get little information, so gave up his interroga- 
 tions. '' You shall haf good treatment," said he. '' You 
 are a brave fellow." 
 
 The two travellers arrived at Detroit in October, 
 and there Kenton remained for eight months in fairly 
 strict confinement, for he had a wide range by day, but 
 
92 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 had to report to the British officer every morning and 
 evening. It took him some time to get over the treat- 
 ment which he had received at the hands of the red 
 men; for he had been made to run the gauntlet eight 
 times, had been tied to the stake on three occasions, 
 and had received twenty knife thrusts, besides a cut 
 from an axe, in his slender body. But youth quickly 
 recuperates, and Kenton soon was planning to escape 
 to his friends and companions in far-away Kentucky. 
 
 At Detroit were two young Kentuckians who had 
 been captured from Boone and Logan's command at 
 the battle of the Blue Licks. "Oh for one more sight 
 of Old Kentucky,'' said they to the young frontiers- 
 man. "If it only were not so far, and if we only had 
 some guns." 
 
 "I can get those from the redskins," Kenton re- 
 plied. "We will hide them in the woods, and some 
 day, when all is propitious, we will escape.'/ 
 
 Through a citizen of the town, some ammunition 
 was secured and hidden in the woods. Three rifles 
 were purchased from the red men through presents 
 of rum. Finally, when all was quiet one afternoon, 
 the three prisoners met in the woodland and turned 
 toward the South. They plunged onward through 
 the wilderness, and in one month were in Louisville, 
 Kentucky. At last the hardy Kenton was back among 
 his own. Pluck and courage had won, and a year of 
 captivity, torture and exile had been brought to a 
 glorious close. Three cheers for the nerve of Simon 
 Kenton! Hurrah for the Virginian boy with the pluck 
 of ten! 
 
SIMON KENTON, WOODSMAN 93 
 
 The sturdy pioneer did not rest upon the reputation 
 which he had acquired, but soon again entered the 
 frontier service as a guide and scout, often penetrating 
 the hostile region from which he had just escaped. 
 And now a good piece of news reached his ears from 
 far distant Loudoun County in Virginia. Leitchman 
 (the fellow whom he thought that he had killed) was 
 not dead, but was very much alive, and a prosperous 
 farmer. "Henceforth I am no longer Simon Butler,^' 
 cried the refugee. "I am once more Simon Kenton, 
 the Virginian; and now I will communicate with my 
 family, and get them to move to Kentucky, — the land 
 of the blue-grass and the sunshine." This he did; 
 his parents crossed the mountains into the fertile coun- 
 try and took up a large plantation upon the frontier, 
 where, much to their annoyance, they were frequently 
 attacked by prowling bands of Shawnees. But Simon 
 Kenton and a band of other pioneers had many a fight 
 with the redskins. At last they were driven back 
 across the Ohio to remain. When "Mad Anthony" 
 Wayne marched against Little Turtle* and fought him 
 at Fallen Timbers, it sealed the fate of the red man's 
 supremacy in this country. Simon Kenton was a 
 major in Wayne's command, but he was not present 
 at the great fight, — much to his regret. Kentucky 
 was henceforth a land of whites; the redskins had been 
 driven from that "dark and bloody ground" which 
 was once their great hunting ground, — the home of 
 the elk, the bison, the beaver, and the bear. 
 
 Daniel Boone became involved in troubles over 
 
 *See description in " Famous Indian Chiefs." 
 
94 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 his land in later years, and so did Simon Kenton. Both 
 had poor and illegal title to great tracts of territory 
 in Kentucky, and both, to escape law suits, moved into 
 the then unsettled State of Missouri, across the turbid 
 current of the Mississippi. Kenton's lands in Ken- 
 tucky were forfeited to the state for taxes, while he, 
 in quiet and seclusion, lived near the little town of 
 Urbana, in central Missouri, until the fighting in the 
 War of 1812, between Great Britain and the United 
 States. The old frontiersman's blood was again aroused 
 at this time, and, joining the force under General Shelby 
 which marched towards Detroit, he was present at the 
 great battle of the Thames, which settled the disputed 
 western boundaries between the two governments. 
 The redskins were no longer on the warpath, and, 
 strange as it may seem, Simon Kenton moved to a 
 cabin near the old Indian town of Wapatomica, — the 
 scene of his earlier persecutions by the savages, forty- 
 two years before. 
 
 Kenton was now very poor, but he possessed one 
 sorry-looking old nag. '' I am going back to Kentucky,'' 
 said he one day, " and see if I cannot get back some of 
 my land. I have fought for my State. I helped to 
 make it what it is. The people should do something 
 for me in my old age. If I know the warm hearts of 
 the Kentuckians, they will not let me starve now that 
 I am poor and too crippled to work." 
 
 The shabby old scout stopped at the house of 
 Major Galloway, at Xenia, Ohio, upon the first night 
 of his journey. When his fellow Kentuckian saw his 
 ragged clothes and spavined mare, he exclaimed: 
 
SIMON KENTON, WOODSMAN 95 
 
 "Any State which could leave a famous fighter 
 like yourself to starve in his old age has no idea of 
 justice. Simon Kenton, you will have assistance from 
 our people. I can assure you of that. And, if they 
 will not assist you, I will." 
 
 In Louisville a friend gave him a suit of clothes 
 and a hat. Thus, cleanly dressed, the old man went 
 to the State capitol and here was greeted with loud 
 acclaim by the prominent men of the State. " It was 
 the proudest day of my life," he used to say long after- 
 wards, "when they took the old pioneer, placed him 
 in the speaker's chair, and gave three cheers for the 
 'pluckiest man on the old frontier.'" 
 
 Yes, pluck, which has always been appreciated 
 by the American people, was warmly appreciated then. 
 Simon Kenton had his lands restored to him, and had 
 a pension granted him by the fair State whose early 
 struggles he had been a part of. Now, with a sufficiency 
 to insure an old age of no actual want, the aged pioneer 
 returned to his little cabin upon the Mad River in Ohio. 
 Here he would often sit before the threshold of his 
 humble abode, and in the long, warm days of summer, 
 while the veery's flute-like notes sounded from the 
 dogwood tree, would call to his memory those thrilling 
 scenes through which he had passed when a youth. 
 He had camped, trapped, fought, and scouted through 
 a great wilderness which was now peopled by the men 
 of his own race. He had seen the gradual winning of 
 the Middle West, first by the English, then by the 
 Americans. He had witnessed the gradual extinction 
 of the red men, those warriors of cruel hearts in war- 
 
96 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 fare. He had seen the first flatboat upon the Ohio 
 River, and the first log house in the wild regions near 
 that bending stream. He had made history. 
 
 So dreamed the old frontiersman, and so quietly 
 ended his life. In 1836, at the ripe age of eighty-one, 
 the hand of Death touched him gently upon the shoulder; 
 and, in the silence of the forest — that silence which 
 he loved so well — his friends buried the body of the 
 staunch old veteran pioneer. 
 
 If you admire pluck, admire this man. If you 
 care for bravery, here is a person who possessed it. 
 And the lesson of his life is a good one for young men 
 to remember. It is: Never lose your courage, no mat- 
 ter what is the situation in which you find yourself. 
 Never give up. You do not know when your luck is 
 going to change. Keep a stiff upper lip, and, perhaps 
 when you least expect it in a trying situation, something 
 will happen that will rescue you. Be brave; smile in 
 adversity; and in the end you will win. That is what 
 saved Simon Kenton, the pluckiest man upon the Ohio 
 frontier; and that is what will save you. Do not forget 
 the life of this veteran pioneer! 
 
CAPTAIN SAMUEL BRADY: THE GREAT- 
 EST LONG-DISTANCE JUMPER OF 
 AMERICAN HISTORY 
 
 AT the beginning of the American Revolution a 
 company of volunteer riflemen was formed in 
 Western Pennsylvania, called Captain Low- 
 den's Company. A commission was offered to a young 
 fellow called Samuel Brady, who was known to be an 
 expert rifle-shot and woodsman. But the youth's 
 father objected. "Let my son first learn to obey me," 
 said he, "and when he has learned that lesson, he will 
 know all the better how to act as an officer. I want 
 obedience at home before obedience in camp." 
 
 And from this it can be reckoned that young Samuel 
 Brady was a pretty skittish young blood, and did not 
 take any too kindly to the strong rule of his stern old 
 father. But this did not affect his value as an Indian 
 fighter, as will be seen. 
 
 Shortly after enlisting, young Brady was sent to 
 Boston with his company, and took part in the siege 
 of this city, which was held by British troops. While 
 sitting upon a fence one day with his captain, a cannon- 
 ball stnick just beneath them, and exploding, hurled 
 them high into the air. Brady lighted upon his feet, 
 but his superior officer struck upon his head and was 
 quite dazed. Brady rushed to him, picked him up, 
 and carried him to the shade of a tree. 
 
 97 
 
98 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 "Are you hurt, sir?'' he asked with much soHcitude. 
 
 "No/' repHed the captain. "But, young man, as 
 I see that you came down upon your feet, instead of 
 upon your head, it means that you are a fellow who 
 deserves promotion. I think that I must raise you to 
 a lieutenant." And this he promptly did, — much 
 to the joy of the young soldier. 
 
 Lieutenant Brady fought through the Revolu- 
 tionary War, and so distinguished himself at the battle 
 of Monmouth — that fight in which Washington so 
 severely reprimanded General Lee — that he was made 
 a captain of infantry. This was in June, 1778. But 
 while the Americans and British struggled for posses- 
 sion of the eastern colonies, the red men attacked those 
 families upon the frontier which could be easily reached 
 from their own towns and settlements. Then Pitts- 
 burg, Pennsylvania, was on the border, and Brady's 
 own homestead was in a wild and wooded district. It 
 was attacked one day by a roving band of redskins; 
 his father and brother were killed; and while Brady 
 prepared to take part in the battle of Paoli, he was met 
 by a fellow-soldier from Pennsylvania who told him the 
 sad news. Brad)^ listened to him with a face which 
 exhibited the greatest sorrow; then, raising his hand 
 aloft, he said: 
 
 " From this time on, every redskin whom I meet in 
 the West shall fall before my rifle. I shall have re- 
 venge a thousand times over for the lives of my own 
 people. I know the red men. They are treacherous 
 dogs. Henceforth they shall feel the enmity of Samuel 
 Brady, as they have never before felt the enmity of 
 
CAPTAIN SAMUEL BRADY 99 
 
 any white man." The soldiers nodded their approval. 
 
 History records nothing about this famous frontier 
 fighter for some time. But in 1780, we know that 
 this fearless fellow, now in Pennsylvania, was sent by 
 the commander of the fort at Pittsburg to Sandusky, 
 Ohio, in order to find out the numbers of British and 
 Indians at this stockade and fort. It was a journey 
 of several hundred miles, and it was one of danger, for 
 prowling bands of red men hovered between the strong- 
 holds of the rival governments. Young Brady wel- 
 comed the opportunity for a hazardous trip; and, with 
 several rangers and four Chickasaw Indians as guides, he 
 set out early in May in the direction of Lake Erie. All 
 were dressed as Indians, and made their way through 
 the wood with the greatest care. 
 
 Broadhead, the commander at Pittsburg, had given 
 a map of the country to the adventurous soldier, but 
 it was not at all correct. The food supply gave out 
 because the distance to be traversed was far greater 
 than it was considered to be by the crude map-maker 
 who had sketched out the wilderness way. So the 
 little party lived on fish, which were in abundance in 
 the brooks and streams; and by hiding in the trees during 
 the day, and travelling only at night, they finally neared 
 the goal for which they sought. And now the four 
 Chickasaw guides deserted. 
 
 Nothing daunted, although he knew that they 
 had gone over to the enemy, Brady took two men 
 and crept on to a position near the Indian towns and 
 British fort at Sandusky. An island near the fortress 
 was covered with driftwood, and wading out to this at 
 
100 K4M0US SCOUTS 
 
 night, Brady and one companion hid themselves be- 
 hind a pile of broken branches. At daybreak a dense 
 fog hmig over the river and hid the Indian village from 
 view, but at eleven o'clock it lifted, and before their 
 eager eyes lay a long line of Indian houses and a strong 
 log fortress. The redskins were having horse-races 
 on a piece of flat ground nearby, and their wild yelping 
 could be easily heard by the two scouts, who drew an 
 accurate picture of the place upon a piece of paper 
 which Brady had had the foresight to bring along with 
 him. 
 
 The two white men lay in the driftwood all day, 
 and at night they waded through the river and joined 
 their companions. They turned their faces homeward, 
 and by travelling only at night, soon had put a respect- 
 able distance between themselves and the red men at 
 Sandusky. But their ammunition gave out when the 
 Big Beaver River was reached; so, with his last piece of 
 lead in his flintlock, Brady left his companions in order 
 to look for game. He was desperately in need of fresh 
 meat. 
 
 He had not far to look, for as he crossed a clearing 
 within rifle range of his party, a deer jumped from 
 its bed among some boughs and ferns, and stood 
 broadside on, offering an excellent shot. The ranger 
 fired, but his flintlock refused to go off. The deer 
 bounded away, and, after cleaning the priming-pan, 
 the frontiersman started in pursuit. He had gone but 
 a few feet when he heard a noise, and, looking in front 
 of him, saw an Indian buck, mounted upon a pony, 
 and holding a child in front of him. The child's mother 
 
CAPTAIN SAMUEL BRADY 101 
 
 was behind upon the horse's withers, and several other 
 warriors followed. 
 
 The fierce passion which burned in Brady's heart 
 against all redskins now took possession of his common 
 sense. Inspired by an ungovernable desire to put an 
 end to the red warrior, he aimed at him, pulled the 
 trigger, and the chief fell from the back of the horse. 
 Then, shouting loudly, as if an army were behind his 
 back, ''Come on, men! Stampede the redskins!" he 
 rushed to the side of the fallen warrior and seized his 
 powder horn. As he reached him, the Indian woman 
 thought him one of her own race, for he was dressed like 
 a red man, and his face was darkened by long exposure 
 to the elements. 
 
 "Why did you shoot your red brother?" said she. 
 "He did you no harm." 
 
 As she spoke, Brady recognized her, and cried out, 
 "Jenny Stupes! I am Captain Samuel Brady. Follow 
 me instantly, and I will save both you and your child 
 from my hundred followers who are just about to attack." 
 
 He dashed into the brush, just as the Indians fired 
 a volley at him. The mother followed and, fearing 
 an ambuscade from the whites, the redskins held off; 
 for they heard what the crafty Brady had said regard- 
 ing his hundred followers. 
 
 Next morning Brady reached Fort Mcintosh with 
 the Indian woman and her child. His men were there 
 waiting for him. They had heard his cry to the red 
 men in the forest, but, knowing that they possessed 
 no powder and ball, had feared to join him. Brady's 
 nerve had saved his scalp, and the news which he brought 
 
102 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 to General Broadhead at Pittsburg, with the plans of 
 Sandusky, materially aided in the successful attack 
 upon the British and Indians by the Americans some 
 months later. Bald Eagle, a great war chief of the 
 Shawnees, was slain, and the cornfields of those redskins 
 who were friendly to the English cause were laid waste. 
 
 But Indian depredations still continued, and so 
 successful was Captain Brady in capturing, killing, and 
 fighting the red men, that many of the officers at Pitts- 
 burg became furiously jealous of the man. Finally, 
 several of them went to General Broadhead and re- 
 quested him to allow them to make an attack upon the 
 redskins, but to leave Brady behind. As a murderous 
 foray had just been made by the red men upon Sewick- 
 ley, these officers and many men were allowed to march 
 out in order to revenge the affair, and Brady was given 
 no part in the expedition. 
 
 When the great Indian fighter thought the matter 
 over, he decided that he would like to make a little scout 
 in the direction of the enemies of the frontier. Broad- 
 head, at first, would not allow him to leave the fort, 
 but finally gave him five rangers and one "pet" Indian 
 as a guide, and cautioned him not to interfere in any 
 manner with the depredations of the other party. 
 Happy and smiling. Captain Brady set out upon his 
 mission of revenge. 
 
 The large party had followed directly upon the 
 Indian trail, but Brady made a long detour through the 
 forest, determined to head off the red marauders at 
 a distance from the other party. The seven well- 
 trained woodsmen moved with speed, and upon the 
 
CAPTAIN SAMUEL BRADY 103 
 
 fourth day from Pittsburg, struck the fresh trail of the 
 Indian party. The redskins had canoes, were paddhng 
 up the river by day, and were resting by night. Luckily 
 they had a stolen horse with them which had to be led 
 along the bank, and he made such a plain trail that the 
 enemy could be easily followed. No signs were seen 
 of the other party of Americans from the fort. 
 
 The seven woodsmen crept silently upon the Indian 
 camp one evening, and waited in the darkness for day 
 to dawn. At daybreak the redskins awoke; and stand- 
 ing about the fire, recalled their triumphs, the injury 
 inflicted upon their enemies, the scalps taken at Sewick- 
 ley, and the booty which they had carried off. "How! 
 How!'' spoke a chief. "We are great warriors! We 
 make the palefaces groan ! Ugh ! Ugh !" 
 
 As he ceased speaking, a rifle spoke in the half light. 
 The red man reeled, and fell across the burning logs of 
 the fire. Crash! A volley from six rifles poured into 
 the circle, and above the din could be heard the wild 
 war-whoop which Captain Brady always used in an 
 Indian fight. 
 
 "The Great Snake is here," cried the redskins. 
 "We must flee for our lives." And they stampeded. 
 
 One red man, who was badly wounded, was followed 
 by the traces of blood upon the ground. The "pet" 
 Indian gave the cry of a young wolf; the wounded man 
 paused and answered, — for this was the cry of a friend 
 of the Shawnees and other allied tribes. He stopped, 
 but seeing Brady, turned and ran like a deer, in spite 
 of his wound. The great Indian fighter fired, and 
 with a wild yell the redskin fell prostrate in the forest, 
 
104 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 but so busy was Brady that he did not see the effect 
 of his shot. Three weeks later, when again near this 
 place, he was attracted by a great crowd of ravens, 
 and going to the tree where they had collected there 
 found the remains of the red man whom he had dropped 
 when running, at a distance of over one hundred yards. 
 
 Seizing the horse and plunder of the red invaders, 
 the captain and his followers returned to Pittsburg, 
 where they found the other soldiers. They had followed 
 the Indian band until the red men took to their canoes, 
 and had then turned back. Imagine their jealousy 
 and chagrin when they saw what the seven skilled 
 woodsmen had accomplished. ^'That Brady is a true 
 Indian fighter," said they. ''He is a born woodsman. 
 We cannot compete with this man. He is a genius." 
 
 But matters were not always successful with the 
 famous soldier. One day he was out alone upon a 
 scout, when a dozen redskins surrounded him. He 
 ran for his life, but unfortunately a long vine caught 
 his leg, tripping him up, so that he fell sprawling upon 
 the earth. He was immediately pounced upon, dis- 
 armed, bound with deer thongs, and carried in triumph 
 to the Indian camp, where wild yelps of joy greeted the 
 entry of the fortunate red huntsmen. ''Ow! Ow!" 
 screeched the red men. "Ow! Ow! The Big Snake 
 has been captured. The Big Snake shall be tortured. 
 At last we shall revenge the death of our many brothers. 
 Ow! Ow!" 
 
 Joy shone in the eyes of all the red men, women, 
 and children as they danced around their dreaded 
 enemy. For years he had been the terror of the frontier; 
 
CAPTAIN SAMUEL BRADY 105 
 
 so much so, that when mothers wished to quiet their 
 babes they would tell them that Brady, the Big Snake, 
 was abroad and would catch them. A large fire was 
 lighted for torture. With yells, threats, curses, and 
 abuse, the horde of redskins danced about the defense- 
 less man, striking him with firebrands and knives; 
 yelling their defiance in his ears. In two lines they 
 formed to make him run the gauntlet, while additional 
 wood was thrown upon the fire in order to make it 
 hotter. 
 
 Finally Brady was unbound and told to run be- 
 tween two lines of savages, many of whom had knives, 
 so that his quick eye perceived it would be impossible 
 for him to come through alive. As the last thong 
 was removed, the head chief's wife came near, a babe 
 in her arms. Quick as a flash, Brady seized the infant 
 and hurled it into the fire. With a wild yell of horror, 
 most of the redskins leaped forward to rescue it, and, 
 with a mighty spring the well-named Big Snake leaped 
 to freedom. A dozen bounds brought him to the edge 
 of the wood; a few more and he was inside the pro- 
 tecting tangle; then, running like a deer, he soon out- 
 distanced his pursuers. Nerve and quick action had 
 again saved his life. The Big Snake was free. 
 
 Near Beaver, Pennsylvania, is a small, round hillock 
 called "Brady's Hill." This commemorates a stirring 
 incident in the life of this extraordinary woodland 
 soldier, which well deserves to remain in history. Fort 
 Mcintosh formerly stood near this town, and from this 
 Captain Brady set out with several men for a raid 
 upon the hostile settlements at Sandusky. The raid 
 
106 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 was successful at first, but finally the little party was 
 pursued by a great number of redskins, who killed all 
 of the rangers but Brady. Hot was the chase, and the 
 frontiersman, as usual, kept well away from his pur- 
 suers, for he was very fleet of foot. But they gained 
 upon him; some even got ahead and threatened to 
 cut off his line of retreat. He became aware of this 
 just as he reached the top of the little hillock which 
 has received his name. 
 
 Before the fleeing frontiersman lay a tall tree, 
 recently prostrated by a severe storm. The leaves 
 were thick upon the branches, — thick enough, in fact, 
 to hide among. Immediately he decided to crouch 
 down in their midst. 
 
 First, however, the skilled woodsman decided upon 
 a ruse which was common among men of the forest. 
 Walking up to the tree, he moved backward in his 
 own footprints for the space of a few hundred yards, 
 then forward again to the tree trunk, in his own tracks, 
 in order to make his trail very plain to the eyes of the 
 red men. He then hid in the thick, leafy tangle of 
 branches and awaited developments. Three redskins 
 soon appeared, carefully following his trail. They 
 came to the tree, found that it stopped here, and that 
 no footprints led away. At a loss to know what was 
 the meaning of this, they seated themselves upon the 
 tree trunk in order to discuss the matter. They were 
 close together, and this is exactly what Brady had 
 wished for. 
 
 Captain Brady peered through the leaves, took a 
 deliberate aim at the nearest red man, and pulled the 
 
CAPTAIN SAMUEL BRADY 107 
 
 trigger. At the crack of the rifle, one fell dead, while 
 the other two also sank to the ground, sorely wounded. 
 In an instant Brady was upon them with clubbed flint- 
 lock, and in less time than one can tell it, the two red 
 men lay dead. Uttering his peculiar yell, the success- 
 ful strategist turned towards the fort, and before night 
 fell was safe inside its protecting walls. 
 
 Another place nearby is still called Brady's Run. 
 This is a small stream issuing from a crystal spring 
 called Bloody Spring, — although this is due to its 
 past history and not to its present condition; for no- 
 where is a spring so clear, so cool, and inviting. 
 
 Not long after the escapade at the fallen tree, a 
 strong body of roving red men made an attack upon 
 the settlements near Fort Mcintosh, and, although 
 they took no scalps, they burned a number of houses 
 and captured two women and several children. Re- 
 treating towards their own settlements, they camped 
 near a crystal spring, and, tying their victims, settled 
 around them for a night of peaceful slumber. The 
 whippoorwills called to each other in the dusk, as the 
 Indian camp became quiet; and, lulled by the soft 
 breeze in the leafy branches, the red sentinel nodded 
 quietly, while the ruddy glow of the embers lighted 
 the bodies of slumbering whites and dusky conquerors. 
 A branch snapped and the red man roused himself, 
 but only the chirring of crickets came to his ear, and 
 the plaintive call of the whippoorwill, far off in the 
 hemlock forest. Throwing a dead branch upon the fire 
 the watchman settled himself upon his blanket with 
 a grunt of satisfaction. 
 
108 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 "Ugh!" he muttered. "Heap quiet. I no fear. I 
 go sleep." 
 
 In a few moments his head fell upon his breast, 
 and deep breaths showed that he had lost consciousness. 
 Immediately a twig snapped. Another and another 
 cracked loudly. Then, with a bound, four dark figures 
 leaped from the woodland into the fire's glow. Thud! 
 A tomahawk was buried in the brain of the nodding 
 sentinel. Thud! Another hatchet felled a second war- 
 rior; and, as the redskins roused to fight, the shrill, 
 awful wail of Samuel Brady welled above the silence 
 of the forest. The Big Snake was among them. 
 
 In a few moments the last Indian had been dis- 
 patched. Four men had killed over a dozen, and, as 
 daylight broke, Brady with his faithful followers car- 
 ried the women and children back to their own people. 
 But the spring was dyed red with the blood of the red- 
 skins, so that to this day it has been known as the 
 Bloody Spring. 
 
 Now we come to the most extraordinary event in 
 his career, an event which — like the famous ride of 
 Israel Putnam — shall live forever in the annals of 
 frontier history in America. This is his famous leap, 
 — a leap which, had he been a college athlete, would 
 have won him a silver cup, a championship, and a long 
 notice in the newspapers. It shows what a man of 
 agility and quickness he was, and speaks worlds for 
 his great nerve and courage. 
 
 With his usual daring. Captain Brady, with a small 
 party, bad penetrated the wilderness near the Indian 
 towns at Sandusky, when his party was severely at- 
 
CAPTAIN SAMUEL BRADY 109 
 
 tacked. In the retreat Brady became separated from 
 the rest of his men, and headed for Fort Mcintosh. 
 Most of his twenty followers were captured and killed 
 near a small lake in what is now called Portage County 
 in Ohio; but the Big Snake, as usual, got away. 
 
 The Indians, realizing who was ahead of them, 
 hotly pursued the fleeing scout. For days they chased 
 him, until he reached the side of the Cuyahoga River, 
 which flows into Lake Erie near Cleveland, Ohio; but 
 runs far into the State. Brady found himself surrounded, 
 and as he ran towards the river, which here drops through 
 a deep gorge, the red men (thinking that they had him) 
 made wild yells of delight, and tauntingly cried after 
 him, ^' Big Snake, we got you. Good-bye to Big Snake. 
 His scalp shall hang in our wigwams. Good-bye." 
 
 As the scout looked before him, he saw a yawning 
 chasm of between twenty-five and twenty-seven feet. 
 It did not take him long to make up his mind what he 
 was to do. Summoning all of his strength, after throw- 
 ing away his gun, he made one dash for the bank, and 
 leaping far out, spun through the dizzy space. The 
 Indians stopped in wonder and amazement as the 
 courageous frontiersman struck the other bank, seized 
 firm hold of some bushes, and gradually dragged him- 
 self upon the firm soil. "Hah!'' he yelled back at his 
 pursuers. "My scalp won't hang in your wigwams 
 to night!" And then he let forth that well-known 
 howl with which the redskins were so well acquainted. 
 It was part human, part inhuman; a cross between 
 the wail of a panther and the scream of a loon. 
 
 Furious with anger to see the escape of their foe, 
 
no FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 the redskins fired at the disappearing fugitive. One 
 bullet struck him in the leg. In spite of the wound, 
 Brady made off towards the small lake, which now 
 bears his name; while the red men ran below the gorge, 
 crossing the stream at the Standing Stone, where the 
 banks of the Cuyahoga are gently sloping. Seeing 
 that they were gaining upon him, the ranger plunged 
 into the water, waded out to a clump of water-lilies, 
 and cutting one with his knife, inserted the long stem 
 in his mouth. Then, like a muskrat, he slowly sub- 
 merged himself, breathing through this tube. The 
 lily-pads were all around him, and he was most effect- 
 ively concealed. 
 
 The redskins easily followed his trail to the edge 
 of the lake, for his wound had bled profusely. They 
 searched the shores for his track. He had gone in but 
 had not come out again. ^'Ugh! Ugh!" said one. 
 "The Big Snake weak from his wound. He go in big 
 water. He drowned there. He know we kill him if 
 we catch him." In spite of this, they looked for him 
 all day, and at last returned to the place where he had 
 leaped the chasm, in order to make a close inspection 
 of it. When night fell, Brady slowly emerged from 
 the water, and made his way to the settlement at Fort 
 Mcintosh. He was always very deaf thereafter, due 
 to his long inomersion in the cold waters of Brady's 
 Lake. 
 
 Meanwhile the redskins had made up their minds 
 that their fugitive was protected by the Great Spirit. 
 "He no man. He no jump across the river. He wild 
 turkey. He fly," said they, as they looked at the 
 
CAPTAIN SAMUEL BRADY 111 
 
 chasm, certain that not one of them could leap across 
 it. And so certain were they of the charm which hung 
 over the Big Snake, that they carved upon the rock 
 to which he had leaped the rude picture of the foot of 
 a wild turkey. This remained as they had left it, 
 until 1856, when Judge Moses Hampton, of Pittsburg, 
 cut it out and removed it to his own home. 
 
 The distance of this famous jump has been measured 
 several times. The measurements vary from twenty- 
 five to twenty-seven and a half feet. It is thirty feet 
 from the cliff to the clear waters of the Cuyahoga below; 
 so if Brady had slipped and fallen, he would have been 
 badly bruised, and no doubt would have had a broken 
 leg. The record for the broad jump in American field 
 games is about twenty-four feet, six and one-half inches. 
 The world's record is twenty-four feet, seven and one 
 quarter inches. You therefore see that this frontier 
 fighter was an athlete of no mean merit, and, stimu- 
 lated by a band of hostile red men in his rear, jumped a 
 distance which has never been equalled in athletic con- 
 tests. Long may his memory live among the sport- 
 loving people who now exist and thrive in the country 
 which he helped to capture from the red men. 
 
 The gallant captain never fully recovered from this 
 affair. The bullet wound which he had received in 
 the leg lamed him for life, and, although a comparatively 
 young man when this celebrated flight occurred, he 
 looked like a man well advanced in years. Rough life 
 and exposure to the weather had done their work. 
 We know that he was married to a Miss Drusilla Swear- 
 ington, the daughter of an officer in General Morgan's 
 
112 FMIOUS SCOUTS 
 
 rifle-corps, — and the lady must haye had much forti- 
 tude in order to endure the anxiety which her hus- 
 band's frequent engagements and skirmishes must 
 have caused her. Two sons were born to them, when 
 Hving in West Liberty, West Virginia; and here the 
 bold and intrepid Indian fighter died, about the year 
 1800, — although history has given us no record of the 
 exact date. 
 
 May the remembrance of this famous frontiersman 
 be kept green, for his courage and bravery were of the 
 greatest. If the people of America continue to produce 
 men of such a mold, the volunteer army will never be 
 lacking for material in time of war, or for athletes to 
 win upon the cinder-path and tan-bark in time of peace. 
 
THE TWO ATHLETIC POES, AND MAJOR 
 
 SAM McCULLOCH, THE DESPERATE 
 
 RIDER OF WEST VIRGINIA 
 
 MANY men have left records of daring, who Hved 
 at the time of Daniel Boone; in fact it is dif- 
 ficult to pick and choose among the lesser 
 lights who were conspicuous upon the frontier. The 
 Kentuckians, Virginians, and Pennsylvanians have 
 many records of their "mighty hunters,'' and among 
 these none had a more thrilling experience with the 
 red men than the brothers Adam and Andrew Poe, 
 who resided in Washington County, Pennsylvania. 
 Both were able-bodied pioneers, and both were skilled 
 in trapping, shooting, and finding their way in the 
 dense woodland. 
 
 The country near the farms of these two brothers 
 was constantly raided by unfriendly Wyandots, who 
 burned and scalped with a ruthless hand. Finally 
 they murdered some peaceful settlers within a mile 
 of these two pioneers and carried off an old man into 
 captivity. This was more than such virile frontiers- 
 men could stand and, riding about the neighborhood, 
 Adam Poe soon collected a force of twelve frontiers- 
 men who, mounted upon stout horses, soon set out to 
 follow the trail of the marauders. 
 
 The foot-prints of the redskins could be easily fol- 
 lowed, as there had been a heavy rain, and the posse 
 
 113 
 
114 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 had gone only about ten miles when it became evident 
 that the Indians were directly in front of them. 
 
 "Be quiet, men/' cried Andrew Poe, "for now we 
 are near the marauders and must use every precaution 
 before we approach them. If they know that we are 
 here they will undoubtedly kill the prisoner. '^ 
 
 In spite of the warning the pioneers continued to 
 make a loud noise, so, leaving them, stout Andrew 
 crept towards the bank of the river where he heard the 
 red men making some disturbance as they disembarked 
 from their canoes. Cocking his flintlock — for all 
 rifles in those days were muzzle-loading pieces — he 
 moved towards the water's edge, and as he peered over 
 a clump of brush, he saw several birch-bark canoes 
 lying before him. No red men were in view. Worm- 
 ing his way along, he soon approached the river, when 
 suddenly — as he arose from the bushes — two Wyan- 
 dot warriors stood before him. One was a small, wiry 
 red man, who had a gun in his hand, fully cocked. 
 The other was a man of gigantic size ; far larger, in fact, 
 than Poe himself. It was Big Foot, a celebrated 
 Wyandot chieftain and terror of the border. He, too, 
 was armed with a flintlock. 
 
 Poe determined immediately what to do. To re- 
 treat was impossible. So, aiming at the large red- 
 skin, the nervy pioneer pulled the trigger. The big 
 chief was looking down the river at the rest of the 
 whites who had just reached the edge, so did not see 
 the stout-hearted pioneer. The rifle missed fire. Poe 
 dodged into the thick rushes, and, as he lay there, 
 he heard the larger party of whites retake the prisoner 
 
THE TWO ATHLETIC POES 115 
 
 from the rest of the Indians, down stream. He again 
 primed his rifle, crept to the edge of the bank, and 
 pointed it at the big redskin. He pulled, but it re- 
 fused to go off for a second time. And now the two 
 warriors saw him. To lie still was useless, so dropping 
 his rifle Poe sprang upon the redskins. They wheeled 
 — when his gun snapped — but so sudden was his 
 onrush that they had no time to raise their own flint- 
 locks before he was upon them. Poe caught each by 
 the neck and, as he was a powerful man, threw both 
 to the ground. 
 
 The red men lost their guns as they fell, for they 
 were completely surprised. Fortunately for Poe their 
 other arms were in the canoes, and as Big Foot was 
 beneath stout Andrew, and the other Indian a bit to 
 his right, for an instant the white man had the ad- 
 vantage. So busy was he with his hands that he could 
 not reach his knife at his belt. He made several efforts 
 to get it, but Big Foot caught his hand and held it in 
 an iron grip, while he gave directions to his companion 
 in his own tongue. Suddenly the crafty red man re- 
 laxed his grasp and jerked Poe's hand as it was upon 
 his knife belt. The knife flew out of his fingers and 
 struck the ground. 
 
 As this occurred, the small red man broke loose 
 and ran to the canoes, returning in an instant with a 
 long tomahawk. Wliile Big Foot held the white man, 
 the little Indian took aim and drove at his head. But, 
 with one swift kick, Andrew Poe struck his arm, and 
 the weapon spun from it into the river. Big Foot let 
 forth a furious yell of disappointment. 
 
116 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 In a second the thin red man returned to the canoe 
 for another weapon and, seizing a second tomahawk, 
 once more rushed to the attack. He made two feints 
 in order to draw Poe's attention from Big Foot, and then 
 with a sudden, swift lunge, drove the weapon straight 
 for his head. Poe threw up his arm, received the blow 
 upon his right wrist, and the tomahawk spun away 
 in the air. 
 
 The Indian was after it in a jiffy. He picked it 
 up and again advanced to the attack. He was dancing 
 about the struggling men, looking for an opportunity 
 to deal a death blow, when Poe with a sudden jerk 
 wrenched himself loose from Big Foot, seized one of 
 the guns, and shot the red man dead. Why had not 
 the little Indian done the same to him, you ask? Be- 
 cause he feared in shooting Poe he would also shoot 
 his friend and, believing that he had a sure thing, 
 preferred to deal the death blow with a tomahawk. 
 
 The blood was flowing freely from the wound in 
 Andrew's wrist, and, as the little redskin dropped, 
 Big Foot seized him by the shoulder and right leg. 
 Poe grabbed him by the neck and, locked in this em- 
 brace, they both fell into the river together. Here 
 each had the same thing in mind, — to drown the other. 
 They struggled fiercely. Farther and farther into the 
 stream they went, now one on top, now the other, until 
 they were thirty yards from the bank. Poe at last 
 got on top and, seizing the tuft of hair on Big Foot's 
 head, kept him under water until he thought that he 
 had drowned him. 
 
 Now thoroughly exhausted with his efforts, and 
 
THE TWO ATHLETIC POES 117 
 
 with the loss of blood, he released his iron grasp, and 
 swam with his left arm to shore. Big Foot was not 
 dead. He was like an opossum and had been "play- 
 ing possum.'' Immediately he too struck out for the 
 bank and, with his eye upon the second rifle, swam 
 energetically to reach it first. Poe's injured arm handi- 
 capped him and Big Foot first reached the shore. With 
 a yelp of defiance he seized the gun and attempted to 
 cock it. As luck would have it, he drew the hammer 
 back so far that it stuck. The second rifle lay there, 
 unloaded, as Poe had fired it at the little Indian when 
 he had dispatched this energetic enemy. 
 
 Andrew Poe swam on hoping yet to dodge his enemy's 
 bullet. As he splashed to shore, his brother Adam 
 suddenly appeared, attracted by the noise of the dis- 
 charge of the rifle which had killed the little redskin. 
 His gun, alas, was unloaded, as he had just fired it at 
 the other group of red men. Seeing the predicament 
 of Big Foot, who, seizing the second rifle, began to load 
 it, Adam too rammed home a charge. Luck was with 
 the scout. In his nervous haste the redskin dropped 
 his ram-rod, and this momentary delay gave Adam 
 the very opportunity that he wished. Putting his own 
 flintlock to his shoulder, he took careful aim and fired. 
 With a loud yell the celebrated Big Foot fell, mortally 
 wounded. One of the gamest struggles in frontier 
 history was over. 
 
 Without waiting a second, Adam Poe leaped into 
 the water in order to help his brother, but, seeing the 
 redskin tumbling into the river, Andrew cried out: 
 
 " Let me alone, Brother; I'll get out all right. Get 
 
118 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 the redskin's scalp before he rolls into the water.'' 
 But Adam thought more of his brother than he did 
 of the Indian, and despite this protest he hastened to 
 drag him ashore. The red man, although in the throes 
 of death, purposely hurled himself into the water so 
 that his enemies could not get his scalp. He sank, 
 and the swift current carried him from view. 
 
 Meanwhile the other pioneers had had a desperate 
 fight with the rest of the Indians and had killed all but 
 one. The white prisoner had been retaken. Hearing 
 the sound of Poe's battle with the two red men they 
 hastened to his relief, and as they neared the scene of 
 the struggle one pioneer mistook Andrew (in the water) 
 for a red man. Firing quickly, he wounded him in 
 the shoulder; then, realizing his mistake, dashed for- 
 ward and was the first to pull him out. 
 
 Big Foot had been killed in this skirmish, and four 
 brothers with him. All were celebrated warriors among 
 the Wyandots, and their death crippled the tribe severely. 
 Several times the red men endeavored to avenge this 
 loss, but they were unsuccessful, and Andrew Foe, 
 recovering from his wounds, lived for many years. 
 In his old age he would often tell with great relish 
 the story of his desperate battle with the two red men, 
 and well might he be proud of the affair, for it was a 
 masterful struggle. Remember the two athletic Foes, 
 for this true battle was more desperate than that written 
 by any author of stirring tales! It well deserves to 
 live in the memory of those who admire manly pluck, 
 courage, and endurance, as does the spirited horse- 
 back rider, Major Sam McCulloch of West Virginia. 
 
THE TWO ATHLETIC POES 119 
 
 Virginia has always been noted for her riders. It 
 is a great State and a fertile one. The mountain coun- 
 ties, such as Loudoun and Fauquier, are rich in blue- 
 grass, limy water, and broad pasture lands, where 
 horses are easily fed and developed. Today the best 
 blood in America finds a place in the ample barns of 
 the hospitable farmers, and today no better horses 
 are bred than in this garden spot — cool in summer; 
 pure with the breath of mountain air; and rich with 
 the dark, loamy soil of marvellous strength and vigor. 
 
 The men of this country early learn to ride, and 
 early learn to love a good horse. Even the poorest 
 of them has a mount of thoroughbred blood, although 
 his other possessions may be small and meagre. When 
 Virginia was just settled, no man was more fond of a 
 good animal than Major Sam McCulloch, a famous 
 ranger, and as good a rider as the far-famed General 
 Jeb Stuart of Civil War fame, and Colonel John S. 
 Mosby, the partisan scout and cavalryman of those 
 stirring times. He hunted, trapped, and scouted all 
 over this gorgeous mountain section and, in the course 
 of his career, found himself one day near the little 
 town of Wheeling, now the capital of West Virginia. 
 
 Then this big city was but a small collection of 
 twenty-five log huts, protected by Fort Henry, a quar- 
 ter of a mile away. Many were the brushes with the 
 red marauders — Wyandots, Shawnees and Delawares 
 — and one day four hundred of the hostiles attacked 
 the place, determined if possible to lay it in ruins. 
 The settlers, terrified but game, hurried into the fort, 
 there to defend themselves and their families. Twenty- 
 
120 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 six were shot as they ran to the protection of the stock- 
 ade, and there were only forty-two men in all to defend 
 it, before this loss. 
 
 Messengers were hurried to the neighboring settle- 
 ments for aid. Fifteen frontiersmen fought their 
 way into the stockade without losing a man. This 
 gave the garrison courage, but the men began to cheer 
 when they saw fully forty horsemen at the edge of the 
 cleared space surrounding the little log fortification. 
 They were rangers, scouts and trappers under Major 
 Sam McCulloch, — the gamest fighter and best rider 
 then upon the border. "Hurray! for Sam McCul- 
 loch!" shouted the garrison. "Now we'll give the red- 
 skins thunder. Hurray! Hurray!" 
 
 The red men, appreciating that they must annihi- 
 late this band, attacked the rescuers with fury. They 
 poured a deadly rifle fire among the Virginians, but the 
 men dismounted and, firing from behind their steeds, 
 gradually worked their way up to the gates of the fort. 
 The doors were thrown open; they dashed inside; 
 but, as they yelled their joy, a sudden quiet came. 
 Out in the woodland could be seen the bravest of them 
 all. Major Sam McCulloch. He was cut off, surroimded 
 by an overwhelming body. He would be taken, tor- 
 tured and killed. 
 
 Four hundred Indians crowded in upon the des- 
 perate leader with wild, exultant yells of vindictive 
 joy. He was well known to them. They hated and 
 despised him, for he was more than a match for their 
 best warriors and, with his band of frontier rangers, 
 had often defeated them in battle. Now that they 
 
THE TWO ATHLETIC POES 121 
 
 had him in their power, nothing could exceed their 
 joyous satisfaction, and wild were their whoops as they 
 closed in upon the cool-headed horseman. 
 
 But Sam McCulloch had been in desperate situa- 
 tions before. In a flash he saw that he could not gain 
 the fort. The Indians were running in upon three sides, 
 leaving only one way for escape, and that to the rear. 
 Spurring his horse, he wheeled around and dashed 
 full tilt for this opening, which led towards the brink 
 of a precipice one hundred and fifty feet above the 
 waters of Wheeling Creek, which peacefully wound a 
 gentle course far below. The red men, little thinking 
 that he would try this opening, had left the way 
 clear. 
 
 The major was mounted upon a three-quarter-bred 
 bay gelding, the type of horse that is now used for 
 fox-hunting in "Ole Virginiah.'' The animal was well 
 schooled to jump, and bounded over the fallen trees 
 in his way with ease and freedom. The noble animal 
 reached the edge of the deep ravine and, for an instant, 
 the brave major curbed him. The redskins were press- 
 ing close, yelping like timber wolves, for already they 
 felt that he was theirs. "I prefer death to torture,'' 
 said the horseman to himself. "Here goes,'' and, 
 plunging his spurs into his willing steed, he leaped out 
 into the air. The redskins stopped in wonder and 
 amazement, for their quarry had vanished. 
 
 Dowm! Down into the yawning depth spun the 
 horse and man. Down! Down! Then thud! Splash! 
 they struck in the middle of the stream. The horse's 
 legs ploughed deep into the sandy bottom, but he was 
 
122 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 not injured, and scrambling to the other shore bore 
 his rider, dripping, to the bank. 
 
 Major McCulloch turned with his fist clenched and 
 shook it at the silent red men who, clustering upon 
 the edge of the precipice, looked down upon the fugitive 
 in wonder and amazement. "Ugh! UghT' said one, 
 "the Great Spirit is with him. He rides the horse of 
 the Evil One. We cannot catch him.'' 
 
 And so saying, the redskins returned to the siege 
 of the fort, which was so well defended that they could 
 not take it, while several miles away rode Major 
 Sam McCulloch, quietly laughing at the wonder and 
 amazement of the warriors from the West, and patting 
 gently upon the neck his truest friend in all Virginia. 
 To his speed and courage he owed his life. A toast to 
 this noble animal, — the gamest steed that ever broused 
 upon the blue-grass pastures of the Old Dominion. 
 
LEWIS AND CLARKE: THE FIRST BOLD 
 EXPLORERS TO REACH THE PACIFIC 
 BY THE NORTHERN ROUTE. HERE 
 IS THE HISTORY OF TWO LION- 
 HEARTED MEN 
 
 MOST of the vast country west of the Mississippi 
 River was owned, in 1803, by France. Spain 
 had made a secret treaty with France by which 
 she ceded the territory of Louisiana, embracing the 
 present States of Montana, North and South Dakota, 
 Wyoming, Nebraska, Minnesota, Iowa, Missouri, Kan- 
 sas, Arkansas, Louisiana, Indian Territory, and part 
 of Colorado. President Jefferson, learning of this 
 treaty, sent a commission to France to purchase the 
 island on which New Orleans stood, and also the right 
 of a passage to the sea. While Napoleon Bonaparte 
 was considering this, he came forward with an offer 
 to sell all of Louisiana to the United States for twenty 
 million dollars. After bargaining for a while, the 
 vast territory was purchased for fifteen million dollars. 
 Bonaparte was delighted. "This accession of terri- 
 tory,'' said he, rubbing his hands, "strengthens for- 
 ever the power of the United States. I have given 
 England a rival upon the sea, which will sooner or later 
 humble her pride.'' 
 
 Very few people realized the value of the newly 
 bought possessions, and many roundly abused Jeffer- 
 
 123 
 
124 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 son for making it. But the western settlers were over- 
 joyed. ''At last,'^ said they, "we have room for ex- 
 pansion. Hurrah for Jefferson." Highly delighted 
 at his success, the president recommended to congress, 
 in a confidential message, that a party should be dis- 
 patched to trace the Missouri River to its source, cross 
 the Rocky Mountains, and go to the Pacific Coast. 
 The plan was approved. Captain Meriwether Lewis, 
 the president's private secretary, being appointed to 
 lead the expedition which was to consist of nine young 
 Kentuckians, fourteen United States soldiers, two 
 French watermen to serve as interpreter and hunter, 
 and a black servant for Captain William Clarke, who 
 was a joint commander. Theirs was a wonderful 
 journey and it gave to the people of the eastern sea- 
 board their first Imowledge of that vast territory which 
 lay beyond the turbid current of the Mississippi. 
 
 Upon the twenty-first of May, 1804, the little band 
 of bold-hearted explorers left the mouth of the Mis- 
 souri River and struck out towards the unknown West. 
 Wliat must have been their feelings as they headed 
 into the unknown? How their very souls must have 
 thrilled at the thought of penetrating into that un- 
 explored region, from which had come only rumors of 
 fierce tribes of red men; of vast herds of game; of deep, 
 plunging rivers, beetling mountains, and unpenetrable 
 forests of hemlock, fir, and pine. They had the deep 
 satisfaction of knowing that they were the first white 
 men to penetrate the wild West and, like the followers 
 of Peary, the Arctic explorer, their spirits must have 
 thrilled with the thought of being the first men to see 
 
LEWIS AND CLARKE 125 
 
 and to know this vast region of mountains, water courses, 
 and plateaus. I have travelled upon their old trail 
 and when first viewing the towering peaks of the Rockies, 
 was so overwhelmed by the gorgeous vista that I could 
 not suppress a cheer. How must it have affected these 
 lone wanderers, — the very first white men to see the 
 serried columns of this magnificent range, and to know 
 that they would bring the first written word of the scene 
 to the anxious ears of thousands of their fellow white 
 men? I'll warrant that they were often startled by 
 the very grandeur of the scenes which lay before them. 
 Fortunate men to be the earliest pioneers to see this 
 gorgeous country. 
 
 The little party camped, at the end of August, upon 
 a high bluff, surrounded by a beautiful plain. Here 
 a number of red warriors met them and said, "We 
 would speak with you. We wish big talk.'' 
 
 So Lewi^ and Clarke held a pow-wow with them. 
 "We love white sons of the great father," said one 
 chief. "We welcome them to Indian country. But 
 Indian is poor. White brother rich. He have stick 
 which shoots fire. Cannot white brother give red 
 brother present. How! How!" 
 
 All spoke in the same way, so they were presented 
 with various glass beads and trinkets, a feast was held, 
 and promising that they would not disturb them, 
 the redskins allowed the whites to pass on up the Mis- 
 souri River. Lewis called the place Council Bluffs, 
 and now the prosperous manufacturing town of that 
 name — a populous city of Iowa — stands where was 
 held this noted conference between the first white 
 
126 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 explorers of the virgin West, and those who could have 
 stopped the expedition had they so wished. 
 
 But things were not always peaceable. Soon the 
 little band of adventurers had come to the land of the 
 Sioux — the strongest, richest, and most warlike of 
 all the western tribes — and one day were surprised 
 to find that their best horse had been stolen. Next 
 day they saw several redskins upon the shore. 
 
 "We are friends," said Clarke from his boat. "We 
 wish to remain such. We are not afraid of any Indians. 
 Some of your young men have stolen the horse which 
 your great white father in Washington sent for your 
 great chief. We cannot treat with you until it is 
 brought back to us." 
 
 The whites were in several boats and, as they pulled 
 up the Missouri, the Indians followed upon the bank. 
 
 "We not seen your horse," said they, through the 
 interpreter. "We wish to come on board your boats. 
 We want to shake hands with you." But Lewis and 
 Clarke would not stop. 
 
 Next day fifty or sixty chiefs and warriors came 
 down to the water's edge. "How! How!" said they. 
 "We wish to come on board your canoes. How! 
 How!" 
 
 "You can come on board," said Lewis, ''but you 
 must not take anything that is not given to you." 
 
 "How! How!" said the redskins. 
 
 The red men were much interested in what they 
 saw, particularly in an air gun; while a quarter glass 
 of whiskey given to each made the red men love their 
 white brothers to such an extent that they would not 
 
LEWIS AND CLARKE 127 
 
 move. Finally they were persuaded to go ashore, but 
 they had conceived an idea of stopping the whites 
 until they could secure more "fire-water/' so when 
 the boat grounded it was tightly held by several of the 
 red men. One old chief pretended to be intoxicated 
 and cried out : 
 
 "You no go on. Indian keep you here. You got 
 to give Indian heap more presents, — not 'nough yet. 
 Indian want heap presents." 
 
 But Captain Clarke grew angry. 
 
 "We will not let you keep us here," he thundered. 
 "We are not squaws. We are warriors. Our great 
 white father has sent us here. He can send his men 
 armed with the fire sticks [rifle] sand can kill all of you 
 in an hour if you harm us." 
 
 "Indians have warriors, also," said the chief, signal- 
 ling to his men. 
 
 Immediately Captain Clarke drew his sword and 
 cried out, "Men, prepare for action." As he spoke 
 the soldiers loaded their guns, pointing them at the 
 redskins, while the other boats hastened to the rescue. 
 The red men were bending their bows and arrows, 
 but when they saw the other boats approaching they 
 withdrew, and could be seen talking to one another 
 very vociferously. Bold Clarke knew that if he pushed 
 on up the Missouri leaving an enemy in his rear it would 
 be unwise, so he rowed towards them, holding out his 
 hand in token of friendship. 
 
 The chiefs, at first, refused to come near. But 
 after a while they grew friendly and, not only ap- 
 proached, but came on board the vessel. The peace 
 
128 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 pipe was smoked; the whites were invited to the Sioux 
 village, and there a great feast was spread before them, 
 including boiled dog, which was the favorite dish of 
 the redskins. The red men refused to deliver the 
 horse-thief and, deciding that it was wisest not to 
 press the matter, the little band of adventurers pressed 
 farther up the mighty river. 
 
 Now the journey was peaceful and easy. Various 
 bands of the Sioux lived along the banks of the stream, 
 and these were all friendly. Day after day they rowed 
 and poled their shallow craft up the beautiful river, 
 carrying around the rapids and falls, camping beneath 
 the splendid shade trees, and living from the antelope, 
 wild duck, and fish which they took. The days grew 
 shorter, great flocks of geese flew over their heads 
 upon their journey south, and, realizing that winter 
 was upon them, the adventurers stopped at a place 
 which they christened Fort Mandan, — sixteen hun- 
 dred miles from the mouth of the Missouri River. 
 Friendly Indians were around them and brought them 
 dried squashes, corn, and other vegetables. They 
 had no diflSculty of getting along with the bands of 
 Sioux, Mandan, and Minnetaree redskins who con- 
 stantly visited the little log huts which they had here 
 erected. 
 
 The winter passed away; some of their men were 
 attacked by roving Sioux, when sent off for a supply 
 of meat, but none were killed. When spring came, 
 wdth great good spirit and confidence in their own 
 ability to reach their goal, the little party turned to- 
 wards the setting sun and pressed onward upon their 
 
LEWIS AND CLARKE 129 
 
 mission. All were well and in excellent health; their 
 leaders were full of joy at the expectation of soon reach- 
 ing the great mountains which the Indians said, "Are 
 bold and strong like the arm of the Great Spirit.'' 
 
 On the eleventh of May one of the soldiers left the 
 boat and went ashore to hunt, but in the course of 
 half an hour he was seen running towards the river, 
 with fear and distress plainly marked upon his coun- 
 tenance. When he came near enough to talk, he said 
 that he had not gone far before he had stumbled upon 
 a great brown bear of enormous size. He had fired 
 and wounded him. The animal had turned to follow 
 but, weakened by loss of blood, had stopped just be- 
 fore he had reached the vicinity of the boat. 
 
 "Let me see the fellow," cried Captain Lewis, as 
 he scrambled ashore. "I'll lay him low, Til warrant." 
 
 Together with seven men he immediately set out 
 to find the wounded animal and, tracking him by his 
 blood, soon found where he had lain down in the brush, 
 after digging a hole two feet deep to lie in. The animal, 
 snarling and growling, staggered upon his feet in order 
 to rush the white men, but they soon shot him dead. 
 "By heavens," wrote Clarke in his diary, "we had 
 rather encounter two Indians than meet a single brown 
 bear. They are strong, powerful, and very fierce. 
 We obtained eight gallons of oil from this monster." 
 And monster he was, indeed, for the party had stumbled 
 upon their first grizzly bear, — the monarch of the 
 Rocky Mountains and lord of the foothills. 
 
 Nor was this the only one that they saw. Some 
 time later Captain Lewis went out upon the plains to 
 
130 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 hunt and there discovered an immense herd of buffalo. 
 He determined to shoot one and, after creeping care- 
 fully near a bunch of cows and bulls, wounded a fine, 
 fat cow. He was so interested in watching this animal 
 that he did not notice a huge grizzly which stole up 
 upon him until it was scarcely twenty feet away. Hear- 
 ing a slight noise, the huntsman turned, and as the 
 bear perceived him he rushed upon him with open 
 mouth. Captain Lewis immediately turned to run, 
 but grizzlies are very fast, and he found that the bear 
 w^ould overtake him. Unfortunately he could not 
 load his rifle while on the run and, if he should stop to 
 do so, he knew that the huge beast would be upon him 
 with open jaws. 
 
 Luckily the river was near and, racing to the bank, 
 the breathless soldier waded out to his arm pits, where 
 he knew the bear would have to attack him by swim- 
 ming. Now seizing his hunting knife, he raised it above 
 his head, determined to die game, if he had to. But 
 Bruin thought better of the attack when he saw his 
 adversary in such an excellent position for defense. 
 Giving a few angry sniffs and growls, he turned about 
 and lumbered away, while Lewis, clambering from the 
 cold water, vowed that never again would he leave his 
 rifle unloaded after firing a shot. 
 
 If you look at the map of the United States, you 
 see that the largest branch southwestward from the 
 head of the Missouri is the Yellowstone, and that the 
 great Rocky Mountains intervene between the mighty 
 watercourse and the Columbia, which empties into 
 the Pacific Ocean. In going up the Missouri, the ex- 
 
LEWIS AND CLARKE 131 
 
 plorers were in doubt which stream led to their goal 
 when they arrived to the place where the Yellowstone 
 meets the greater stream and, consequently, a part 
 went up the Missouri, while the rest paddled westward 
 up the Yellowstone. Captain Clarke — in charge of 
 the men on the Yellowstone — discovered the great 
 falls and, then realizing that he was near the end of 
 that stream, turned about, retraced his steps and joined 
 Captain Lewis who had gone some distance up the 
 turbid Missouri, which runs up to the Rockies. The 
 adventurers learned that the tribe of Shoshones in- 
 habited the land which they intended to cross. When 
 they met some of these Indians they did all in their 
 power to get on friendly terms with them, for they 
 knew that if angered the redskins could soon wipe 
 out the few explorers. On August 18th they reached 
 the extreme point of navigation of the river and, 
 realizing that it would be best to make a dash for the 
 coast with but half of the party, they decided that 
 Captain Clarke, with eleven men, should make the 
 overland journey to the Columbia River. The rest 
 were to camp where they were until the return of their 
 fellows. 
 
 "The country in front is held by a fierce and war- 
 like people,'' said the Shoshones. "They live upon 
 horses stolen from those who pass the mountains. 
 They sleep in caves. A desert lies before you ten 
 days' journey in width, where no animals or food is 
 to be found. Your horses will all die of thirst. You 
 cannot go on." 
 
 At first Captain Clarke believed these tales, but 
 
ou§ 
 
 132 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 seeing that the Shoshones were anxious to have him 
 spend the winter with them so that they could get 
 more presents out of him, he secured sufficient horses 
 for his command and pressed westward by the northern 
 route. Lewis joined him, for he thought that the 
 Indians were treacherous and, if he remained among 
 them with his small party, he feared a massacre. 
 
 The pioneers had been awed and inspired by the 
 wonderful scenery which lay before them. Rugged 
 mountains were there: brown, steep, hemlock-clad. 
 Deep game trails led through the tangled meshes of 
 the forest and, in the sparkling riverlets, trout jumped 
 at the floating gnats and insects. Gorges and canyons 
 had to be passed, where the howling waters raced in 
 an apparent agony, and flute-like came the sound of 
 the rush of the snow-cold water against the pebbly 
 bottoms. At night the scream of the mountain lion 
 echoed across the silent valleys, while the bleat of the 
 antelope could be heard upon the vast plains near the 
 river bed. Eagles soared above, peering disdainfully 
 at the black specks of men beneath, and sage hens 
 craned their necks at them when they tramped from 
 the river in search of game. Over all was the clear, 
 pure air of that vast mountain plateau which invigor- 
 ates, stimulates, and makes one feel as if he had the 
 strength of ten. Inspired and stimulated by the thought 
 that they were making history, the men pressed on, 
 determined to view the gray waters of the fog-sheeted 
 Pacific. 
 
 The great, awe-inspiring Rockies were soon crossed. 
 A country was entered which was arid and bare. Barbed 
 
 f 
 
LEWIS AND CLARKE 133 
 
 thorns and prickly pears lacerated the feet of the men 
 and horses. No living creature was seen for several 
 days, except a few sage hens and "gophers/' — a small 
 squirrel-like rodent. In September a snow storm 
 chilled them and, as their provisions grew scant and 
 low, it was apparent that if more favorable lands were 
 not reached some of the men would die. Yellow wastes 
 covered with sage brush were on every hand, and it 
 seemed as if this tiresome plateau would never be 
 crossed. 
 
 Finally, as many were despairing, an Indian vil- 
 lage was reached, where the sun-burned explorers were 
 received with kindness and were fed. The red men 
 were Nez Perces. Although their chief was away with 
 a war party, by using flattery and dispensing many 
 trinkets among the women, enough food was secured 
 to last many days. The adventurers had travelled 
 one hundred miles between the southern and northern 
 forks of a river which they named the Lewis, — after 
 their courageous captain, Meriwether Lewis. It is 
 now called the Snake. They were weak from fatigue 
 and disease, but determined to descend the river in 
 canoes of their own construction and, as food was low, 
 dined from a number of Indian dogs, — a dish which 
 they had scorned when with the Sioux. Hunger un- 
 makes many an epicure. 
 
 At last the determined men of braw^n and courage 
 were upon the last lap of the great journey westward. 
 Launching their canoes, they drifted down the Lewis 
 River into the broad waters of the Columbia, and by 
 easy stages paddled towards the rolling ocean. Num- 
 
134 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 berless bands of red men visited them as they went 
 on. When they neared the coast some Nez Perces, 
 who had come with them, said, "We go back. Indian 
 down here no Hke Nez Perce. Scalp us. We go home.'^ 
 
 They were persuaded, however, to remain with the 
 party until the falls of the Columbia had been passed. 
 And after these had been left behind, with joy and 
 exuberance, the travel-scarred voyagers dug their 
 paddles into the water and drove the light canoes to- 
 wards the sea. Early in November, upon a beautiful, 
 clear day their eyes were gladdened by the first sight 
 of the great Pacific Ocean, and with loud and vociferous 
 cheers the first white men to cross the north-central 
 section of the American continent paddled into the 
 broad expanse at the mouth of the swift-flowing Colum- 
 bia. The continent had been crossed. After trials, 
 many and varied, Lewis and Clarke had won, and the 
 flag of the infant Republic waved from the green hills 
 of Columbia Bay. 
 
 The tired adventurers rested at the coast from 
 November to March of the following year, occupying 
 their time in curing meat for the return trip, in dressing 
 skins for clothing, and in exploring the coast. The 
 Indians were friendly. As spring came, the men turned 
 their eyes towards the East and, after leaving written 
 descriptions of their journey with the redskins and 
 posted up in their log huts, they started toward the 
 Rocky Mountains on March the twenty-third. By 
 offering their services as physicians to the Indians 
 whom they met, they always obtained enough fresh 
 meat to sustain their strength. The tribes were hos- 
 
LEWIS AND CLARKE 135 
 
 pitably inclined nearer the Rockies, and thus, slowly 
 but surely, Lewis and Clarke, with their adventurous 
 following, neared the Great Divide. 
 
 One incident upon the return journey is worthy 
 of mention. When the explorers were among the 
 Blackfeet Indians, who lived in the country which is 
 now the northwestern part of Montana, they met with 
 decided hostility from the red men. The Blackfeet 
 had the reputation of being great thieves, and when 
 the little band of whites was encamped near Mario's 
 River several redskins were seen hovering nearby by 
 one of the white scouts, — a Canadian called Drewyer. 
 Knowing that a fight with the entire tribe of Black- 
 feet would mean annihilation. Captain Lewis advanced 
 towards the red men with a flag of truce tied to his 
 ram-rod. After circling about them for some time, 
 on their ponies, the Blackfoot warriors — eight in 
 number — apparently assured that the whites were 
 friendly, came toward them, dismounted, shook hands, 
 and smoked with them. 
 
 Captain Lewis found that the red men enjoyed 
 smoking the stone pipe immensely, so he remained 
 awake until a late hour, entertaining his guests. Then 
 the red men lay down to rest and, as soon as their 
 deep breathing showed that they slumbered, the watch- 
 ful captain awoke a trapper called Fields, telling him 
 to arouse him in case any red men left the camp, as he 
 knew that they would probably try to steal the horses 
 of the white men. He then lay down in the same tent 
 with the Indians, while Fields settled himself near the 
 fire. 
 
136 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 At sunrise a Blackfoot brave seized the rifles of 
 several men and began to run off. Fields saw him and 
 gave chase. The Indian ran hard, but the trapper 
 overtook him and, seizing him by the body, stabbed 
 him with his knife. The redskin was killed, and the 
 white sentinel returned to camp with the rifles. 
 
 Captain Lewis was lying side by side, with Drewyer, 
 the Canadian, with both of their rifles near enough to 
 be instantly seized, when two Blackfeet entered the 
 tent, one of whom seized Lewis's rifle. As he touched 
 the gun, Drewyer, who was awake, jumped up and 
 wrested it from him. The noise of the scuflfle awoke 
 Captain Lewis, who reached for his gun only to find 
 it gone. The other redskin had seized it and was mak- 
 ing off with it as fast as he could run. 
 
 Captain Lewis, seizing a pistol from his belt, im- 
 mediately pursued. 
 
 ''Lay down that gun,'' he shouted in the Indian 
 tongue. 
 
 The Indian stopped and, as he did so some of the 
 pioneers drew a bead upon him. 
 
 "Don't fire, men," cried Lewis. "He seems to be 
 going to give up my gun, and I would rather not kill 
 any of them, for if we do the whole tribe will be after 
 us." 
 
 "Look, Captain," cried one of his men. "The red- 
 skins are trying to drive off afl the horses." 
 
 And as Lewis looked, he saw the Blackfeet driving 
 all of his men's ponies towards a deep niche in the river 
 bluffs. The leader of the expedition immediately made 
 after them. 
 
LEWIS AND CLARKE 137 
 
 "I will fire/' he shouted, "unless you give up our 
 horses." 
 
 The red men kept on, but with one skillful shot 
 Captain Lewis dropped one of the Blackfeet. The 
 others ran away, driving only one horse before them, 
 and running after the others, the pioneers soon had 
 them in camp. 
 
 "We must leave in hot haste," cried Captain Clarke. 
 "These Indians will tell of the death of their fellows 
 and the whole Blackfoot nation will be out after our 
 scalps. Hurry men! Saddle up! We must be away!" 
 The men did not have to be greatly urged. They 
 soon were off, and the little band travelled for a hun- 
 dred miles before, almost exhausted by fatigue, they 
 halted at two o'clock in the morning. At daylight 
 they were off again, fearful that each moment they 
 would hear a wild war-whoop in their rear. But they 
 were not pursued, and escaped in safety. 
 
 Ever afterwards the Blackfeet were bitter enemies 
 to the whites, and in the advance of pioneers into the 
 far West they rivalled the war-like Sioux in their 
 hostility, blood-thirstiness, and hatred for the Anglo- 
 Saxon invaders. 
 
 The men with Lewis and Clarke lost many of their 
 horses. Unseen red men hovered around the camp 
 and made away with them in the darkness. Finally 
 the}^ were forced to again take the boats of their own 
 construction, and in their skin canoes the sturdy 
 adventurers paddled a cautious way down the Mis- 
 souri. There were frequent alarms about hostile war 
 parties, but luckily they were only once attacked, 
 
138 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 when Captain Lewis received a bad wound which gave 
 him much pain and discomfort for many weeks. Late 
 in September, 1806, the travel-scarred party neared 
 St. Louis, on the Missouri, — then the furthermost 
 white settlement in the wild, western country. 
 
 The band of explorers had travelled more than 
 seven thousand miles by horse, foot, canoe, and batteaux. 
 They had treated with all the Indian tribes who had 
 been met with, and had made a fairly accurate map 
 of the country through which they had passed. The 
 plants, animals, and birds of this vast, unknown region 
 had been carefully observed and written about. The 
 red men, their customs, dress, and habits had been fully 
 described. The trappers under Lewis and Clarke 
 had made a great journey, — one of the most preten- 
 tious in all history, for it threw open a rich and fertile 
 territory to white settlement. 
 
 Lewis says in his diary: "When we reached St. 
 Louis we received a most hearty and hospitable wel- 
 come from the whole village. All greeted us as if 
 returned from the dead." And well might he and 
 his men be greeted! They were world conquerors, 
 in the best sense, in that they had blazed the way for 
 thousands of sturdy homeseekers, who soon followed 
 in their wake, building homes, cities, manufacturing 
 plants, railroads, and telegraph lines, where once had 
 roamed the lordly bison, the herds of dun colored ante- 
 lope, the vast bodies of stately elk; and where, in the 
 silence of the forest, the grizzly bear — monarch of 
 the plains and mountains — had moved in the peace 
 and seclusion of the wilderness. 
 
LEWIS AND CLARKE 139 
 
 As long as the Anglo-Saxon race endures, and men 
 love bold courage and indefatigable labor, the names 
 of William Clarke and Meriwether Lewis will be revered, 
 honored, and respected. And it is just and fitting 
 that this should be so. 
 
COLONEL DAVID CROCKETT: BEAR 
 
 HUNTER, CONGRESSMAN, AND 
 
 DEFENDER OF TEXAN 
 
 LIBERTY 
 
 Remember the Alamo! 
 
 There, in the sunset glow, 
 
 Texan and Spanish foe 
 
 Fell in the battle. 
 
 Shrill came the bugles' blare, 
 
 Sharp through the flame's red glare, 
 
 Crockett had done his share 
 
 In the death grapple. 
 
 IN Tennessee, in the year 1823, three men were run- 
 ning for Congress. One, Colonel Alexander, was a 
 highly educated soldier. Another, General WilUam 
 Arnold, was a large land owner and a man of much 
 oratorical ability. The third, Dav}^ Crockett, was 
 a poor woodsman and pioneer, whose small log cabin 
 and meagre possessions were nothing compared to the 
 riches of the other two. A mass meeting was held, 
 where the three candidates appeared, and Crockett 
 opened the meeting by making a few humorous remarks. 
 When he came down from the platform, he was succeeded 
 by Colonel Alexander who, in turn was followed by 
 General Arnold. That gentleman refused to consider 
 Crockett seriously, as he was a backwoodsman with 
 
 140 
 
COLONEL DAVID CROCKETT 
 
DAVY CROCKETT 141 
 
 little education or refinement, and in all of a long 
 speech did not even make a reference to him. 
 
 The general's remarks were well received by the 
 crowd. He spoke fluently and well. No doubt he 
 would have made a great impression at the meeting, 
 but for an incident which now occurred. 
 
 While General Arnold was concluding with a won- 
 derfully eloquent plea for his cause, a flock of guinea 
 hens flew near the stand, and set up such an awful 
 clatter that the speaker could hardly make himself 
 heard. He stopped talking, and said: 
 
 '^Please drive those beastly guinea fowl away, for 
 I cannot bear their racket. It is ear splitting!'' 
 
 As he ceased, Davy Crockett (the despised opponent) 
 arose and said, with a merry twinkle in his eyes: 
 
 ^'Well, colonel, you are the only man I ever 
 met who could understand fowl language. You did 
 not have the courtesy to even mention me in your 
 speech, and when my speckled friends, the guinea 
 fowls, came up to protest, with the cry of ' Crockett, 
 Crockett, Crockett,^ you are so uncivil as to order them 
 away.'' 
 
 The crowd roared with laughter. General Arnold 
 was so disconcerted that he abruptly left the stand, 
 and so well did this please the voters that the election 
 which followed resulted in favor of rough Davy Crockett 
 by a majority of twenty-seven hundred and forty-eight 
 votes, out of about twenty thousand votes cast. His 
 humor had won him the coveted honor of Representative. 
 
 This extraordinary humor is what gave Davy 
 Crockett — the son of a poor backwoodsman who had 
 
142 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 fought in the Revolutionary War — his great popu- 
 larity, for at one time he was one of the most popular 
 men in public life. Bom in Tennessee, he had eight 
 brothers and sisters, and, although sent to a back- 
 woods school, ran away after he had been there four 
 days. There was little for him to do at the country 
 tavern kept by his father in Jefferson County, Tennessee, 
 and so the truant hired himself to a cattle dealer. With 
 him he travelled as far east as Baltimore but, losing 
 his occupation after the sale of the cattle, engaged 
 himself as a cabin boy to make a journey to London 
 on a sailing vessel. A wagoner now gave him a position 
 as driver of his cart, and the stout-hearted youth took 
 charge of a load of flour, which he delivered at Mont- 
 gomery Court House, Virginia. Here he hired himself 
 to a farmer, but left him at the end of a month to accept 
 a position with a hatter, who soon left the country, 
 badly in debt, leaving the light-hearted Davy without 
 a cent, but with a suit of clothes upon his back. He 
 was now about fifteen years of age, and so absolutely 
 ignorant that he did not know a single letter of the 
 alphabet. 
 
 Homesickness compelled him to return to the place 
 of his birth in Tennessee, but here he was so laughed 
 at for his ignorance, particularly by a young girl with 
 whom he was in love, that he determined to go to school 
 and make up for his early lack of "book learning." 
 He therefore engaged himself to a Quaker schoolmaster 
 and worked for him two days in the week in payment 
 for instruction for the other four. Under this arrange- 
 ment he received tuition for six months, then left in 
 
DAVY CROCKETT 143 
 
 order to be married. He says in his book, ''I learned 
 to read in a primer, to write my name, to cypher some 
 in the first three rules of figures, and to read a few verses 
 in the Bible." This was all the schooling that the 
 hero of the Alamo ever received. 
 
 No one opposed his marriage more than his aged 
 mother, but at the last moment the old lady relented, 
 gave her son her blessing, and soon came to see him 
 in a rough little cabin which he built for his wife, — a 
 sweet and good-natured daughter of a pioneer. For a 
 time he farmed it but, hearing of a more fertile country 
 further on in the wilderness, soon moved his wife and 
 few effects to a clearing near Winchester, Tennessee, 
 which was quite near the hunting grounds of the war- 
 like Creek Indians. Soon he was called out to defend 
 both home and hearth against these marauders. 
 
 In the essay upon Weatherford, the Creek con- 
 spirator, in "Famous Indian Chiefs,'' I have told how 
 the redskins, infuriated at the advance of the superior 
 race of whites into their territory, suddenly attacked 
 the frontier fortress of Fort Mimms, massacring all the 
 soldiers, women and children who were inside. How 
 the whites were furiously angered by this awful butchery, 
 and how five thousand militiamen from Kentucky and 
 Tennessee, under Andrew Jackson and Coffee, marched 
 against them. How Weatherford was beaten at Tallus- 
 hatches and Fort Talladega. How he made a last desper- 
 ate stand at the Great Horseshoe Bend of the Talla- 
 poosa River, in Alabama, and how, crippled and worn 
 out, he finally gave himself up to Old Hickory. 
 
 Davy Crockett was one of the first to enlist with 
 
144 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 the army of white avengers and, with his trusty flint- 
 lock called '* Old Betsey/' was prominent in all the fierce 
 battles of this campaign. But food was scarce, and 
 he had to leave the marching troops on more than one 
 occasion in order to get enough to keep himself alive. 
 In the campaign of Horseshoe Bend, hear his own 
 words upon the condition of himself and the army : 
 
 "And now, seeing that every fellow must shift for 
 himself, I determined that in the morning I would 
 come up missing; so I took my mess (gun and equip- 
 ment) and cut out to go ahead of the army. We 
 knowed that nothing more could happen to us if we 
 went than if we staid, for it looked like it was to be 
 starvation any way; we therefore determined to go on 
 the old saying, ' root hog or die/ 
 
 "We passed two camps at which our men who 
 had gone on before us had killed Indians. At one 
 they had killed nine, at the other three. About day- 
 light we came to a small river, which I thought was the 
 Scamby; but we continued on for three days, killing 
 little or nothing to eat, till at last we all began to 
 get ready to give up the ghost and lie down and die; 
 for we had no prospect of provision, and we knew we 
 couldn't go much further without it. 
 
 "We came to a large prairie, that was about six 
 miles across it, and in this I saw a trail which I knew 
 was made by bear, deer and turkeys. We went on 
 through it until we came to a large creek, and the low 
 grounds were all set over with wild rye, looking as green 
 as a wheat field. We here made a halt, unsaddled 
 our horses, and turned them loose to graze. 
 
DAVY CROCKETT 145 
 
 "One of my companions, a Mr. Vanzant, and my- 
 self, then went up the low grounds to hunt. We had 
 gone some distance, finding nothing, when at last 
 I found a squirrel, which I shot, but he had got into a 
 hole in a tree. The game was small, but necessity is 
 not very particular, so I thought I must have him, 
 and I climbed that tree thirty feet high, without a 
 limb, and pulled him out of his hole. I shouldn't relate 
 such small matters, only to show to what lengths a 
 hungry man will go to get something to eat. 
 
 "I soon killed two other squirrels and fired at a 
 large hawk. At this a gang of turkeys rose from the 
 canebrake and flew across the creek to where my 
 friend was, who had just before crossed it. He soon 
 fired on a large gobbler and I heard it fall. By this 
 time my gun was loaded again, and I saw one sitting on 
 my side of the creek, so I blazed away and brought 
 him down, and a fine turkey he was. 
 
 "I now began to think we had struck a breeze of 
 luck, and almost forgot our past sufferings in the prospect 
 of once more having something to eat. I raised a 
 shout and my comrade came to me, and we went on to 
 the camp with the game we had killed. '' 
 
 Such was the way that the frontier soldier was 
 forced to live. Nowadays he grumbles at the beef, at 
 the hard-tack, at everything. Then men lived on the 
 country, were cheerful, said nothing, and fought like 
 Trojans. Having nothing, they expected nothing, 
 and with a grim humor that is inspiring, campaigned 
 and marched like true heroes. When General Jackson 
 met the Indians, at what is called Hickory Ground, and 
 
146 FAMOtfS SCOUTS 
 
 concluded a treaty of peace \\ath them, Crockett and 
 all the rest returned to their log cabins. It had been 
 a hard, a gruelling, but a successful campaign. 
 
 Soon after his return Crockett's young wife, worn 
 out by hard work, worry, and exposure during his 
 absence at the front, died. But the genial frontiers- 
 man's grief was short. He soon married again and 
 moved still further into the wilderness, where wild game 
 was abundant, and bears were very numerous. In one 
 winter this stout-bodied man of the woods killed one 
 hundred and five bears, which surpasses anything on 
 record in the annals of American hunters of Brother 
 Bruin. Here is a description of one of his fights with 
 the monarch of the canebrakes, told in his own words: 
 
 "I went on about three miles, when I came to a 
 good big creek, which I waded. It was very cold 
 and the creek was about knee deep; but I felt no great 
 inconvenience from it just then, as I was wet all over 
 with perspiration from running, and I felt hot enough. 
 After I got over this creek and out of the cane, which 
 was very thick on all our creeks, I listened for my dogs. 
 I found they had either treed or brought the bear to a 
 stop, as they continued barking in the same place. 
 
 ^^I pushed on, as near in the direction of the noise 
 as I could, till I found that the hill was too steep for 
 me to climb, and so I backed and went down the creek 
 some distance, till I came to a hollow, and then took 
 up that, till I came to a place where I could climb up 
 the hill. It was mighty dark, and was difficult to see 
 my way, or anything else. When I got up the hill I 
 found I had passed the dogs, and so I turned and went 
 
DAVY CROCKETT 147 
 
 to them. I found when I got there they had treed a 
 bear in a large, forked poplar, and Bruin was sitting in 
 the fork. 
 
 " I could see the lump [on his back], but not plain 
 enough to shoot with any certainty, as there was no 
 moonlight; and so I set in to hunting for some dry 
 brush to make me a light, but I could find none, though 
 I could find that the ground was torn mightily to pieces 
 by the cracks. 
 
 "At last I thought I could shoot by guess, and kill 
 him; so I pointed as near the lump as I could and fired 
 away. But the bear didn't come; he only dumb up 
 higher, and got out on a limb, which helped me to see 
 him better. I now loaded up again and fired, but this 
 time he didn't move at all. 
 
 "I conmienced loading for a third time, but the 
 first thing I knowed, the bear was down among my 
 dogs, and they were fighting all around me. I had 
 my big butcher [knife] in my belt, and I had a pair 
 of dressed buckskin breeches on. So I took out my 
 knife and stood determined if he should get hold of 
 me to defend myself in the best way I could. 
 
 "I stood there for some time and could now and 
 then see a white dog I had, but the rest of them, and 
 the bear, which were dark colored, I couldn't see at all, 
 it was so miserable dark. 
 
 "They still fought around me, and sometimes within 
 three feet of me, but at last the bear got down into 
 one of the cracks that the earthquakes had made in the 
 ground, about four feet deep, and I could hear the 
 biting end of him, by the hollering of the dogs. So I 
 
148 FAIVIOUS SCOUTS 
 
 took my gun and pushed the muzzle of it about until 
 I thought I had it against the main part of his body, 
 and fired; but it happened to be only the fleshy part 
 of his foreleg. With this he jumped out of the crack, 
 and he a^nd the dogs had another hard fight around me, 
 as before. At last, however, they forced him back 
 into the crack again, as he was when I had shot. 
 
 "I had laid down my gun in the dark, and now I 
 began to hunt for it; and while hunting I got hold of a 
 pole, and I concluded that I would punch him awhile 
 with that. I did so, and when I would punch him, 
 the dogs would in on him, when he would bite them 
 badly, and they would jump out again. 
 
 " I concluded, as he would take punching so patiently, 
 it might be that he would lie still enough for me to get 
 down in the crack, and feel slowly along till I could 
 find the right place to give him a dig with my butcher. 
 So I got down, and my dogs got in before him and kept 
 his head towards them, till I got along easily up to him, 
 and placing my hand on his rump, felt for his shoulder, 
 just behind which I intended to stick him. I made a 
 lunge with my long knife, and fortunately stuck him 
 right through the heart, at which he just sunk down, 
 and I crawled out in a hurry. In a little time my dogs 
 all come [came] out, too, and seemed satisfied, which 
 was a way they always had of telling me that they 
 had finished him." 
 
 This was one of hundreds of battles, and so success- 
 ful was rough old Davy in killing off the midnight 
 marauders of the hog-pens, sheep-folds and melon 
 patches of the neighboring pioneers, that he was soon 
 
DAVY CROCKETT 149 
 
 the most welcome guest at every fireside. And he 
 thoroughly enjoyed his life in the wild woodland. 
 
 When Crockett went to Washington shortly after- 
 wards, as a Congressman, his rough backwoods manner, 
 quaint humor and generous frame won him many 
 friends and admirers in the capitol. Soon after his 
 arrival, he was invited to the White House to dine 
 with President Adams, who was a man of the highest 
 culture. Of this affair he says in his diary : 
 
 '^I was wild from the backwoods and didn't know 
 nothing about eating dinner with the big folks of our 
 country. And how should I, having been a hunter 
 all my life? I had eat most of my dinners on a log in 
 the woods, and sometimes no dinner at all. I knew 
 whether I ate dinner with the President, or not, was a 
 matter of no importance, for my constituents were not 
 to be benefited by it. I did not go to court the Presi- 
 dent, for I was opposed to him in principle, and had no 
 favors to ask at his hands. I was afraid, however, 
 that I should be awkward, as I was so entirely a stranger 
 to fashion; and in going along I resolved to observe 
 the conduct of my friend Mr. Verplank, and to do as he 
 did. And I know that I did behave myself right well." 
 
 But did he behave himself well? Some joker 
 wrote the following laughable account of this dinner 
 party, which was widely circulated among the news- 
 papers, and caused many a smile. Crockett is sup- 
 posed to be giving his own version of the affair: 
 
 ''The first thing I did after I got to Washington 
 was to go to the President's. I stepped into the Presi- 
 dent's house. Thinks L who's afeard. If I didn't, 
 
150 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 I wish I may be shot. Says I, 'Mr. Adams, I am Mr. 
 Crockett, from Tennessee.^ 'So/ says he, 'How d'ye 
 do, Mr. Crockett?' And he shook me by the hand, 
 although I knowed he went the whole hog for Jackson. 
 If he didn't, I wish I may be shot. 
 
 "Not only that, but he sent me a printed ticket to 
 dine with him. I've got it in my pocket yet. I went 
 to dinner, and I walked all around the long table, 
 looking for something that I liked. At last I took my 
 seat beside a fat goose, and I helped myself to as much 
 of it as I wanted. But I hadn't took three bites, when 
 I looked away up the table at a man they call Task 
 (a foreign attache to an embassy, or legation). He 
 was talking French to a woman on t'other side of the 
 table. He dodged his head and she dodged hers, and 
 then they got to drinking wine across the table. 
 
 " But when I looked back again my plate was gone, — 
 goose and all. So I j'ist cast my eyes down to t'other 
 end of the table and, sure enough, I seed a black man 
 walking off with my plate. I says, 'Hello, Mister, 
 bring back my plate!' He fetched it back in a hurry. 
 And when he set it down before me, how do you think 
 it was? Licked as clean as my hand. If it wasn't, I 
 wish I may be shot! 
 
 "Says he, 'What will you have, sir?' And says I, 
 ' You may well say that, after stealing my goose.' And 
 he began to laugh. Then says I, 'Mister, laugh if you 
 please; but I don't half like sich tricks upon travellers.' 
 I then filled my plate with bacon and greens. And 
 whenever I looked up or down the table, I held on to 
 my plate with my left hand. 
 
DAVY CROCKETT 151 
 
 "When we were all done eating, they cleared every- 
 thing off the table, and took away the tablecloth. 
 And what do you think? There was another cloth 
 under it. If there wasn't, I wish I may be shot! Then 
 I saw a man coming along carrying a great glass thing, 
 with a glass handle below, something like a candle-stick. 
 It was stuck full of little glass cups, with something 
 in them that looked good to eat. Says I, 'Mister, 
 bring that thing here.' Thinks I, let's taste them 
 first. They were mighty sweet and good, so I took 
 six of them. If I didn't, I wish I may be shot." 
 
 In spite of the fun thus poked at him, Crockett 
 was honest, honorable, and served his constituents 
 well. It is he who coined the famous motto, which he 
 endeavored to live up to, to the best of his ability, 
 ''Be sure you're right, then go ahead J' 
 
 In fact, for the sake of his political future, he served 
 this only too well for, shortly disagreeing with self- 
 willed old Andrew Jackson, who had been elected 
 President of the Republic, and was a popular idol, his 
 antagonism to the wish of the chief executive lost him 
 many votes in his own State. Said the stout old 
 Indian fighter and bear hunter, " I refuse to wear a collar 
 around my neck labelled, ' My Dog — Andrew Jackson,' " 
 and on many points he thwarted the iron will of Old 
 Hickory. 
 
 For a time Crockett's popularity was great. He 
 was feasted and wined in Philadelphia, Louisville, Boston 
 and New York, where he delivered many quaintly 
 humorous, but sensible, addresses. In Philadelphia 
 his admirers presented him with a splendid modern 
 
152 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 rifle and hunting horn, which the mighty hunter soon 
 put in the place of trusty "Old Betsy.'' This turned 
 the once simple bear hunter's head. He even aspired 
 for the Presidency, although ignorant of book learning, 
 wholly destitute of the refinements which he knew 
 that the chief of the nation should possess, and not 
 even able to speak correct grammar. He believed him- 
 self thoroughly able to fill the Presidential chair, for 
 popular applause had turned his head. 
 
 But how fickle is Dame Fortune! He ran again 
 for Congress, only to find that his popularity, though 
 increasing abroad, had lessened at home. Dressing 
 himself in hunting clothes, with his rifle over his shoulder, 
 he attended all of the conventions and threw himself 
 heart and soul into the canvass for election, which was 
 a red hot one. His speeches were the best and most 
 interesting that he had ever delivered, but all of his 
 jokes, philosophy, reasoning and eloquence availed him 
 nothing, for he was defeated by a majority of two 
 hundred and thirty votes and, smarting from the sting 
 of defeat, retired to his cabin, a broken-hearted and 
 crestfallen man. 
 
 How often we ourselves have seen this in our own 
 lives. At school, I have seen the boy defeated for 
 the captaincy of the football eleven sulk for a month. 
 I have seen the older youth who failed to get a marshal- 
 ship in the class day elections, at college, leave the 
 university with such bitterness in his heart that it took 
 a full year or more for the feeling to wear off. I have 
 seen defeated Congressmen most dispirited in their 
 defeat, — and it has been my ill fortune to see many 
 
DAVY CROCKETT 153 
 
 a statesman who has aspired to higher position than 
 that of Representative, so crestfallen by disappointed 
 ambition that his days were shortened. This is, and 
 always will be, an every-day occurrence, and one which 
 the world of struggling men will always know. Is it 
 a wonder, then, that this extraordinary backwoodsman, 
 elevated from abject poverty to a position of prominence 
 in tlie councils of the nation, should be chagrined, 
 mortified, crestfallen by the vote of disapproval of his 
 course of action, when shortly before the papers had 
 been full of his name, and thousands had crowded to 
 hear the words of the quaint, sensible, old pioneer? 
 
 Not willing to remain longer in his home district, 
 Crockett turned his eyes towards Texas, which then 
 was warring with Mexico for its independence, and 
 offered a life of excitement for the stout-hearted and 
 clean-shooting man. 
 
 "As my country no longer requires my services, I 
 have made up my mind to go to Texas," he has written. 
 ''My life has been one of danger, toil and privation. 
 But these difficulties I had to encounter at a time when 
 I considered it nothing more than right good sport to 
 surmount them; but now I start anew upon my own 
 hook, and God only grant that it may be strong enough 
 to support the weight that may be hung upon it. I 
 have a new row to hoe, a long and a rough one, but come 
 what will, I'll go ahead.'^ 
 
 We now come to the last incident in the life of this 
 remarkable man; an incident as dramatic as that of 
 the hero of any melodrama. It is a story which will 
 live forever, for of the men who defended the Alamo, 
 
154 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 not one lived to tell of the battle. As is well carved 
 upon the monument which marks the scene of this 
 famous fight, 
 
 " Thermopylae had its messenger of defeat, 
 The Alamo had none." 
 
 When Crockett, heart-sick and weary, left his wife 
 and children — for he had several — to cross over the 
 Mississippi and enter the Lone Star State, the political 
 condition there was as follows: 
 
 A Republican Government was in vogue in Mexico, 
 for in 1821 this former dependency had revolted from 
 Spain and, after a certain Iturbide had assumed the 
 government, with the title of Emperor, he had been 
 deposed in favor of a Republic. Of this Republic, 
 Texas, with the province of Coahuila, became one of 
 the northeastern states. Americans had flocked into 
 this rich country, and at the time of Davy Crockett's 
 emigration there were fully twenty thousand settlers 
 of Anglo-Saxon descent in the then, and yet, fertile 
 soil of what is called the Lone Star State. They were 
 honest, law-abiding citizens, for the most part, good 
 shots and impatient of discipline or restraint. 
 
 In 1833 the Presidential office was seized by a Mexican 
 who called himself ^'The Napoleon of the West.'' His 
 real name was Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, but 
 unlike the real Napoleon, he was as blood-thirsty and 
 tyrannous as Black Beard, the Buccaneer. The heavy 
 hand of this black-haired dictator was soon laid upon 
 Texas, and it was made law that the Americans must 
 give up their arms, — their only defense against Indians, 
 
DAVY CROCKETT 155 
 
 and means of killing game. The Mexican government 
 prohibited slavery in Texas, the stout pioneers refused 
 to yield up their black retainers, and, preferring war 
 to acquiescence in the demands of these whom they 
 called "Greasers," settled down to actual hostilities. 
 A Declaration of Independence was signed March 2d, 
 1836. The Americans first assumed the offensive and 
 drove the Mexican soldiers from the city of San Antonio 
 de Bexar. 
 
 Near this town was the Mission of San Antonio de 
 Valero, called the Mission del Alamo, which means 
 the mission house of the cotton-wood tree. It had here 
 been established in 1722 and was built in the form of 
 a parallelogram, fifty by one hundred and fifty yards. 
 It had " walls of eighteen or twenty feet in height, and 
 no less than four or five feet in thickness. Within its 
 limits was a large stone church. On the east and west 
 parallel walls were constructed on the inside, fifteen 
 feet from the outer walls. Beams were laid from one 
 to the other, a few feet from the top, and the space 
 filled by beaten earth. Doors opened through the 
 inner wall to the space between the two, which was 
 divided into a number of small rooms for the accom- 
 modation of the garrison. Fourteen small pieces of 
 artillery were mounted upon the walls, including three 
 in the chancel of the church. There was an excellent 
 water supply." 
 
 How many Americans were here? At first one 
 hundred and forty men, but to this force, early in 1836, 
 came the reinforcement of Davy Crockett with twelve 
 pioneers from Tennessee, clad in tanned hunting shirts, 
 
156 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 with coonskin caps, long bowie knives and flintlock 
 rifles. Lieutenant-colonel William Barrett Travis was 
 in command, and he was assisted by Colonel James 
 Bowie of Georgia, — from whom the long, keen fighting- 
 knives took their name. Travis was only twenty- 
 eight years of age, was a lawyer, tall, lean and red- 
 headed. He was fuH of grit and courage. 
 
 Enraged by the attack of the Americans, Santa 
 Anna marched to revenge the defeat of General Cos, 
 who had commanded the Mexican troops. "I will 
 wreak a desperate vengeance upon the Texans,'' said he. 
 ^'No one who withstands me shall live. I shall sow 
 the land with salt, so that no green thing shall grow 
 there.'' 
 
 On the 25th of February, 1836, the Alamo was 
 attacked by an advance division of Santa Anna's army 
 consisting of sixteen hundred men. They were driven 
 off with ease, but Santa Anna was coming up with 
 his main force, and soon five thousand yellow-skinned, 
 black-eyed soldiers halted before the fort. It was 
 enough to make any leader quail, but Colonel Travis 
 was a veritable game cock. He had been ordered by 
 General Houston to fall back upon the main American 
 army in the rear, but a feeling of reckless daring was 
 stronger in him than the feeling of military subordina- 
 tion. He would not move, and now it was too late. 
 
 From February 25th to March 2d the Mexicans threw 
 up intrenchments around the Alamo and, erecting 
 batteries, began to bombard the place. The garrison 
 was told to surrender and Santa Anna displayed a red 
 ensign, signifying that no quarter would be given. The 
 
DAVY CROCKETT 157 
 
 flag of Texas was defiantly flaunted in his face, and 
 Travis dispatched a letter addressed to the people 
 of Texas and the Americans in the world, praying for 
 assistance. It was carried safely through the Mexican 
 lines by a scout, and here is what those who saw it read: 
 
 "To THE People of Texas and all 
 Americans in the World. 
 
 " Commandacy of the Alamo. 
 " FelloiD Citizens and Compatriots: 
 
 " I am beseiged by a thousand or more of the Mexi- 
 cans under Santa Anna. I have sustained a continual 
 bombardment for twenty-four hours and have not lost 
 a man. The enemy have demanded a surrender at 
 discretion; otherwise the garrison is to be put to the 
 sword if the place is taken. I have answered the 
 summons with a cannon shot and our flag still waves 
 proudly from the walls. / shall never surrender or 
 retreat. Then, I call upon you, in the name of liberty, 
 of patriotism, and of everything dear to the American 
 character, to come to our aid with all dispatch. The 
 enemy are receiving reinforcements daily and will no 
 doubt increase to three or four thousand in four or five 
 days. Though this call may be neglected, I am de- 
 termined to sustain myself as long as possible and die 
 like a soldier who never forgets what is due to his own 
 honor and that of his country. Victory or death! 
 
 "W. Barrett Travis, 
 " LievMnant-colonel Commanding. 
 
 **"P.S. The Lord is on our side. When the army 
 appeared in sight we had not three bushels of corn. 
 
158 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 We have since found in deserted houses eighty or ninety 
 bushels and got into the walls twenty or thirty beeves,'' 
 
 Oh, unfortunate garrison! Of all of those who 
 read this message, only thirty-two heroic plainsmen 
 reached them, although three hundred men started 
 for the Alamo from a point two hundred miles to the 
 southeast. Those who dashed through the Mexican 
 lines on horseback, cut their way into the old Mission 
 at three in the morning of March 1st, led by Captain 
 J. W. Smith. The three hundred never arrived, for 
 their ammunition wagons broke down, their provisions 
 gave out, and they could not get the artillery through 
 the river quicksands. But now there were one hundred 
 and eighty against the five thousand. Let us see how 
 they fought! 
 
 On the 4th of March a Mexican council of war was 
 held, and it was determined to carry the Mission of 
 Alamo by assault on the 6th of March, as soon as day 
 should break. Santa Anna smiled with joy. He was 
 like a wild beast, for the long resistance had stung his 
 hot-headed, Spanish-American pride. 
 
 Word was brought to Colonel Travis of the expected 
 attack. He assembled his band of courageous lion 
 hearts within the little court of the Alamo, now torn 
 with shot and shell, but once the peaceful walk of 
 black-capped Franciscan friars. 
 
 Solemnly tracing a long line with the point of his 
 sword, he said: 
 
 "Men, unless reinforcements reach us from General 
 Houston's army before tomorrow morning, the Alamo 
 
DAVY CROCKETT 159 
 
 will be assaulted by this overwhelming force. There 
 are three courses to pursue. First: we can surrender 
 on the best terms that can be made and take our chances 
 for life, which are minute. Second: we can attempt 
 to cut our way out and retreat, when some of us will 
 get through. Third: we can remain here and die like 
 men, for our country. As for myself, this last shall 
 be my own course. All who wish to die with me can 
 cross the line which I have drawn with my sword." 
 
 As he ceased speaking, every man crossed the line. 
 Even the ill Colonel Bowie, who was prostrate upon 
 his cot, called loudly for the fighters to pick him up 
 and carry him across the line, which was done im- 
 mediately. 
 
 Before daylight next morn the Mexican bugler 
 shrilled in the early murk. As the Texans peered over 
 the thick walls of the Spanish Mission, they saw the 
 entire Mexican army forming in two lines for the assault. 
 Cavalry was upon the flanks, and the officers waved 
 their swords wildly over their heads. 
 
 Crash! Crash! 
 
 The batteries now opened, and grape, cannister and 
 solid shot ploughed furrows into the stout adobe bar- 
 ricades. 
 
 Crash! Crash! Crash! 
 
 The troops opened with volleys of musketry. Away 
 back in the rear, an officer in white uniform upon a 
 careering mustang, galloped about, giving orders, en- 
 couraging the men, and swearing lustily in Spanish. 
 It was Santa Anna, the commander-in-chief. 
 
 Crash! Ta-ra-ta-ta! 
 
160 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 As the last volley roared its evil welcome, the bugles 
 blew the advance. With a wild, beast-like yell the 
 Mexican troops rushed at the battered walls of the 
 old Mission. The sputtering fire from the rifles of 
 the Americans soon turned into a ringing volley. Deep 
 gaps appeared in the lines of Santa Anna's followers. 
 They recoiled. They broke. They ran to a safe posi- 
 tion away from the deadly range of the guns of the 
 pioneers. Scaling ladders had been rushed forward, 
 and many of these lay derelict upon the yellow soil. 
 The Texans cheered, for they believed that the enemy 
 might not return. But the Mexicans had only stopped 
 to re-form. 
 
 Ta-ra-ta-ta! 
 
 Again the clear wail of the bugle hurled the white- 
 uniformed column against the Alamo. Again the 
 close-formed ranks met a fire that was death dealing. 
 The Mexicans broke. They scattered; they ran; and 
 their band, on the distant prairie, played the dequelo, 
 which means, no quarter. 
 
 Three batteries, planted on a commanding hill in 
 the rear of the town, were sending their shots against 
 the north wall. It began to crumble beneath the 
 sledge-hammer blows of the death-bringing iron, giving 
 an opening to the now infuriated Mexican troops. 
 Santa Anna himself saw the opening, and pointing 
 to it cried to General Castrillo, "If you do not get 
 into the fortress now, you are not a true soldier, Cas- 
 trillo. Forward!" 
 
 As he spoke, with a wild cheer the white uniforms 
 rushed towards that ill-starred northern wall, now 
 
DAVY CROCKETT 161 
 
 held by a few desperate Texans only, for many had 
 fallen. Travis — brave and resolute commander — fell 
 pierced with a ball through the brain. The command 
 fell upon Davy Crockett, the bear hunter, now shooting 
 other game far more dangerous than that in the cane- 
 brakes of old Tennessee. " On men," he shouted. " Do 
 not let these hounds come into the Alamo!" 
 
 But the scaling ladders mounted the walls of the 
 breach. The Texans were surrounded by fire and 
 cold steel. One by one they dropped, fighting bluntly 
 and desperately. Crockett ran to the old church and 
 many followed him for a last stand, while the Mexicans, 
 cursing and yelling, chased after them, swords drawn, 
 bayonets red with blood, pistols spitting like angry cats. 
 No quarter! The refrain of the band echoed over 
 the roof of the old church of God, where often the Psalms 
 from the soft-throated choir rang from the sacred 
 chancel. Forty Mexicans fell dead before the door of 
 the long room where were Davy Crockett and his men. 
 Bowie lay alone in his chamber, but a brownish yellow 
 face appeared at the door, a knife flashed, and the soul 
 of the old frontiersman had gone above. 
 
 Crash! Crash! The cannon battered down the 
 door of the long room where Crockett remained, with 
 the last remnant of the little Texan army. "Fire the 
 magazine!" cried the old bear hunter to Major Evans, 
 the only officer remaining. The obedient soldier ran 
 to the room where the powder was stored, but was 
 stricken down as he reached the door. The Mexican 
 bayonets pointed at the breast of the old pioneer. With 
 the butt of his musket he swept a way clear before him. 
 
162 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 Fully a dozen lay piled up around this stout-hearted 
 remnant of the Texan army, in his last death grapple. 
 Then, crack! a shot rang out, and Davy Crockett 
 fell headlong upon his face. It was all over. 
 
 Santa Anna smoked a cigarette and chatted pleas- 
 antly with his yellow-faced officers. It had been a 
 good hour's work. 
 
 "Put them in a big pile,'' said he. "We'll burn 
 them, as did the Greeks of old." 
 
 The hundred and eighty-two dead Texan- Americans 
 were gathered together and arranged in a huge pyramid; 
 first a layer of wood, then a layer of dead men, until 
 a huge pyre was erected. Now four soldiers walked 
 around the mass, each carrying a can of camphine, 
 which was poured upon both men and wooden faggots. 
 A match was applied, and the defenders of the Alamo 
 were burned to dust. So ended the life of Davy 
 Crockett: bear hunter, pioneer, Congressman, and de- 
 fender of Texan liberty. 
 
 The little hawk hangs aloft, in the air; 
 The shy coyote trots here and there; 
 His gallant spirit lingers ihere^ 
 In TexaSy 
 
 Down by the Rio Grande, 
 
GENERAL SAM HOUSTON: THE 
 SAVIOR OF TEXAS 
 
 CRISES make men of mark. Never is there a 
 war, or a great political upheaval, but some 
 one individual comes forward to lead a success- 
 ful charge, or preach an effective doctrine, which marks 
 him with prominence. The world is full of heroes. 
 It is the stirring event which brings out the manhood 
 in the man. You, yourself, have heroic qualities. 
 Perhaps the opportunity will come to you to distin- 
 guish yourself. Live your life, try to do the right, 
 and, if opportunity comes, you may be written of by 
 some future historian, even as I am chronicling the life 
 of one of the most unusual characters in all history, 
 General Sam Houston: the Savior of Texas. 
 
 Half soldier, half demigod: such was Sam Houston; 
 a man brought up in strange surroundings, thrown 
 among strange people, strange events, — and savage 
 companions. He lived among Indians because he 
 preferred them, yet represented the whites of the great 
 State of Texas in the United States Senate. He mar- 
 ried a white woman, after a previous marriage with 
 an Indian, yet deserted his second wife, and returned 
 to his nomadic existence with the Cherokees in Ar- 
 kansas. He studied law, was district attorney, and 
 later represented the whites as their Indian agent 
 among the red men. Thus back and forth he changed 
 
 163 
 
164 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 his allegiance to the two races, yet in the end fought 
 to free the vast territory of Texas from the yoke of 
 Mexican dictation, — and was successful. Houston was 
 a veritable floating bubble upon the churning whirl- 
 pool of frontier civilization, — a chameleon of border 
 liistory. 
 
 This man of varied fortune was born in Rockbridge 
 County, Virginia, 1793, — a county of mountainous 
 ruggedness, which was then scarcely known and still 
 less scarcely opened to civilization. He was one of 
 nine children — desperately poor — as w^ere most of 
 the Virginian mountaineers then and are today. Re- 
 moving to Blount County, Tennessee, he alternately 
 attended school, worked on his mother's farm, and 
 clerked in the village store. When about fifteen, he 
 ran off and joined the Cherokee Indians because he 
 liked their lazy life of hunting, fishing, and living in 
 the open. All boys would like to be Indians, par- 
 ticularly in sunamer. 
 
 Young and sprightly, young Sam Houston was 
 adopted into the family of a lesser chief, — even mar- 
 ried a squaw, and when requested to return to his 
 own people, rephed, "I prefer to measure deer tracks 
 to measuring tape.'' But, when he was eighteen, 
 he thought rather better of his own race, — at least 
 he went back to the white settlements and opened a 
 country school, where the tuition was six to eight dol- 
 lars a year; one-third payable in corn; one-third in 
 cotton goods; and one-third in cash. When he was 
 Senator someone asked him how he liked the title and 
 honor of the position. "Young man," said he, to 
 
GENERAL SAM HOUSTON 165 
 
 his questioner, ''I have never experienced a higher 
 feehng of dignity and self satisfaction than when, 
 at eighteen years of age, I was a schoolmaster in 
 Tennessee." 
 
 Soon tiring of teaching school, he was made sub- 
 agent for the Cherokee Indians in 1817, and was shortly 
 accused of abusing his authority, so he gave up the 
 work to enlist in the frontier army under General 
 Jackson, which fought the Creeks under Weather- 
 ford. He served through the war with distinction, 
 but because of a severe rebuke which he received from 
 Calhoun — the Secretary of War — resigned from the 
 service. Houston was very fond of gaudy attire and 
 when summoned to appear before the secretary, ap- 
 peared in the costume of a v/ild Indian of the Cherokee 
 tribe. From that time on he cordially hated the great 
 statesman who had only too justly reprimanded him. 
 
 Civic honors awaited the young soldier. He was 
 twice elected to Congress, but left his seat during his 
 second term to be Governor of Tennessee. The bud- 
 ding statesman was popular; his administration met 
 with no opposition; and he apparently was very happy 
 when he married a beautiful young maiden of his own 
 race. But in two weeks' time he suddenly disap- 
 peared—fled from the city in disguise — and again 
 joined the Cherokees, by whom he was formally ad- 
 mitted as a member of the tribe. He had resigned 
 the governorship of the State before he mysteriously 
 made off to the redskins,— which was fortunate. 
 
 It was soon rumored that Houston, at the head 
 of a band of warlike Cherokees, was to invade Texas 
 
166 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 and, after separating the State from the Mexican Govern- 
 ment, was then going to declare himself ruler of the 
 vast, arid country. So definite were these reports 
 that they reached the ears of President Andrew Jack- 
 son, who wrote immediately to the self-appointed 
 Cherokee, asking him to refrain from any attack upon 
 Texas. Fearing that, like Aaron Burr, Houston 
 would endeavor to form another Republic, Jackson 
 confidentially directed the secretary of the State of 
 Arkansas to keep him informed of any movements 
 upon the part of the wild Sam Houston which might 
 tend to prove that he contemplated an outbreak. After 
 a time, Old Hickory was overjoyed to hear that there 
 was no such movement on foot. Sam Houston was 
 appointed a confidential Indian agent to the tribes 
 of the southwest, in 1832, and about this time he 
 wandered into Texas, pleased with the rough and war- 
 like life of the border. 
 
 We now come to Sam Houston's part in the struggle 
 of Texas for independence, a part which has made 
 him a hero of border history. As has been shown in 
 the essay upon Davy Crockett, when the intrepid band 
 of one hundred and eighty was making that desperate 
 stand in the old Mission of the Alamo, Houston, 
 with a larger army of Texan patriots was far in the 
 rear, prepared to contest still further the progress of 
 the victorious army of that "Napoleon of the West," 
 Santa Anna, the despotic ruler of the Mexican 
 Republic. 
 
 When news of the slaughter of Colonel Travis, 
 Colonel Bowie, Davy Crockett, and the other border 
 
GENERAL SAM HOUSTON 167 
 
 fighters was brought to the soldiers under Sam Hous- 
 ton — for he had been appointed leader of the Texan 
 army — the fierce, vindictive cry went up : " Let 
 us avenge the death of our comrades in arms, and let 
 our battle cry be, 'Remember the Alamo!' No quarter 
 to Santa Anna's murderers!'' 
 
 The Texans now had a provisional government. 
 General Austin was a commissioner to the United 
 States to secure loans of money to maintain the 
 State, Henry Smith had been elected governor, and 
 Houston was commander-in-chief of the army. He 
 had a copy of Caesar's Commentaries on the Gallic 
 War, in English, with him, and that he studied daily. 
 It was all he ever read upon the art of war. 
 
 After the capture of the Alamo, Santa Anna did 
 not march directly upon Houston's forces, then in the 
 vicinity of Gongales on the Guadalupe River, but 
 sent a strong force under General Urrea to cut to pieces 
 an advance detachment of Texan rangers under Colonel 
 Fannin, stationed at Goliad, which you will find on the 
 San Antonio River, about fifty miles from the Gulf 
 of Mexico. Fannin was a brave young officer who 
 was a soldier of fortune and had proffered his services 
 to the Texans for the ''fun there was in it." He had 
 about five hundred troops, all Americans, and all 
 volunteers. 
 
 When Fannin was awaiting the advance of the 
 Mexicans, a decree of Santa Anna's was handed him. 
 It read: 
 
 "Any foreigner (that is American) captured under 
 arms within the boundaries of the Mexican Republic, 
 
168 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 or bearing arms against the Mexican Government, 
 shall suffer instant death.'' 
 
 He also received an order from Houston, ordering 
 him to retreat, an order to which he paid no attention. 
 
 After several advance parties sent out by Fannin 
 had been captured by the superior numbers of the 
 Mexicans, he began to retreat to Victoria, on the Guada- 
 lupe River, and after a march of six or eight miles 
 he halted to graze the oxen and refresh the troops. 
 They were soon attacked by the Mexicans. The bat- 
 tle raged all day. At night neither side had been able 
 to win a victory. 
 
 But renewed reinforcements and artillery reached 
 the Mexicans during the night. In the morning the 
 Americans fought well for a time, and then put up a 
 white flag, while Colonel Fannin — though badly crip- 
 pled by wounds — went out and made excellent terms, 
 by which the Texans were to be received and treated 
 as prisoners of war. That is, they were to be well 
 looked after until exchanged. 
 
 Not long afterwards, as the prisoners were discuss- 
 ing their departure to the United States, and some 
 even were playing "Home Sweet Home'' upon various 
 musical instruments which they had with them, a 
 courier arrived from Santa Anna with a message for 
 General Urrea. The yellow-faced soldier read it, 
 scowled, and was seen to beat furiously upon the ground 
 with the end of his sabre. 
 
 At dawn of the day following — it was Palm Sun- 
 day — the Texans were formed in several divisions, 
 and were marched away in different directions. Sud- 
 
GENERAL SAM HOUSTON 169 
 
 denly their guards fired upon the detachments, with- 
 out warning. The brave soldiers fell on every side, 
 but some escaped and got safely ofT. Thus Santa 
 Anna — the man who wished to pose as a Napoleon — 
 kept to the terms of his proclamation. It was a cruel 
 and dastardly deed, for it was against the terms of 
 the surrender and every tenent of decency. Is it a 
 wonder that the blood boiled in the veins of the few 
 troops who now clustered around rough, old Sam 
 Houston? 
 
 Texas was practically crushed. Fugitives from 
 every quarter crowded each other in a desperate at- 
 tempt to reach the American territory in the north- 
 east. Houston himself retreated, for he hoped to get 
 Santa Anna to divide his forces, come after him with 
 an army of his own size, and then fight. Could he but 
 accomplish this, he knew that he could crush the most 
 hated man upon the frontier. 
 
 Having taken San Antonio, the self-styled Napoleon, 
 who was really a Murat, considered Texas subdued, 
 and determined to return to the capitol, leaving a sub- 
 ordinate officer to finish the work. But tempted 
 onward by the taunting presence of Sam Houston's 
 army, he followed it across the Colorado River, the 
 Brozas, and the flat country which leads up to the 
 San Jacinto, flowing into the Bay of Galveston. He 
 had done just what crafty Sam Houston had wished. 
 He had advanced with only about twelve hundred 
 men. The Texans could muster about seven hundred 
 and fifty. 
 
 As Houston had retreated, instead of fighting, his 
 
170 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 men lost heart, and many of them called him "Coward," 
 "Quitter," "Backslider" and "Traitor." But this 
 did not worry the cool-headed general, whose only 
 mark of office was a battered scabboard, attached to 
 a deer thong around his waist. Otherwise he wore a 
 large-brimmed, white felt hat; a pair of yellow panta- 
 loons, tucked into a pair of dilapidated boots; an old 
 black coat; a black vest, and a cotton shirt. "I hold 
 no councils of war," said the old man to the govern- 
 ment in the rear. "If I err in military matters, the 
 blame is mine. I think that my plans are good." 
 Meanwhile, he was reinforced by a small body of rangers 
 and two cannon — six-pounders called the " Twin 
 Sisters" — sent to the army by citizens of Cincinnati, 
 Ohio. 
 
 The disgruntled Texans had long waited for the 
 chance to strike the enemy. Finally it came and was 
 greeted with wild cheers of enthusiastic patriotism. 
 Learning that Santa Anna was near Buffalo Bayou, 
 where once had stood a thriving town of Harrisburg 
 — now burned and sacked by the Mexicans — on the 
 18th of April, 1836, Houston gave the word to "Ad- 
 vance and knock the pie out of the Greasers." A cele- 
 brated scout called Deaf Smith had brought in a whole 
 bag full of captured dispatches, showing just where 
 Santa Anna was to be next day. Old Sam Houston 
 smiled like the famous Cheshire cat. "By George, 
 IVe got him," said he, slapping the likewise smiling 
 Smith on the shoulder. "Remember the Alamo, 
 will we? Yes, I rather think that in a few days well 
 dine on fried Mexican." 
 
GENERAL SAM HOUSTON 171 
 
 In fact, Santa Anna — puffed with egotism, pride, 
 and self-satisfaction — had pushed into the enemy's 
 country with too small a force. It was the rainy sea- 
 son and the baggage wagons and artillery of the Ameri- 
 cans stuck frightfully in the mire. Old Sam Houston, 
 himself, put his shoulder to many a grumbling wheel, 
 and with his tremendous strength shoved it out of 
 the mud. "Come, men, we must get on!" he would 
 say. " The opportunity for which I have been waiting 
 for the past six months has finally arrived. We must 
 catch this Mexican fox before he has been reinforced 
 and we must remember the massacre of Colonel Fan- 
 nin's men and those patriots in the Alamo. Push! 
 Shove! We must get on!" So tugging, straining, 
 pulling, the little army reached Buffalo Bayou — op- 
 posite the ruins of Harrisburg — on the 18th of April, 
 1836. But how to get across at the ''Greasers"? 
 
 Deaf Smith and the other scouts were busy and, 
 after scouting around for some time, a leaky boat 
 and raft were discovered. On these two magnificent 
 pontoons, the gallant defenders of Texan liberty were 
 ferried over to the opposite bank, while the cavalry 
 horses swam the bayou. Not a moment was lost. 
 Houston ordered them to press on, and pushed them 
 twelve miles that night, finally camping at one o'clock 
 in the early morning. Scouts, sent out in advance, 
 told the now eager soldiers that the hated Mexicans 
 were near a place where the San Jacinto River runs 
 into Buffalo Bayou. This information was greeted 
 with a wild Texan yell. 
 
 Houston had his men stirring before morning 
 
172 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 broke, and they pushed on for seven miles before they 
 halted to eat. During breakfast a scout rode in with 
 the words, "The whole outfit is near the place where 
 the bayou and San Jacinto join. Step lively, boys, 
 and we'll have a little fracas afore evenin'." With- 
 out cheering, but with grins of satisfaction, the soldiers 
 pressed on to a ferry across San Jacinto Bay, not far 
 from where the bayou and river join. A flat boat was 
 here taken, filled with flour for Santa Anna's men, 
 but none of these were to be seen except a few badly 
 frightened Mexicans on the barge of provisions. The 
 Americans were ordered to march up the Buffalo Bayou, 
 about three quarters of a mile, were there posted in 
 some woods, and told to cook a meal. The captured 
 flour came in very opportunely as the soldiers were 
 both tired and hungry. 
 
 Meanwhile where was the Napoleon, or rather, 
 Butcher of the West? 
 
 With some twelve hundred soldiers, veterans of the 
 sack of the Alamo, and pillagers of many a Texan 
 village and rancho, the Mexican man of war was at 
 New Washington, several miles away. Scouts there 
 brought him news of the near approach of the Ameri- 
 cans and, at first, his men fell into a panic. But, 
 as no signs were seen of the enemy, the leader of the 
 little army restored order, saying, "We can soon defeat 
 these braggarts even as we have defeated Travis and 
 Fannin. March on, men, with me you are invincible!'' 
 So, whipping his lines into good order, he advanced 
 towards the San Jacinto River, with his artillery, con- 
 sisting of one nine pounder, drawn by a couple of fat 
 mules. 
 
GENERAL SAM HOUSTON 173 
 
 Sam Houston — with the keen eye of a man who 
 had studied CjBsar's Commentaries to some advantage 
 — had stationed his men in an advantageous position. 
 A level stretch of prairie was in front of the camp, 
 while on the left were wild marshes, intervening be- 
 tween them and a curving arm of the San Jacinto 
 River. To the rear was Buffalo Bayou, deep and 
 impassable, and eight miles away was Vince's Creek, 
 where the road up which they had come crossed a 
 stout bridge. The Mexicans had to fight them in 
 front, and if they turned to run, the marsh to their 
 right would make them fly in only one direction. 
 
 As the Mexicans advanced, they seemed to regain 
 their courage, and opened upon the "Twin Sisters^' 
 with the nine pounder. The Texan Cavalry, conr 
 sisting of about sixty horsemen, had a hand-to-hand 
 skirmish with the Mexican horse, to the right of Hous- 
 ton's position. Both sides withdrew, after a small 
 loss, and neither advanced the infantry. "Why don't 
 you clean 'em up, general?" Houston was asked. 
 
 "Because I want all the Greasers in the country 
 to get here, so's I can drub 'em tomorrow. I don't 
 hanker after makin' two bites at one cherry," replied 
 the old fellow. And he was right. 
 
 Night fell and the Americans intrenched. The 
 Mexicans also threw up a flimsy barricade of pack 
 saddles, bags, and boxes on their front, about five 
 feet high. In the centre was placed the nine pounder, 
 while several hundred lean horsemen, on still leaner 
 horses, were placed on the right flank. Next morning 
 five hundred additional troops, under the celebrated 
 
174 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 General Cos, marched up the road from Vince's Bridge 
 and joined the now confident Santa Anna. Houston's 
 men saw them, but were not alarmed. "Let 'em all 
 come in, we'll lick the whole outfit/' they cried as 
 Houston, wishing to calm their fears, told them 
 that this was part of the army in front trickily march- 
 ing about to give the impression that it was an addi- 
 tional force. "Lead on, general," they cried, "re- 
 member the Alamo!" 
 
 But crafty "Old Sam" was going to take no chances 
 with the much hated Santa Anna and, before the 
 battle, played one more card, before he showed his 
 full hand. Calling Deaf Smith — the scout — to him, 
 he told him to take two sharp axes and another man, 
 and to ride to Vince's Bridge and cut it down, so that, 
 unable to retreat, his men would either have to fight 
 or perish. The Greeks had done this centuries before, 
 and it was not a novel experiment. Sam Houston 
 had learned Latin, not Greek, but he had apparently 
 learned how to fight desperately, in spite of this. 
 
 A council of war had been held in the American 
 camp, where the senior officers had said, "We have 
 undrilled bevies. Santa Anna has veteran troops. 
 It will be absurd to make an advance. We have a 
 good position. Let us wait for him to attack us." 
 But the younger officers thought differently, for is it 
 not "An old man for counsel, a young man for war"? 
 Houston did no talking. He had made up his mind 
 and, at two o'clock on the twenty-first, quietly moved 
 among his men, saying: "It is now time to attack. 
 Don't waste a shot, and let your battle cry not only 
 
GENERAL SAM HOUSTON 175 
 
 be, 'Remember the Alamo/ but also ' Remember Goliad! 
 Remember La Bahia!' " 
 
 By half-past three the rough-looking Texans were 
 drawn up on the flat prairie, beyond their defenses, 
 and not a Mexican took note of it. Overcome by self- 
 confidence and vanity, Santa Anna was asleep; many 
 of his officers were taking a nap; the company's cooks 
 were preparing dishes of hot-flavored food; while the 
 privates were playing cards and dominos. No sentries 
 were apparently stationed in front of the drowsy camp, 
 and even the cavalrymen were absent, — watering 
 their horses in the Lake Anna Maria Fransisco, which 
 lay behind their camp. At four all seemed to be ready. 
 Houston told the drum and fife to strike up a stirring 
 air, "Will You Come to the Bower?" and riding behind 
 the thin line, said, "Advance! Guns atrail and hold 
 your fire until you get within ten yards!'' As he ceased, 
 the Texans started for the Mexican camp at a sharp walk. 
 
 Some wooded islands were between the armies, 
 hiding the Americans from the drowsy eyes of Santa 
 Anna's cut-throats, and the Texan rangers did not 
 break into a run until these were past. Then, with 
 an ear-splitting yelp, quite similar to that used by 
 the Confederates in the War of the Rebellion, they 
 rushed upon the camp of their hated enemies. As they 
 started into this mad charge. Deaf Smith — the scout 
 — raced madly in their rear, calling out in shrill and 
 ominous tones, " You must fight for your lives! Vince's 
 Bridge has been cut away! There can be no retreat!" 
 "All right," cried several Texans. "We don't need 
 any bridge. We aren't coming back at all!" 
 
176 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 The Mexicans were taken absolutely by surprise. 
 They had no time to form companies, for the advance 
 was too swift. Some, seizing their guns, fired 
 recklessly at the swarming mass of Americans but, 
 in their terror, they aimed too high, the volleys passing 
 over the heads of the rangers. One bullet, however, 
 struck excited Sam Houston, as he followed his men 
 on a broncho, and caused a painful wound in his ankle. 
 But he kept on, while the "Twin Sisters" belched out 
 two shots which knocked a hole in the half-made bar- 
 ricade. In a few moments the Americans had leaped 
 it, and were firing point-blank at the half-terrorized 
 Mexicans. 
 
 Now was a scene of carnage. As the hated yellow- 
 skinned followers of the rapacious Santa Anna fell 
 in long wind-rows — like hay in the hay field — the 
 Americans, disdaining to again load, made after them 
 with their long knives and pistols. Shouts and fierce 
 cries went up on all sides: "Remember the Alamo! 
 Remember Goliad! Remember Colonel Fannin!'' The 
 single cannon was soon taken, before it could be 
 loaded. The American horse soon cut the Mexican 
 cavalry to pieces, and what was left galloped off in 
 the direction of Vince's Bridge. Many of the Mexican 
 soldiers dashed madly into the sedge and marshes, 
 where they were shot down like rabbits in an English 
 park. Five hundred men rallied among some trees 
 but, surrounded and volleyed at with an accurate fire, 
 they surrendered in a body. In fifteen minutes from 
 the moment of the first assault, the Mexicans were 
 flying in every direction. 
 
GENERAL SAM HOUSTON 177 
 
 And how about the doughty Santa Anna, that 
 cruel, vindictive usurper of Mexican power? 
 
 When the first rush of furious Americans reached 
 the outskirts of his camp, the brave leader of the five 
 thousand, who had pillaged, plundered, and massacred 
 at the Alamo and countless other Texan hamlets, — 
 took to his heels. Racing as fast as he could for Vince^s 
 Bridge, he was there met by a number of Texan rangers, 
 who galloped after him. He plunged into a ravine, 
 and for a short time was lost to view. 
 
 Night fell upon the scene of carnage. The victors 
 had secured seven hundred and thirty prisoners; six 
 hundred of Santa Anna's men had been killed, and but 
 eight of Sam Houston's. The Texans had captured 
 arms, great numbers of mules and horses, ammunition, 
 and, what was still more important, the military 
 chest of the Mexican army, containing twelve thousand 
 dollars. The Texan army had no military chest, but 
 Houston had started out upon the campaign with a 
 private fund of two hundred dollars, one fourth of 
 which had been given to a woman whose husband had 
 been killed at the Alamo and who had appealed to the 
 warm-hearted American soldiers for aid. He had 
 not the heart to refuse it. 
 
 Next morning detachments were sent out to scour 
 the country in order to take those Mexicans who had 
 escaped the fight. A party of five, while chasing 
 a deer, discovered a fugitive who ran away and fell 
 into a morass. With some diflEiculty he was finally 
 extracted and, in answer to their questioning, said 
 that he was a private soldier. " But no private soldier 
 
178 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 would wear jewelled shirt studs/' cried a Texan ranger. 
 "I believe that you are an officer/' ''No, I was the 
 general's aid-de-camp/' replied the Mexican, bursting 
 into tears; and, as he was not able to walk, he was 
 placed on one of the horses and taken to the camp 
 of victorious Sam Houston. 
 
 As the riders approached the tent of the wounded 
 Texan leader, they passed several Mexican soldiers 
 who, on viewing their captive, murmured, "EI Presi- 
 dente! El Presidente!" With a cry of surprise the 
 soldiers gazed more intently at the supposed aid-de- 
 camp. "By heavens," said one, "it's the old fox, 
 himself! It's Santa Anna!" And sure enough; pried 
 out of a bog by a rail; mounted on a spare, raw-boned 
 horse, was the "Napoleon of the West," the demon 
 of the Alamo and Goliad. How had the mighty fallen! 
 
 Old Sam Houston, fully satisfied with the day's 
 work, was lying upon a mattress in his tent, when 
 Santa Anna was brought to the wounded conqueror. 
 Immediately the wily Mexican demanded his release. 
 "Sir," replied Houston, "I am not the Texan govern- 
 ment, but am employed by it. I cannot treat with 
 you on this point." 
 
 "You should do well to treat me properly," said 
 the Mexican. " There are many other Mexican soldiers, 
 and your army is small." 
 
 "Sir!" answered the Texan leader, with consider- 
 able warmth. "Do you ever expect to conquer men 
 who fight for freedom, when their general can march 
 four days with one ear of corn for his rations?" And 
 this, indeed, is said to have been the case. 
 
GENERAL SAM HOUSTON 179 
 
 Stout old Sam Houston then rebuked the black- 
 hearted Santa Anna for his cruelties, particularly in 
 the case of the murder of Colonel Fannin, after that 
 officer had surrendered with the understanding that 
 he would be treated as a prisoner of war. 
 
 "Your men in the Alamo refused to surrender,'* 
 said Santa Anna. "General Urrea deceived me, in 
 respect to Colonel Fannin, telling me that the Texan 
 and his army had been vanquished, and I had orders 
 from my government to execute all who were taken 
 with arms in their hands." 
 
 Raising himself painfully from his couch, Houston 
 cried out, with heat: 
 
 "General Santa Anna, you are the government. 
 A dictator, like yourself, has no superior. Before God 
 you are answerable for the souls of my compatriots 
 and, by all that is just, you shall pay for this.'' 
 
 In spite of this threat, the Mexican leader was 
 treated with great courtesy, and on May 14th, 1836, 
 a public, but secret, treaty was signed, by which Santa 
 Anna acknowledged the independence of Texas and 
 agreed to remove his troops over the Rio Grande. 
 Independence had been won. 
 
 A grateful people soon raised popular and brave 
 old Sam Houston to the governorship of the new- 
 made State. On February 19th, 1846, the independent 
 republic was annexed to the United States, and at 
 the first session of the legislature General Sam Houston 
 was elected United States Senator. Here he served 
 until the outbreak of Civil War between the North and 
 the South, an event which gave him much sorrow. 
 
180 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 "The welfare and glory of Texas will be my upper- 
 most thought while the spark of life lingers in this breast," 
 he said in a public speech in March, 1863; but in July 
 of that same year he had ceased to live. 
 
 Even in the whirl and excitement of a great Civil 
 War, the Texan people turned aside, for a few brief 
 moments, to show respect for the memory of the hero 
 of San Jacinto. They buried the old soldier with 
 every honor, and it is well that they did so, for the great 
 victory which he had won, and his timely retreat before 
 the battle, showed military genuis quite worthy of a 
 Hannibal, or a Stonewall Jackson. By it he had won 
 the State of Texas to her own people. The memory 
 of her first leader still moves the heart of the true 
 Texan, as does the stirring slogan: Remember the 
 Alamo! And a noble city now bears the name of the 
 first great military figure of the Mexican frontier. 
 
KIT CARSON, 
 
KIT CARSON: THE NESTOR OF THE 
 ROCKY MOUNTAINS 
 
 THE expedition led by Lewis and Clarke opened 
 the great West to the knowledge of the more 
 adventurous whites, and soon numbers of set- 
 tlers pressed into the northern section of country west of 
 the Mississippi, and also into the southern portion of the 
 arid plateau and tableland. From Fort Leavenworth in 
 Kansas to Santa Fe, New Mexico, a wagon route was soon 
 made, known as the Santa Fe trail. The redskins hung 
 along the borders of this rutted way and had many 
 a fierce battle with the whites as they journeyed to 
 and fro in wagons and by pack train. 
 
 The great hero of this highway to the southwest 
 was Kit Carson, the Nestor of the Rocky Mountains. 
 Decidedly under the average stature; quick, wiry, with 
 nerves of steel and an indomitable will; such was the 
 great hunter, scout and man of the plains. 
 
 Kit Carson's youth was similar to that of any boy 
 born upon the frontier, whose parents were extremely 
 poor, — he existed and worked. Frequently there was 
 not enough to eat in the Carson home in Howard County, 
 and young Kit would be called upon to assist the meagre 
 store of meat by hunting. Thus, he early came to be 
 a good shot, and thus he early became an expert with 
 the rifle, which was fired with a percussion cap and 
 
 181 
 
182 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 loaded with a ramrod. The repeating rifle was then 
 not manufactured. 
 
 When seventeen years of age, a caravan of traders 
 passed through his httle village, bound for the quaint 
 old Spanish-American town of Sante Fe in the far 
 Southwest, and, although apprenticed to a saddler at 
 the time, young Kit could not stand the call of the 
 West. He threw up his position, joined the adventurers, 
 and was soon footing it over the prairie in wake of the 
 long, lean men with the white-topped wagons and 
 sleek-fed mules. This was in 1826, a time when the 
 greatest interest was taken in the far West, for the 
 people of the United States were restlessly pressing 
 towards the Pacific Coast, having successfully occupied 
 all of the territory east of the broad Mississippi. 
 
 On the Arkansas River in the southwestern Colorado, 
 was Bent's Fort, a frontier trading place and refuge for 
 white emigrants, traders and settlers. Young Kit was 
 soon engaged as a hunter here, and remained at this 
 occupation for eight years. Forty men were employed 
 at the fort, and it was Carson's business to supply them 
 with meat from the mountains; an easy task, at times, 
 but at others very difficult, for the buffalo, deer and 
 antelope would migrate with the weather, and would 
 often leave this section almost entirely. The hunter 
 became an unerring shot and was soon well known to 
 the plains' tribes of Indians — the Comanches, Arapahoes 
 and Kiowas — while the Utes in the Rockies soon knew 
 him so well that he visited their camps, sat in their 
 lodges, smoked the pipe of peace, and dandled their 
 children upon his knee. The redskins liked him ex- 
 
KIT CARSON 183 
 
 ceedingly, so that they often would hsten to his counsel 
 and advice. 
 
 Here is a story that well illustrates his ability to 
 sway the feelings and actions of the red men. 
 
 One summer the Sioux, the most numerous and 
 warlike of the plains' Indians of the north, came far 
 south upon a hunt, until they reached the edge of the 
 Arkansas River. The Comanches sent a runner to 
 Bent's Fort for their friend Kit Carson, to aid them in 
 driving the invaders back upon their own soil. The 
 Arapahoes had united with the Comanches to assist 
 them in repelling the huntsmen, and when Carson rode 
 to meet the southern red men he found a vast number 
 of allied braves, furious with anger at the Sioux, and 
 painted and armed for immediate battle. 
 
 "We know that the Sioux have one thousand war- 
 riors and many rifles," said a Comanche chieftain to the 
 well-known scout. "With your assistance we can 
 overcome them and drive them back into their own 
 hunting grounds. The buffalo are scarce enough. We 
 need them for ourselves and not for the Sioux. Our 
 hearts are now strong. We will teach them not to 
 invade the soil of our fathers.'' 
 
 "I will go to the Sioux and talk with them," said 
 Carson. "Leave it to me, my red brothers, and I will 
 use big medicine with the Sioux, so that they will go 
 away and will not fight. Leave it to me and all will 
 be well." 
 
 So saying, he rode unaccompanied to the Sioux, 
 holding up his hand as a token of peace. He was re- 
 ceived by them with no ill will, and soon was in counsel 
 
184 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 with the head men of this powerful hunting party. 
 He used his best powers of persuasion to avert a clash 
 at arms, and after two days of " big talk " the Sioux 
 agreed to go north as soon as the buffalo season was 
 over; "for/' said they, "the buffalo have grown very 
 scarce in the northern country. We must have skins 
 for our tepees, and meat for the long winter. Hence 
 we had to come into the country of the Comanches for 
 food as our little children were crying for it." 
 
 The Comanches agreed to withdraw also and, as 
 each side kept to their agreements, the bloody battle 
 was thus averted. 
 
 In the spring of 1830 Carson had some daring adven- 
 tures with the Crows. With four other men he went 
 to the head waters of the Arkansas River, where he 
 joined twenty men under Captain John Yount. While 
 in the winter camp a band of sixty Crow Indians robbed 
 the little band of skin hunters of several horses, to 
 recapture which Kit Carson was dispatched with fifteen 
 men. He eagerly took up the trail of the marauders. 
 It was not hard to track the redskins and, after a 
 day spent in following them, they were found entrenched 
 behind a rude fortification of logs, with the stolen horses 
 tied within ten feet of their shelter. Carson gave his 
 men no time to think what they were doing, but cried 
 out, " Charge !'' With a wild yell his men galloped 
 furiously after the trapper, who had started well in 
 advance and, although three of them dropped from 
 Indian bullets, the frontiersmen were soon in among 
 the horses, which they cut loose and carried off with 
 them. Most of the redskins got away, although five 
 
KIT CARSON 185 
 
 fell before the rifles of Carson's trappers. It had been 
 a stiff, nervy fight. 
 
 As the little band of white frontiersmen turned their 
 heads towards Bent's Fort, some one said, "Boys! 
 We ain't seed th' last redskin, by any means. Th' 
 varmints will be after us, sure, before many days are 
 out, and we'd better hurry along afore too many uv 'em 
 get on our trail." 
 
 What the old plainsman said was only too true. 
 Before two days had gone a force of two hundred Crows 
 surprised the men under Carson and Captain Yount,- 
 and did everything in their power to capture them. 
 The white men stood them off from behind boulders, 
 trees and stumps and, as only a few of the red men 
 had rifles, it was soon apparent that Kit Carson and 
 his party would escape. The plainsmen slowly re- 
 treated, keeping up a constant battle with the red 
 men, and for fifty miles this fighting went on. Carson 
 was wounded in the leg by an arrow. Several of his 
 friends were kifled. In spite of this the little band 
 held together, got out into open country, and were 
 soon in the hunting ground of the Comanches, where 
 the Crows were afraid to follow them, because of the 
 danger of running into a hostile war party of Indians 
 who were friendly to Carson and unfriendly to them. 
 
 This was but one of many thrilling escapes. Not 
 long afterwards, while Kit was camped on a tributary 
 to the Green River in Colorado, a young redskin caught 
 six of the best horses belonging to the twenty-five men 
 who were with the bold and daring trapper, now engaged 
 in capturing beaver and other fur-bearing animals. 
 
186 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 The theft was soon found out, and Carson, who had a 
 great reputation as a "thief catcher,^' was asked to 
 trace the fugitive and regain the stolen animals. Al- 
 though the thieving red man had the start by several 
 hours. Kit galloped after him with enthusiasm, for he 
 wanted to make another capture. 
 
 The intrepid scout knew little of this country, so 
 he employed a friendly Utah redskin to assist him in 
 tracking the fugitive. It is hard to realize it, but it 
 speaks well for the persistence of Carson when it is 
 known that he pushed after the runaway for one hundred 
 miles before the thief was caught up with. It also 
 shows that few red men were in this country, for none 
 were either seen or met. 
 
 Just before the thief was seen, the friendly redskin's 
 horse gave out, so that he could go no further and, 
 being unwilling to accompany Kit on foot, he returned 
 to the camps of his own people. Carson wasted no 
 time and pressed on alone, determined to catch the 
 thief, or to kill his own horse in the attempt. 
 
 Suddenly, as the plainsman rounded a high hillock, 
 he saw the retreating red man, down below in a valley, 
 leading the stolen horses. The fugitive looked around 
 at this moment, and saw his pursurer, so he leaped 
 from his horse, rifle in hand, and ran to a clump 
 of Cottonwood trees. Kit saw that the Indian would 
 soon be in a place of concealment, so determined to take 
 a chance at him as he ran. The distance was three 
 hundred yards. As the thief made for a tree, the 
 keen-eyed plainsman fired, and so perfect had been 
 his aim that the Indian fell forward, stone dead. 
 
KIT CARSON 187 
 
 It was a remarkable shot, for the red man was on a brisk 
 run, and as Carson was on his horse his arm was 
 naturally jolted by the movements of his mount. 
 
 The six horses were soon caught, tied together by 
 deer thongs, and started for camp, where Carson, the 
 indefatigable thief chaser, arrived after an absence 
 of six days only. So delighted were the leaders of the 
 trappers that the famous plainsman was presented 
 with a large number of peltries, which he subsequently 
 sold at a good profit and invested the proceeds in a 
 new rifle, some better blankets than those he carried, 
 and a few spare horses with which to transport his 
 packs. For a trapper, young Kit was now in prosperous 
 circumstances. 
 
 Grizzly bears were plentiful in the country which 
 Carson was accustomed to set his traps in, and while 
 he was acting as a hunter, not long after his capture 
 of the horse thief, he had an adventure that was both 
 startling and desperate. While camped near the head- 
 waters of a tiny stream where game was abundant, 
 he killed a large elk within a mile of his camp and, as 
 he leaned over the dead animal to cut its throat, sud- 
 denly there appeared, coming towards him, a species 
 of game for which he certainly had not been hunting. 
 It was a large and powerful grizzly bear. 
 
 Moved by hunger, the animal apparently wished 
 to make a victim of the frontiersman. He made a 
 lunge toward him, and Kit, having a sudden desire 
 to climb a tree, made all possible use of his limbs to 
 run to a neighboring pine, leaving his gun unloaded 
 and lying beside the animal which he had just killed. 
 
188 FMIOUS SCOUTS 
 
 The bear did not take the sHghtest notice of the dead 
 elk, and started after the trapper, as if man meat was 
 all that he was looking for, while Kit just managed 
 to swing himself upon a limb as the monster's jaws 
 closed beneath his left foot. Grabbing about for some- 
 thing with which to defend himself, he twisted off a 
 branch from the tree, and with this he struck the nose 
 of the bear whenever he came uncomfortably near him. 
 Bruin was greatly enraged, and began to gnaw the 
 body of the tree but, tiring of this after a while, he 
 began to growl and snarl with great fierceness. 
 
 Carson was kept up the tree until nearly midnight. 
 Then the big grizzly began to walk around the trunk 
 in circles, and in the course of his ramblings came 
 upon the body of the dead elk. He fell upon this with 
 a will; gorged himself, and then lumbered away into 
 the deep forest. When sure that he was gone, Carson 
 speedily dropped to the ground, and seizing his rifle, 
 made excellent speed towards his camp, where he was 
 greeted with much joy. Alarmed over his long absence, 
 his comrades intended to soon go in search of their best 
 huntsman and scout. 
 
 It was scarcely strange that a man who lived the 
 life that he did would come through without a scratch, 
 or a wound of some sort. Soon after the adventure 
 with the big grizzly the brave Kit went to Sante Fe, 
 New Mexico, and here disposed of his season's furs at 
 an excellent figure. He had hardly been in this place 
 for a week, before another party of fifty trappers set 
 out for the Blackfeet country, on the upper Missouri 
 River. The trip was long and tedious, and the band 
 
KIT CARSON 189 
 
 of adventurers soon found themselves in a country 
 which was held by a tribe of treacherous and cruel red 
 men, the most treacherous upon the frontier. Lewis 
 and Clarke, as you remember, had had a taste of their 
 cunning. 
 
 Although good watch was kept upon the red men, 
 one evening a band of Blackfeet stampeded the horses 
 of the white invaders, and stole eighteen of the best 
 animals. Carson, who was called the great "thief 
 catcher, '^ was at once asked to go after the marauders, 
 and, taking twenty of the most lithe and active men 
 in the expedition, he set out after the thieves in a snow 
 storm. The tracks of the redskins were at first very 
 plain, but after a while they became obliterated, so 
 that Kit had to dismount and feel for the print of the 
 fleeing horses with his hands. For seventy-five miles 
 the chase was kept up in spite of all difficulties, and 
 at length the red men were sighted. 
 
 Instead of stampeding when the whites came in 
 view, the Blackfeet rode towards them, one chief holding 
 up his hand in token of friendship. "Ugh! Ugh!" 
 said the warrior. "We will not fight. We wish to 
 speak with our white brothers.'^ 
 
 "We want our horses,'' said Carson. "We wish 
 to have no fight with our red brothers, but if our red 
 brothers will not give up our horses, then there will be 
 one big battle." 
 
 "How," grunted a chief. "We took the horses 
 because we thought that the animals belonged to the 
 Snake Indians, our enemies. We are your friends. 
 We do not wish to fight." 
 
190 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 But, in spite of these protestations of friendship, 
 the red men still refused to give up the animals. Where- 
 upon some of the trappers seized the horses and began 
 to walk them away towards their own outfit. In a 
 moment the redskins prepared for a fight and, although 
 armed chiefly with bows and arrows, some had rifles 
 which they had obtained at various trading posts. 
 
 Crash! The first rifle spoke in the stillness of the 
 little forest to which the Indians and whites had with- 
 drawn for the conference. A bullet zipped by the 
 head of the Blackfoot leader, dropping a redskin in his 
 rear, who fell like a log. Crash! Crash! other rifles 
 spat out their slogans of death and, as the arrows 
 hummed through the branches and tree trunks, the 
 trappers took cover. Kit Carson crouched behind a 
 log. Near him was his dearest friend and companion, 
 called Markland, a clean man and a clear shot. Op- 
 posite them were two dusky warriors, each with a good 
 rifle and, as Kit took aim at his antagonist, he saw 
 another red man drawing a bead upon his friend, who, 
 totally unconscious of his danger, lay behind a log, 
 busily loading his piece. Orach! spoke that trusty 
 rifle of Kit Carson's, and the red man who had a bead 
 upon Markland gave a yelp of pain, rolling over back- 
 wards with a bullet in his brain. As he fell, Carson, 
 himself, gave a sharp cry, for the second red man had 
 fired at him, the bullet striking him in the shoulder, 
 shattering the shoulder blade, and making a deep, 
 gaping wound. Although badly hurt, the nervy trapper 
 was not undone, and propping himself against a tree, 
 he loaded again, fired, and the wild, ugly screech which 
 
KIT CARSON 191 
 
 reached his ears bore full witness to the fact that his 
 aim had been true. So the fight waged with fury, 
 until night began to throw its shadows over the fray, 
 when the red men quietly withdrew, still with most of 
 the captured horses. They had won and the trappers 
 had to mourn the loss of five of their companions. 
 
 Upon searching for the wounded, Carson was found 
 lying upon the snow, with his coat gathered into a 
 lump at the shoulder to staunch the terrific flow of 
 blood. He was lifted upon a horse, the bullet was 
 extracted, and the gaping woimd was roughly bound 
 up. Thus, supported by two companions, he made 
 the long journey back to camp, for with five killed and 
 four wounded the trappers did not think it wise to 
 again attack the Blackfeet, who had showed themselves 
 to be quite the equals of the whites in a rough-and- 
 ready fight. They were able to get safely off, and 
 although Captain Bridger took thirty men and started 
 out after the thieving Blackfeet, he was unable to find 
 their trail. 
 
 Shortly after this episode, the wounded Kit Carson, 
 having fully recovered, came near losing his life for a 
 second time, but by the hand of a whiteskin and not 
 a redskin. The party of plainsmen had been joined at 
 the Green River, Colorado, by a large number of French- 
 men and Canadians who were employed by the Hudson 
 Bay Fur Company, the most powerful of all the com- 
 panies trading upon the frontier in the United States 
 and Canada. There were now about one hundred men 
 in the camp, which was a force thoroughly able to 
 cope with any hostile redskins who might think of 
 
192 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 attacking them, and running off with the Hve stock. 
 
 You have all seen the braggart and the bully, and 
 among these French adventurers was one called Shuman, 
 a man particularly fond of bad whiskey and of wrestling 
 with, fighting with, and bullying his companions. 
 He was an autocrat and a domineering ne'er-do-well. 
 On one occasion he began riding around the camp 
 with his gun in his hand, crying: 
 
 "Zese Americans are a log of ze chicken-livered 
 scoundrels. What have zey evair done, anyway? 
 Zey come into our rightful trapping ground and catch 
 all of ze beavair which belong to us. Zere's not a man 
 among 'em. Zere's not a feller in the whole outfit who 
 isn't ze cowardly cur. I can lick ten of 'em at once. 
 I'm a regular tornado of fury when I once break loose. 
 Sacre Nom de Dieu!" 
 
 Kit Carson, usually very quiet, stood this about 
 as long as he could, and then he stepped out upon the 
 piece of flat ground, upon which the Frenchman was 
 riding about. 
 
 "I am an American," said he, "and I am no coward. 
 You are a vaporing bully, and in order to show you 
 how Americans can punish liars, I'll fight you here in 
 any manner, form, or shape that you may desire." 
 
 Shuman drew up with a face fairly purple with rage. 
 
 "You cur of an American," he yelled. "If you are 
 looking for an opportunity to get killed, I have no 
 objection to shooting you as eef you were a dog. Yes, 
 ze dog of an Indian squaw man. Get on your horse, 
 you snip, and we vill ride together after a hundred 
 yards apart. Zen I vill kill you as a mosquito. As a 
 
KIT CARSON 193 
 
 horsefly. Come on, you pale-faced scullion, I vill 
 wipe up ze airth weeth you. Par done. Sapriste! 
 Come on, do not let us delay!" 
 
 ^ In a moment, the lithe and agile Kit had mounted 
 his horse, and in a moment he had galloped off for a 
 hundred yards with his pistol in his hand. The entire 
 camp had rushed out to see the fun, and every trapper 
 there was for Carson, for Shuman was cordially de- 
 tested by all. Kit wheeled. The Frenchman did 
 likewise, and raised his rifle to his shoulder as he did so. 
 He had trained himself to fire from his running horse 
 by shooting buffaloes, and he felt sure that he could 
 put a bullet clear through the brain of his adversary. 
 The horses now swept down upon one another, 
 hke knights in a tournament under Henry the Eighth 
 of England, until the men were within shooting 
 distance. Shuman raised his rifle and fired. All stood 
 aghast, as a lock fell from Carson's hair, but he still 
 kept on. The smoke from the Frenchman's gun was 
 just rolling away when Carson put up his pistol and 
 pointed it at the now pale-faced braggart. Crack! 
 A report rang out, and a ball entered Shuman's hand, 
 ploughing upward and lodging in his elbow. 
 
 "Eet is enough!'' cried the once proud ruffian. 
 "You could have killed me. I thank you for my life 
 Monsieur!" ' 
 
 And never afterwards did Shuman indulge in brag- 
 ging talk while in the camp with Kit Carson, the cool 
 headed. 
 
 The winter was spent by Carson in the region of the 
 Yellowstone, with only twelve other men, and it was a 
 
194 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 winter of starvation, for game was scarce and horses 
 had to be slaughtered to supply the little party with 
 meat. 
 
 When spring came the huntsmen began to set their 
 steel traps, but, unfortunately for them, their presence 
 was discovered by the thieving, horse-stealing Black- 
 feet, who as we have seen were the very worst 
 enemies which the white men had upon the frontier. 
 One day the redskins crept upon Carson and five of the 
 party as they were baiting their traps and resetting 
 them. A fierce running fight took place. The red men 
 were kept in check until the ammunition of the trappers 
 was well-nigh exhausted, and then a retreat was com- 
 menced toward camp. The white men were mounted, 
 and during the movement a horse, upon which one of 
 the trappers had hastily scrambled, stumbled over a 
 fallen log and fell, so that the rider was thrown upon 
 his head. He struck a sharp stone and lay unconscious. 
 Five Blackfeet inamediately rushed upon the fallen 
 trapper in order to take his scalp, but the keen eye of 
 Carson had seen the deed, and he leaped to a position 
 near the prostrate and helpless companion. From a 
 tree stump he shot the foremost red man, and fired so 
 rapidly at the others that they held off in order to save 
 themselves. Now, seeing that the coast was clear, 
 the plucky Kit dashed to the fallen trapper and pulled 
 him to a place of security behind a large boulder. Here 
 he soon revived and, after catching his horse, rejoined 
 his companions. 
 
 Not long afterwards the rest of the trappers galloped 
 into view, for they had heard the firing, and realized 
 
KIT CARSON 195 
 
 that their compatriots must be in a desperate situation. 
 The battle was now hot, and the crash of rifles waked 
 the echoes of the sombre forest. Steadily the white 
 men drove the yelping redskins back into the wood, 
 and as the shadows of night began to fall the last 
 redskin disappeared over a bluff, shaking his fist vin- 
 dictively at the trappers, but nevertheless running 
 away at no easy gait. 
 
 Mountain lions were thick in the section of country 
 in which the trappers found themselves. At night 
 their weird screams, much like the cry of a strangled 
 child, would sound from the sombre recesses of the 
 wild wood, but as they are great cowards, except when 
 hungry, they would rarely be seen during the day. 
 Nor would they be caught in the traps which were 
 set for them, as they were cunning and suspicious. 
 
 One day Kit was walking along the bank of a stream 
 where many of his traps were set, while a companion 
 was behind him preparing supper in the little camp 
 which they had made. Carson had a large rifle with 
 him, and seeing a large grouse strutting about in the 
 trail, he raised his piece in order to shoot off its head, 
 when he saw a mountain lion in the upturned roots of 
 a fallen tree. The beast came gradually towards him, 
 and fearing that it would spring upon him, he fired 
 at its forehead just between the eyes. But he missed, 
 and in another instant the lion was upon him, snarling 
 and hissing like a huge house cat. As he came on. 
 Kit whipped out his sheath knife and struck at the 
 beast, which was apparently hungry and ferocious. 
 In spite of his fierce lunges, the animal jumped upon 
 
196 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 him, ripped his shirt with his sharp claws, and en- 
 deavored to bite into his neck with his fangs. The 
 two strugghng fighters fell to the ground and rolled 
 over each other down a hillside, while the gallant Kit 
 struck again and again at his foe. The lion bit and 
 snarled, but he was no match for the trapper, and after 
 biting him severely in the shoulder rolled over dead 
 from the deep jabs which Kit had inflicted with his long 
 knife. 
 
 Carson now fainted from loss of blood and from 
 his exertions. Thus he lay for some hours until found 
 by his companion, who had tracked him to this spot. 
 He was carried back to camp ; his wounds were dressed, 
 and great care was bestowed upon him, for he was 
 dangerously injured. After a month of illness, when 
 he lingered between life and death, he began to recover, 
 and at the end of two months' time was able to renew 
 his trapping and hunting. It had been a close shave 
 from death's door. 
 
 Wlien the famous trapper returned to Bent's Fort, 
 he fell in love with an Indian girl belonging to the 
 Comanche tribe, and married her. Not long after this 
 interesting event be became dangerously ill, when at 
 Fort Hall, one hundred miles away, and word of 
 his condition was brought to his wife at Bent's Fort, 
 where she was looking after her small daughter, but two 
 weeks of age. With true devotion she mounted a 
 horse and immediately started to the place where her 
 husband lay ill, arriving there in twelve hours. This 
 great exertion brought on a severe fever, and of this 
 she died in a few days, greatly mourned by the rough, 
 
KIT CARSON 197 
 
 honest Kit Carson, who was devoted to her in spite 
 of her nationahty. The httle daughter Hved, developed 
 into a beautiful woman, and subsequently married a 
 merchant of St. Louis. 
 
 We now come to the most interesting part of the 
 life of this "Monarch of the Plains'': his association 
 with General John C. Fremont in exploring expeditions 
 and in annexing the State of California to the United 
 States of America. 
 
 When the well-known trapper was visiting the then 
 frontier post of St. Louis, it chanced that General John 
 C. Fremont was in the city organizing an expedition 
 for exploring that part of the country which lay between 
 the Missouri River and the Rocky Mountains. The 
 general sent for Kit Carson as soon as he learned that 
 the famous plainsman was in town, and after a long 
 interview employed him as chief guide for his expedi- 
 tion into the land of unfriendly redskins. The party 
 for adventure consisted of twenty-one men — prin- 
 cipally half-breeds — and Louis Maxwell, of Illinois, 
 who had a big reputation as a hunter. The expedition 
 struck across the broad prairies of Kansas to the River 
 Platte. Then they travelled by the Oregon trail past 
 Fort Laramie to the beetling crags of the Rocky Moun- 
 tains. The plains were covered with herds of buffalo, 
 and the antelope, in little bunches, grazed contentedly 
 on every side. It was a hunter's paradise. 
 
 As the little party, sunburned, dusty and weather- 
 stained, rode quietly along the bank of the river Platte, 
 a great herd of buffalo, some seven or eight hundred 
 in number, came crowding up from the river where 
 
198 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 they had been drinking and began to cross the plain 
 in a leisurely manner, eating as they went. The wind 
 blew from them towards the trappers, so the buffalo 
 could not smell the horses and men. The distance 
 between the party and the herd (two or three miles) 
 gave the trappers a splendid opportunity to charge 
 the bison before they could get among the river hills. 
 It was a splendid opportunity for a hunt. 
 
 The scouts halted. The hunting horses were brought 
 up and saddled, while Kit Carson, Maxwell and General 
 Fremont started out together to kill some meat. The 
 buffaloes had grazed to within half a mile, so the three 
 hunters rode easily along until they were within three 
 hundred yards of them. All was going well, when 
 suddenly an agitation in the herd, a wavering to and 
 fro, and a galloping about of some of the animals on 
 the outskirts, made it apparent that the three plains- 
 men were discovered. Putting spurs to their horses, 
 the hunters galloped abreast towards the black mass 
 of buffalo, which now wheeled about, snorting with 
 fear, and began to lumber off across the dry plain. 
 
 A crowd of bulls brought up the rear of the stamped- 
 ing mass, and every once in so often one would face 
 about, and then dash on after his companions. Then 
 he would turn round again and look as if he were half 
 inclined to stay and fight. This did not worry the 
 three plainsmen. When at about thirty yards from 
 the fleeing herd, they all gave a loud yell and rode right 
 into the mass. Many of the bulls, eyeing their pursuers 
 instead of the ground, fell to earth with great force, 
 rolling over and over in the alkali dust, and were soon 
 
KIT CARSON 199 
 
 yellow instead of brown. Each man singled out his 
 particular buffalo, and made for it. General Fremont 
 has written: 
 
 "My horse was a trained hunter, famous in the West 
 under the name of Provean, and with his eyes flashing, 
 and the foam flying from his mouth, sprang on after 
 the cow I was pursuing like a hungry tiger. In a few 
 moments he brought me alongside of her and. rising 
 in the stirrups, I fired at the distance of a yard, the ball 
 entering at the termination of the long hair, and passing 
 near the heart. She fell headlong at the report of the 
 gun, and checking my horse I looked around for my 
 companions. 
 
 "At a little distance Kit Carson was on the ground, 
 engaged in tying his horse to the horns of a cow which 
 he was preparing to cut up. Among the scattered 
 bands, at some distance below, I caught a glimpse of 
 Maxwell, and while I was looking a light wreath of 
 smoke curled away from his gun, from which I was too 
 far to hear the report. Nearer, and between me and 
 the hill, was the body of the herd, and giving my 
 horse the reins I dashed after them. A thick cloud 
 of dust hung upon their rear, which filled my mouth 
 and eyes and nearly smothered me. In the midst of 
 this I could see nothing, and the buffaloes were not dis- 
 tinguishable until within thirty feet. 
 
 "They crowded together more densely still, as I 
 came upon them, and rushed along in such a compact 
 body that I could not obtain an entrance, the horse 
 almost leaping upon them. In a few moments the 
 mass divided to the right and left, the horns clattering 
 
200 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 with a noise above everything else, and my horse darted 
 into the opening. 
 
 " Five or six bulls charged on us as we dashed along 
 the line, but were left far behind, and singling out a 
 cow I gave her my fire, but struck too high. She gave 
 a tremendous leap and galloped on, swifter than before. 
 I reined up my horse, and the herd swept on like a 
 torrent, leaving the place quiet and clear. 
 
 "Our chase had led us into dangerous ground, a 
 prairie-dog village, so thickly settled that there were 
 three or four holes in every twenty yards square, occupy- 
 ing the whole bottom for nearly two miles in length." 
 
 Meanwhile, what of Kit Carson? While General 
 Fremont was making his second attack upon the herd. 
 Kit left the buffalo which he had killed, in order to 
 pursue a large bull that came running nearby. Leap- 
 ing upon his well-trained horse, he chased the game 
 for quarter of a mile, but because his horse was very 
 winded he could not gain upon the lumbering brute. 
 At length he came up to the side of the fleeing beast 
 and fired, but his horse stepped into a prairie-dog hole, 
 fell upon his nose, and threw Kit fully fifteen feet over 
 his head. The bullet struck the buffalo near the shoul- 
 der, but did not inflict a mortal wound. Thoroughly 
 enraged, the infuriated animal pursued the scout 
 who, jumping to his feet with alacrity, made off to the 
 river. 
 
 Furious and bleeding from his wound, the buffalo 
 charged after the fleeing trapper. It was a race for 
 life. Never had Carson run as he did now, and the 
 broad waters of the Platte seemed very far away, 
 
KIT CARSON 201 
 
 indeed. Thud! Thud! came the animal's heels after 
 the running plainsman, and as Kit leaped from the 
 high bank far out into the clear water, he felt the hot 
 breath of the enraged brute upon his neck. Not stop- 
 ping to look behind him, he swam way out into the 
 stream, then, turning about, saw the big beast 
 standing upon the bank, shaking his head savagely, 
 and stamping vehemently with his fore feet. Kit had 
 won the fastest one-hundred-yard dash on record. 
 
 The huntsman swam around for some time, watching 
 his brute enemy with care, until finally Trapper Max- 
 well saw his unfortunate predicament and came to his 
 rescue. With a leaden ball he shot the big bull through 
 the heart, and then Carson paddled to shore. With a 
 hearty laugh he crawled to the bank and skinned his 
 ferocious enemy. The wetting did not disconcert him 
 in the least. For the third time in his life, he had 
 escaped a savage enemy. 
 
 After this successful hunt for buffalo the party 
 pushed on into the unknown West, and soon reached 
 Laramie, Wyoming, then a fort and collection of traders^ 
 huts. Sighting the range of beetling mountains nearby 
 they soon found a way among them, and climbed to the 
 top of the highest, which was named Pike's Peak. 
 Soon after this Kit Carson left the expedition and 
 went to New Mexico, where, in 1843, he married a 
 Mexican lady, with whom he lived very happily for 
 many years, and who gave him two children, a boy 
 and a girl, only one of whom, the boy, lived to 
 maturity. 
 
 In June of this year he heard that Fremont was 
 
202 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 organizing another expedition, so started after him as 
 soon as he learned that he had left Kansas City. When 
 he came up with the explorer, Fremont greeted him 
 effusively, saying, "Carson, you are the man of all 
 others that I am most delighted to see. If I had 
 known your address I should certainly have com- 
 municated my desire to have you accompany me on 
 the present expedition, but since I am so fortunate as 
 to meet you at my camp, your services, I trust, will 
 be given me.'^ 
 
 Kit only too joyfully joined the expedition, and 
 travelled to the Great Salt Lake in Utah, to the homes 
 of the Digger Indians, and to the Columbia River. 
 The party reached Sutter's Fort in California as winter 
 approached, and this was the identical place where 
 gold was subsequently discovered for the first time. 
 The men disbanded in the winter, and the adventurous 
 Kit returned to Taos, New Mexico, to engage in sheep 
 ranching. But in the spring Fremont projected a 
 third expedition, and again called for the services of 
 the seasoned plainsman. Carson disposed of his sheep 
 ranch at a reckless sacrifice, and joined his old com- 
 mander at Bent's Fort on the upper Arkansas. There 
 were forty men with the daring "Path Finder," as 
 Fremont was called, and they were all well seasoned 
 veterans at plains' life and fighting Indians. 
 
 A lieutenant who was with the party thus has 
 described the manner in which Kit Carson prepared 
 for the night. "A braver man," he says, "than Kit 
 perhaps never lived; in fact I doubt if he ever knew 
 what fear was, but with all this he exercised great 
 
KIT CARSON 203 
 
 caution. While arranging his bed, his saddle, which 
 he always used as a pillow, was disposed in such a 
 manner as to form a barricade for his head; his pistols, 
 half cocked, were laid above it, and his trusty rifle 
 reposed beneath his blanket by his side, where it was 
 not only ready for instant use, but was perfectly 
 protected from the damp. Except now and then 
 to light his pipe, you never caught Kit exposing 
 himself to the full glare of the camp fire. He knew 
 too well the treacherous character of the tribes among 
 whom he was now travelling; he had seen men killed 
 at night by a concealed foe who, veiled in darkness, 
 stood in perfect security, while he shot down the moun- 
 taineer clearly seen by the firelight. 'No, no, boys,' 
 Kit would say, 'hang round the fire if you will; it may 
 do for you, if you like it, but I don't want to have a 
 Digger Injun slip an arrow into me when I can't see 
 him.' " 
 
 Not long after they had started upon this third 
 expedition, as the camp was pitched upon the borders 
 of a little stream near Monterey, California, they were 
 met by General Castro at the head of four hundred 
 Mexicans, who opposed the further progress of the 
 Americans and ordered their immediate return. "I 
 refuse to return," said Fremont. " This country belongs 
 to us as much as it does to you. If you want us to 
 leave you will have to put us out by force. There are 
 other Americans at Monterey who will join me. I fear 
 neither you, nor your men." 
 
 "You will rue this," said Castro, as he withdrew. 
 "I will yet drive you from our country." 
 
JMOUi 
 
 204 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 The Mexicans, though in overwhelming numbers, 
 hesitated to attack Fremont, knowing that his small 
 force of forty men were all veterans. So they stirred 
 up the Apache Indians to war heat, and launched these 
 desperate fighters against the invaders of Californian 
 soil. 
 
 While Fremont rested at Lawson's post, word 
 reached him of the approach of one thousand well- 
 armed Apaches, who were determined to put to death 
 every white man in California. "We must leave this 
 post at once," said Fremont to his men, ''for we are 
 in a basin around which are towering hills which, if 
 the enemy once hold, will be of tremendous value to 
 them, for they can shoot down upon us. We must 
 march against the enemy." 
 
 With a cheer, showing their excellent fighting 
 spirit, the men moved out for the attack, and proceeded 
 about fifty miles before they discovered the position of 
 the redskins. The horses had not been pushed, as they 
 realized the necessity of having fresh mounts when 
 the red men should be met with. It was a beautiful 
 clear evening when the scouts rode into the lines, crying: 
 '' The Apaches are going into camp. They do not know 
 of our whereabouts. We can surprise them and drive 
 them out of the country!" 
 
 "We will surround them when they are asleep," 
 said Fremont. "Let every man fight as he never 
 fought before, for if we do not beat them it means 
 that none of us shall ever see our friends again." 
 
 At about ten o'clock that night the Indian camp 
 had been surrounded. At the word of command, the 
 
KIT CARSON 205 
 
 plainsmen put spurs to their horses and galloped down 
 upon the unsuspecting red men before they were aware 
 of their presence. They were thrown into the greatest 
 confusion, and before they could rally hundreds of 
 them were shot down as they crawled from their tepees. 
 The Apaches were panic stricken and retreated in the 
 wildest confusion, while the invaders ruthlessly cut 
 down all who stood in their path. It was a bloody 
 slaughter, — but no more bloody than the slaughter 
 which these self-same Apaches would have administered 
 to them, had they awaited their coming and been caught 
 unawares. 
 
 This victory taught the Apaches a lesson. They 
 no longer listened to the words of the Mexicans. While 
 the remnant of the once powerful fighting force retreated 
 south, Fremont and his hardy crew departed towards 
 Oregon to explore the vast and prosperous country. 
 "They were," says a writer, "a tough looking crew. 
 A vast cloud of dust appeared first, and thence, in a 
 long file, emerged this wildest war party. Fremont 
 rode ahead, a spare, active-looking man, with such an 
 eye! He was dressed in a blouse and leggins, and 
 wore a felt hat. After him came five Delaware Indians, 
 who were his body-guard, and have been with him 
 through all his wanderings. They were his body-guard 
 and had charge of the two baggage horses. 
 
 "The rest, many of them blacker than the Indians, 
 rode two and two, the rifle held in one hand across the 
 pommel of the saddle. Thirty-nine of them are his 
 regular men, the rest are loafers whom he has lately 
 picked up. His original men are principally the 
 
206 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 woodsmen from the State of Tennessee and the banks 
 of the upper waters of the Missouri. The dress of these 
 was principally a long, loose coat of deer skin, tied with 
 thongs in front; trousers of the same of their own manu- 
 facture, which, when wet through, they take off, scrape 
 well inside with a knife, and put on as soon as dry. The 
 saddles were of various fashions, though these, and a 
 large drove of horses and a brass field-gun, were things 
 they had picked up around California. They are allowed 
 no liquor, — tea and sugar only. This, no doubt, has 
 much to do with their good conduct, and the discipline, 
 too, is very strict." 
 
 There were numerous skirmishes with the hostile 
 redskins and, when the explorers returned to Lawson's 
 post they found that the Mexicans were again prepared 
 to dispute their advance. At Sonoma was a strong 
 garrison, but this fort was attacked, and carried. All 
 the Americans in the district now rallied to Fremont's 
 standard, and marched against eight hundred Mexicans 
 sent out by General Castro from San Francisco, crying, 
 "We will exterminate every American in California.'' 
 Instead of this, they retreated as soon as Fremont and 
 his men approached, and were pursued for six days be- 
 fore they hurriedly disbanded. Detachments from a 
 fleet of United States cruisers now aided the victorious 
 Fremont in an attack upon Monterey, and a flag was 
 adopted, composed of red and white bunting with the 
 figure of a bear in the centre. The independence of Cali- 
 fornia was declared, and the "Bear Flag" became the 
 emblem of its nationality. 
 
 California was now practically free from Mexican 
 
KIT CARSON 207 
 
 rule, — thanks to Fremont, Kit Carson, and their small 
 force of adventurous plainsmen. Other American troops 
 arrived on the scene under General Kearney, and taking 
 possession of the fort at Los Angeles, practically closed 
 the hostilities between the Mexicans and wild band of 
 original rough riders. Forty men had made the first 
 blow which struck the shackles of Mexican dominion 
 from the fair soil of California, the Golden State. And 
 Carson had not been the least of these. 
 
 Kit Carson returned to New Mexico. On his way 
 back he passed the Little Salt Lake, near the Wahsatch 
 Mountains, whose summits were covered with many feet 
 of snow. In crossing a deep gorge, suddenly he and his 
 party stumbled upon the remains of ten human beings, 
 whose bones lay bleaching in the bright rays of the sun. 
 Hungry wolves had gnawed and torn them, so that they 
 were widely scattered. "These are the relics of some 
 unfortunate party of whites that has been cut off by 
 the red men," said Carson, sadly. " One of these lying 
 apart from the rest, from the bullets and arrow heads 
 in the tree nearby, must have belonged to one of the 
 party who fought from this shelter until overcome by 
 the enemy.'' 
 
 It was subsequently learned that these bones be- 
 longed to a party of Americans from Arkansas who had 
 been surprised by hostile red men, while resting to eat 
 their luncheon at noon, and that they had been all 
 killed, with the exception of one of their number, who 
 snatched up his rifle, retreated to the nearest cover, and 
 there put up a despairing battle, slaying several of his 
 attackers, before he was dispatched by the arrows of the 
 
208 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 murderous redskins. Such episodes ■ were common in 
 the settlement of western America, and show what des- 
 perate chances men would take when penetrating into 
 the unknown. 
 
 The rest of Kit Carson's life was spent in ranching 
 and fighting Indians, a business which he was now an 
 adept in. One little fight of his deserves special mention. 
 
 Some Apaches raided the settlements near the home 
 of the famous scout and, after murdering several of 
 the settlers, made off into the mountains. Carson 
 started in pursuit with a band of revengeful white men 
 and tracked them to a strong position in the mountains. 
 So eager was old Kit to avenge the slaughter of his friends 
 that he gave a wild shout and dashed after the savages, 
 expecting, of course, to be reinforced by his companions. 
 But, as he galloped towards the red men, his friends 
 fell back, and he suddenly found himself alone among 
 the red men. 
 
 One of Carson's great characteristics was his absolute 
 coolness in time of danger. As the red men, with a wild, 
 ear-splitting yelp of hatred, debouched from their hiding 
 place and galloped around him, in a second he threw 
 himself upon the off side of his horse, and rode back 
 towards his party. Fortunately for him, the Apaches 
 had only arrows. Six stuck into Kit's trusty horse as 
 he beat this wild retreat, and a bullet passed through his 
 coat tail. But he came off scott free, and was soon 
 laughing and smiling with his companions, as the red- 
 skins were forced to withdraw from a well-aimed volley 
 of the whites. The Apaches scattered and escaped into 
 the wild passes of the bleak and barren mountains. 
 
KIT CARSON 209 
 
 Such was his reputation in fighting these scourges 
 of the settlements that, in 1862, the gallant Kit was 
 entrusted with an important command against some of 
 the thieving and murdering tribes of New Mexico and 
 Arizona. He brought the Mescaleros to terms. He 
 made such a spirited attack upon the Navajoes that 
 they finally unconditionally surrendered and were placed 
 in a government reservation. Near the Canadian 
 River, in Texas, he attacked a Kiowa village of about 
 one hundred and fifty lodges and signally defeated this 
 strong and powerful tribe. " This brilliant affair,'' 
 said his conmaanding officer, "adds another leaf to the 
 laurel wreath which you have so nobly won in the ser- 
 vice of your country.'' And with all this praise, sturdy 
 old Kit — now a general — was as modest as a child. 
 Such was his power among the redskins that he was 
 appointed Indian agent, a post which he filled with 
 the greatest satisfaction to the United States Govern- 
 ment. 
 
 All men must grow old. The wiry and indefatigable 
 scout, ranchman, Indian fighter and soldier began to 
 show signs of the hard life which he had led upon the 
 plains. In spite of his years, in January, 1868, he was 
 called to Washington to give evidence and advice in a 
 dispute between the Government and the Apaches. A 
 number of these fierce warriors accompanied him. 
 
 The journey of the famous plainsman to the East 
 was a great triumphal tour. Everywhere along the 
 route flags were raised and cities were decorated with 
 flowers and bunting in token of the great admiration 
 which was felt for the famous pioneer and Indian fighter; 
 
210 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 for he embodied characteristics which: all admire, — cool- 
 ness, good sense, honesty and courage. 
 
 In March, the great pioneer returned to New Mexico, 
 well pleased and gratified with the honors which his 
 grateful countrymen had showered upon him. But 
 the Angel of Death hovered over the once vigorous 
 frame of the mighty pioneer. On the 23d of May, 1868, 
 while visiting his son at Fort Lyons, Colorado, and when 
 in the act of mounting a horse, an artery in his neck was 
 ruptured, and in a few moments the soul of the great 
 plainsman had gone to the great beyond. 
 
 So remember the famous mountaineer, trapper, 
 guide, pioneer, and Indian counsellor. As a frontiers- 
 man he had no superior. His reputation was never 
 tainted with any moral stain; he was neither a mur- 
 derer, or a man who engaged in frontier brawls. The 
 times bred men of courage, and he was one of these. 
 The wild country needed men of clear head and un- 
 daunted nerve to advance its civilization, and it found 
 its path maker in brave Kit Carson. All honor to the 
 New Mexican sheep-rancher, Indian fighter, and man 
 of the plains. He lived his wild life and lived it well. 
 No man could have done better than he. Skoal to the 
 Nestor of the Rocky Mountains! 
 
GENERAL WILLIAM A. HARNE^ 
 
GENERAL WILLIAM A. HARNEY: THE 
 
 EVERGLADE FIGHTER AND 
 
 MARVELLOUS RUNNER. 
 
 AT Two Thousand Mile Creek, in the then un- 
 explored country of the Middle West, a con- 
 ference was being held between the Crows, 
 Mandans, and Gros Ventres Indians, on the one hand, 
 and some officers of the United States army, on the 
 other. 
 
 ''We wish to have the restoration of a family of 
 British subjects which you have with you," said a 
 Major O'Fallon to the chiefs in council. "The Minister, 
 or he-who-makes-big-talk for the men beyond the 
 seas, has asked that they be returned. We want 
 them now.'' 
 
 "Ugh!" grunted a fat chief. "We will give back 
 the people of the men-who-live-beyond-the-great- 
 waters, but we must have much for them. We want 
 heap rifle, ball, blanket, whiskey for the people of the 
 man-who-makes-big-talk. " 
 
 At this outrageous demand the eyes of the gallant 
 major began to flash fire. 
 
 "You shall give them back without any ransom, 
 at all," he said, advancing towards the redskins. Seiz- 
 ing his long army pistol, he struck the speaker over the 
 head and face with the butt end. 
 
 Not a word was spoken by either the outraged chief 
 211 
 
212 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 or the rest of the red men. Their eyes flashed fire as 
 they reached for their rifles. 
 
 At this juncture, a hthe young Heutenant jumped 
 forward from his seat upon the peace blanket and, 
 seizing the irate major by both hands, threw him to 
 the sod. Immediately the well-disciplined white troops, 
 who saw the affair from afar, came running up in order 
 to be of assistance to their officers. 
 
 ''^This action of our brother is the act of a mad man," 
 said the lieutenant, to the infuriated chiefs. "Our 
 brother has not been sleeping well. His mind is as 
 the red man's when he has partaken of the fire water 
 of the white man. He knows not what he does. Come, 
 I would take you by the hand to show you that we bear 
 our red brethren no ill will.'' 
 
 As he advanced towards a Crow chieftain, with his 
 arms outstretched, the red man looked upon him with 
 sullen defiance, with his arms folded. 
 
 "Come, brother," cried the lieutenant, "I wish 
 to make peace with you. Will you not take my hand?" 
 
 "Ugh!" grunted the Crow. "You are a young 
 man with the eye of an eagle. You have the look 
 of a man who speaks from a pure heart. You are a 
 Hawk-with-a-beaver's-eye. I will take your hand, 
 for I believe that you tell what is true." 
 
 And, so saying, he grasped the outstretched hand 
 of the United States officer. Order was quickly re- 
 stored. The negotiations were continued, and a treaty 
 of peace was concluded, whereby the red men secured 
 an excellent ransom for their prisoners. 
 
 Ever afterwards the young lieutenant was known 
 
GENERAL WILLIAM S. HARNEY 213 
 
 as the Hawk-with-a-beaver's-eye, and ever afterwards 
 Lieutenant William S. Harney was much respected 
 and admired among the red men, for he was one of the 
 few white men who kept his word, and upon whose 
 counsel they could rely. 
 
 This noted soldier was tall and spare. He possessed 
 a power of endurance which was great, and the reputa- 
 tion of the man-who-could-run-like-the-deer reached 
 the ears of the redskins dwelling upon the waters of 
 the upper Missouri. They challenged him to a foot race. 
 
 Unfortunately, although Lieutenant Harney ac- 
 cepted the gage of battle, he ran against a Crow Indian, 
 encumbered with his uniform, in the pockets of which 
 were many relics and curiosities which he had been 
 buying from the red men. The Crow athlete soon 
 outdistanced him and came in first, amid the cries of 
 joy of his companions. 
 
 "How!'' cried the heutenant when he had regained 
 his breath. "You beat me fair. But I will run you 
 tomorrow. Will you do so?" 
 
 "Ugh! Ugh!'' cried the Crow. "I run you again 
 for heap buffalo robe and blanket. Ugh! Ugh! You 
 cannot beat me. I am like the jack rabbit and you 
 are Hke the tortoise." 
 
 "We shall see," muttered the young soldier, as he 
 walked away, somewhat nettled by the remark of 
 the bombastic runner. 
 
 Next day the friends of the Crow warrior appeared 
 upon the flat prairie, laden with buffalo robes, tobacco, 
 and all the ornaments that they could pick up, in order 
 to reward the winner. Soon the lieutenant arrived, 
 
214 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 clad only in a pair of light, linen trousers, a shirt, and 
 a pair of moccasins. The red man also came up with 
 nothing on but a breech clout and moccasins. 
 
 The race was to be a quarter mile, four hundred 
 and forty yards, and was upon a natural running track, 
 for the ground was perfectly level, covered with very 
 short grass. A red man started the two contestants 
 by dropping a blanket, and like two grej^hounds 
 they dashed over the plain. The Indian led for a 
 hundred yards, while the wild yelping of his companions 
 sounded loud above the beating of tom-toms which 
 the women were banging as the two runners came 
 across the prairie. On! On! they came, and now 
 Harney grew nearer and nearer to his antagonist. At 
 two hundred and twenty yards he had edged up to 
 within one pace of the Crow. At two hundred and 
 thirty yards he had brushed by him and, amid the 
 wildest yelling and screeching that had been heard in 
 that country for many moons, the white man came 
 down the finish, leading by full five yards. A piece 
 of deer thong had been stretched between two spears, 
 to act as a line for the end of the race, and, as Harney's 
 waist snapped the cord, the most ear-splitting screech 
 arose from the throats of the red men. He was seized 
 and carried in triumph from the field. 
 
 ^'I wouldn't have had you lose that race for one 
 thousand dollars," said General Atkinson, his command- 
 ing officer. "These red men would have never let me 
 alone if you had lost. They would have rubbed it in 
 for years, claiming that the Indians were far superior 
 to the whites in athletic ability," 
 
GENERAL WILLIAM S. HARNEY 215 
 
 In the winter of 1829 the winner of this famous 
 foot race was stationed at Portage-des-Sioux, between 
 the Fox and the Wisconsin rivers, and had under his 
 command several red men who were enrolled as scouts 
 and runners. One of them, Little Turtle Egg, had 
 broken one of the rules of the garrison, so the com- 
 mander determined to administer a flogging to him. 
 As he believed in giving every one a fair chance, he told 
 the redskin that he would give him a start of twenty- 
 five yards, and, if he could reach a certain point before 
 he was caught, he could go free. "How! How!" 
 said the red man. '' You one fast runner, but you give 
 me a good start. I will do as you say." 
 
 Arming himself with a stout cow-hide stick with 
 which to beat the Indian, Harney took his position out- 
 side the fort, giving the red man his desired number of 
 yards. At the report of a pistol, fired by one of the 
 soldiers, they were both off. 
 
 For a time the redskin held his own, but soon the 
 fleet feet of the white man carried him nearer and 
 nearer to the fleeing Indian. But the fugitive had his 
 good sense with him. He suddenly turned and directed 
 his course to one of the numerous air holes in the river, 
 where the ice was exceedingly thin. With a bound, 
 he leaped over the thinnest part and galloped off across 
 the firmer ice, not daring to look behind him as he ran. 
 Harney reached the place and started to jump, also, 
 but suddenly — splash! — the surface gave way and 
 he was plunged into the ice-cold water. The cow-hide 
 whip sank to the bottom, and it was fully twenty 
 minutes before the soldiers from the fort extracted 
 
216 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 their gallant commander. Mean-^ile, the redskin 
 was laughing softly in the forest. 
 
 You know about the Black Hawk War so fully 
 described in "Famous Indian Chiefs," so I will not 
 describe the causes which led to its outbreak. Lieu- 
 tenant Harney was a captain at the time of this Indian 
 uprising, and, at Fort Armstrong, made the acquaint- 
 ance of Colonel Zachary Taylor who was subsequently 
 to be President of the United States, and also of a 
 young militia captain, a country lawyer called Abra- 
 ham Lincoln; also a future Chief Executive. 
 
 In a council of war which was held among the 
 soldiers, after the Indians had been driven far into 
 the woods, Captain Harney remarked: 
 
 "The Indians have but one hiding place in the 
 whole country, and it will be very difficult to find. 
 If you will allow me. General Atkinson, I will take 
 fifty men and make a reconnoissance." 
 
 The general shook his head. "Such a force would 
 be too small,'^ he replied. "The party would be in 
 great danger of being cut off. Take three hundred 
 Pottawattomies with you and you will have some 
 show with the enemy." 
 
 But, when the chief of these friendly Indians was 
 approached, he said, " Black Hawk got many warriors, 
 he jump out from ambush and kill such few Indians and 
 white men. Captain Harney he big fool to go without 
 big army. Ugh! We stay behind. No fight without 
 big army." 
 
 "Well," ejaculated Harney. "If you won't go, 
 I'll clean 'em up with my fifty." 
 
GENERAL WILLIAM S. HARNEY 217 
 
 And, as the redskins looked on sneeringly, the bold 
 captain started out to find Black Hawk with his far 
 inferior force. A few friendly Menominees went with 
 him, but they soon deserted, leaving only one of their 
 number, who had once had a severe personal encounter 
 with the fleetest runner among the whites. 
 
 ^'Me stay with Captain Harney," said he. "Me 
 stay and die with him, for he one big runner, one big 
 fighter, him one big man." 
 
 As a matter of fact the redskins were not found 
 ready for battle. Black Hawk and his men were dis- 
 covered to be retreating towards the Wisconsin River. 
 So the willing fifty came back to warn General At- 
 kinson of the position of his foe. 
 
 "We will finish the war, right now," cried that 
 soldier, when he learned that Black Hawk had deter- 
 mined to make a stand. "Forward, men, we will 
 avenge the depredations upon our frontier!" 
 
 By a forced march the band under Black Hawk 
 was finally struck in a position that was naturally 
 well suited for defense. The warriors were desperately 
 attacked and, forced from their position, they backed 
 away towards the Mississippi in order to make another 
 stand. But here the American troops again attacked 
 them impetuously and, although Black Hawk urged 
 on his men with lofty courage, they were driven from 
 hill to hill, like the Old Guard at Waterloo. And 
 here — like the English troops at the great battle in 
 Belgium — the Americans made a last furious onset, 
 and drove those who had survived their former attacks 
 into the river. Harney was in the thick of this battle 
 
218 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 of the Bad Axe, and right well did he distinguish him- 
 self. Black Hawk — as you know — fled up the 
 river and hid himself in the woods where, after a two 
 days' search, he was discovered by some friendly Sioux 
 and turned over to the white troops. His star had 
 set. 
 
 The next campaign in which Captain Harney en- 
 gaged was the fierce one against Osceola in the Ever- 
 glades of Florida. During the long campaign which 
 here took place, before the Seminoles were finally 
 subdued, Colonel Harney (for he had now been ad- 
 vanced in rank) had many exciting adventures. Here 
 is one of them: 
 
 With a number of dismounted dragoons, the cele- 
 brated soldier was sent to capture Sam Jones, one of 
 the head chiefs of the Seminoles, who had massacred 
 many whites. By forced night marches he pursued 
 him and his men far into the jungle and surprised them. 
 They fled into the miry swamps in a tangled morass 
 through which the troops could not follow. And — 
 as they rushed after the flying savages — one of the 
 soldiers shot a squaw, mistaking her in the confusion 
 of battle for a warrior. 
 
 Colonel Harney was greatly distressed because the 
 injury had been accidental and had been inflicted upon 
 a woman. The soldiers did all that they could to 
 relieve her. They were at considerable loss to know 
 what to do with her. 
 
 "I have a suggestion which I think is good," said 
 Harney. " If we leave her, her friends will come after 
 her, at night. We will not capture those who come 
 
GENERAL WILLIAM S. HARNEY 219 
 
 and will allow them to take their own flesh and blood 
 away. Even if Sam Jones, himself, should come, 
 I will still allow her to go, but this is hardly a pos- 
 sibility.'^ 
 
 Here he was mistaken. As the shadows of night 
 began to fall, two dark figures glided from the under- 
 brush straight to the spot where the woman was lying. 
 They seized her and, as a bright gleam of the early 
 moon fell upon the two warriors, Colonel Harney saw 
 that it was Sam Jones, himself. It was hard to restrain 
 himself from leaping upon the figure of this arch des- 
 perado, but he remembered his word and allowed 
 him to go free. 
 
 The Seminole woman recovered. When months 
 afterwards the tribe was met by Colonel Harney and 
 his dragoons, to decide upon peace, she went up to 
 him and, kneeling, kissed the skirt of his coat. 
 
 " You one good man,'' said she. " You give me my 
 life. I never forget you.'' 
 
 A month later, when leaving his tent one morn- 
 mg, he found a gayly knitted scarf tied to the tent 
 pole, and on it were the words, "To the mighty runner, 
 from Tuscalora. Good luck." 
 
 In spite of this the colonel soon had some very bad 
 luck. 
 
 A treaty was made with the Seminoles and Colonel 
 Harney was directed to select a suitable site for a 
 trading house, to be built in the reservation set aside 
 for the redskins. A site was selected on the Caloo- 
 sahatchie River, fifteen miles above the mouth of this 
 stream, and thirty dismounted dragoons were here 
 
220 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 left in charge, while the colonel made a short trip to 
 General Taylor's headquarters at Tampa Bay. He 
 requested two companies of troops to protect the re- 
 cently erected house, but these were refused him. 
 So he turned back to the post, naturally much dis- 
 gruntled. 
 
 While he was away a letter had come from the 
 Secretary of War, at Washington, to the effect that 
 the truce with the Seminoles was only temporary, 
 and that a new one would have to be agreed to. In 
 some mysterious way the redskins heard of it and swift 
 runners spread the news among all the tribes, before 
 the whites themselves knew the contents of the letter. 
 Colonel Harney himself had not heard of it. 
 
 When he had returned to the newly-founded post 
 and was on a boat, anchored in the stream, the famous 
 chief Billy Bowlegs came on board and told him that 
 the Seminole chiefs wished to see him before he left. 
 Never guessing that the Indians had heard something 
 from Washington, he decided to go ashore and to spend 
 the night in a canvas tent which he had here erected. 
 As no red men appeared in the morning, he went out hunt- 
 ing, returning at nine in the evening thoroughly worn 
 out with his exertions. Removing his coat and his 
 boots, he lay down with the full intention of getting 
 up when the sergeant-of-the-guard posted the sen- 
 tinels. But he fell asleep. 
 
 As daylight stole over the river, Harney jumped 
 up with a start. Guns were going off. Indian yelpings 
 sounded from the woodland, and shouts in the familiar 
 voices of his own men. "Run to the water! Quick/' 
 
GENERAL WILLIAM S. HARNEY 221 
 
 he heard a sentry cry out and, as he bounded into the 
 open, he saw many of his men standing in the river 
 up to their necks, and wholly unarmed. He deter- 
 mined to save himself. 
 
 Turning towards the river, the startled officer ran 
 about a quarter of a mile, and then walked a few paces 
 into the shallow water. He came back and went up 
 the bank with his toes pointing towards the water so 
 that it would seem as if two white men had been drowned 
 at this place, after entering the rapid current of the 
 Caloosahatchie. Next he swam about two hundred 
 yards down stream and took to the brush. 
 
 Meanwhile what had happened to the men who were 
 standing in the water, hoping to elude the red men? 
 The redskins rushed down to the bank of the sweet- 
 named river, and with wild and hilarious yelpings 
 fired their arrows at the helpless dragoons. Unfor- 
 tunately few of the whites could swim. Some seized 
 an old flatboat and escaped, but the majority were 
 massacred by the half-wild Seminoles, whose blood- 
 curdling yells echoed through the stillness of the dark 
 and sombre forests. As soon as the last unfortunate 
 American soldier had been thus murdered, the red 
 men rushed frantically towards the tent of Colonel 
 Harney. With an ear-splitting whoop they announced 
 the unwelcome intelligence that he had vanished and, 
 taking up his trail, they dashed towards the river in 
 wild pursuit. 
 
 When the war-mad Seminoles reached the water 
 and saw the two trails leading from the bank, they 
 gave a great yell of defiant joy. 
 
222 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 "See. The man-who-fight-much, he rather drown 
 than meet us," cried a warrior. 
 
 "Ugh! Ugh!'' mumbled a disappointed Seminole 
 warrior. "He no fight this time. He much talk. 
 He one big coward." 
 
 Meanwhile Harney was creeping through the under- 
 brush upon the other side of the river, and was making 
 off down a woodland path. As he rounded a dense 
 covert, he discovered to his horror that a large man 
 was coming towards him, and thinking that it was a 
 Seminole, he drew his pocket knife, pulled out the 
 largest blade, and stood ready to plunge it into whom- 
 soever should approach. 
 
 As the figure came nearer, suddenly the light from 
 the sun penetrated the gloom of the Everglades, and 
 shone upon the face of one of the colonel's own dragoons. 
 Immediately the fleeing officer leaped from the brush 
 and, instead of stabbing the oncomer, threw his arms 
 about him in a transport of joy. " I was one of the few 
 who could swim," said the dragoon, whose name was 
 Britton. "I followed you across the river, hoping to 
 catch up with you, and I am glad that I have done so. 
 We must make for one of the forts as fast as we can." 
 
 Harney said nothing, but grimly plunged into the 
 gloomy forest, over the mangrove roots and saw- 
 grass that lacerated his unprotected feet and made 
 progress both slow and tiresome. Blacking their 
 faces with charred wood left from camp-fires of both 
 red men and white, so that they might better disguise 
 themselves, they plodded sullenly through the tangle 
 of vegetation. 
 
GENERAL WILLIAM S. HARNEY 223 
 
 So they moved onward for several hours when, 
 as they neared a winding curve of the river, Britton 
 heard a voice in the stillness. "Hist!'' he whispered. 
 "It may be the Seminoles in canoes. I will creep up 
 to the bank and look." 
 
 Worming upon his stomach through the dense 
 weeds, he peered through the branches at the shim- 
 mering current of the Caloosahatchie. A flight of birds 
 flew screaming through the jungle as he reached the 
 water's edge, and, as he gazed out upon the broad ex- 
 panse of river, he saw a canoe in which two Seminoles 
 paddled stealthily up the stream. In a moment he had 
 turned and was back at Harney's side. 
 
 "Britton, can you fight?" asked the colonel. 
 "I will die with you," answered the dragoon. 
 "Then we'll have a little tug-of-war right now. 
 Do not let one of them stab me in the back when I am 
 fighting with the other. I can soon overcome and 
 kill one of these fellows and then I will be all ready 
 for the second. Where are they?" 
 
 "Under the wild fig tree near the big bend." 
 "I will go now. Be sure and keep a sharp watch 
 for other redskins and, if you see another canoe ap- 
 proaching, be certain to warn me." 
 
 As Harney crept towards the wild fig tree, his 
 heart beat tumultuously, but he was bold and deter- 
 mined; besides, in his heart was a sickening hatred 
 for the men who had helped to butcher his companions 
 in the morning. The red men had gone ashore. When 
 they saw him coming they dashed towards their boat, 
 but the fleet-footed colonel was before them. He 
 
224 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 jumped into it, seized a loaded rifle which the Seminoles 
 had been incautious enough to leave inside and, level- 
 ling it at a running red man, bowled him over like 
 a jack rabbit. The other, seeing Britton as he ran 
 up, decided that the Everglades was the best place 
 for him. So he made off, pursued by a bullet from 
 a second load which Harney had rapidly shoved into 
 the barrel. It missed him by a hundred feet. 
 
 Now paddling down the stream, the two adventurers 
 soon overtook those of the dragoons who had escaped 
 in the flatboat. ^' I am going to return to our camp,'' 
 cried the bold-hearted colonel, "for I want to see 
 what has become of my brave men. I cannot com- 
 prehend what precipitated this attack, as the Seminoles 
 have always been friendly since the signing of the 
 treaty." He was, as yet, wholly ignorant of the reason 
 for this sudden and wajnvard assault by the men of 
 the Everglades. 
 
 With seven men, this courageous warrior returned 
 that evening to the former camp in order to ascertain 
 who had been killed. Leaving two men to watch the 
 boat and canoe, he proceeded to the camp, — there 
 to find the mutilated bodies of the dead soldiers, all 
 of them hacked beyond recognition. Five, indeed, 
 were not to be accounted for, so a great shouting and 
 hallooing was indulged in by the live soldiers. It was 
 learned afterwards that two heard the shouts but, 
 fearing that it was a ruse of the Seminoles to draw them 
 from their hiding places, they remained where they 
 were. 
 
 Next day the survivors of this sudden and un- 
 
GENERAL WILLIAM S. HARNEY 225 
 
 expected attack journeyed to Florida Bay and there 
 learned of the letter of the Secretary of War, which 
 had precipitated the early morning assault. The news 
 of the massacre of Colonel Harney's men spread rapidly 
 over Florida and produced the most profound sensa- 
 tion, leading to the bloodiest kind of hostilities. Yet 
 the ignorant Secretary of War, whose absurd conduct 
 had been the cause of all this, was retained in the Cabi- 
 net of the President of the United States; his conduct 
 condoned and not censured. By his mandate blood- 
 hounds were imported into the Everglades to hunt 
 down the Seminoles who, like the water moccasin, 
 glided through the underbrush and cane thickets with 
 sHppery quiet. The hounds were found to be "per- 
 fectly useless,^' and never were many of the roving 
 Seminoles come upon. 
 
 Now came the last battle of this strange warfare 
 in the Florida Everglades. 
 
 In December, 1840, orders came to Colonel Harney 
 to push into the Everglades and attack the chief Chai- 
 kika, a Spanish Indian, and a ruthless fighter. The 
 cunning red man had made his home deep in the centre 
 of the miasmic Everglades. On an island he had taken 
 refuge, where there was a vast expanse of water, vary- 
 ing from one to five feet in depth, covered with an 
 almost impenetrable saw grass, except where curving 
 channels extended in every direction, dotted with 
 innumerable islands. It was known that many of the 
 Seminoles had taken refuge in this weedy waste* 
 
 A negro who had been captured by the red men 
 came to the camp of the soldiers and told them where 
 
226 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 to find the Seminoles. With ninety men in boats 
 Colonel Harney therefore started for the home of the 
 men of the marshes, who had stood out against the 
 power of the government for so long a time and had 
 massacred so many of those of the opposite race. The 
 negro knew well how to find the way. He led the 
 soldiers directly to the island where the Indians were 
 encamped in fancied peace and security, with Chai- 
 kika sprawling upon the grass, in total unconsciousness 
 of the presence of those troops upon whose comrades 
 he had perpetrated the frightful massacre of the Caloosa- 
 hatchie. 
 
 As the soldiers approached, the chief arose from his 
 position and began to chop wood. When the men 
 of the United States army dashed towards him, he 
 dropped his axe and, in the words of an old writer, 
 " took to the tall grass. '^ Two or three dragoons started 
 in pursuit, but only one could keep up with the speedy 
 red man. It was a trooper named Hall, who had shot 
 the squaw by mistake in that previous skirmish with 
 the Seminoles. 
 
 Seeing that he was to be overtaken, the cruel red- 
 skin turned and threw up his hands in token of sub- 
 mission. "Ugh!" cried he. "Do not strike, I one 
 good Indian. I love my white brothers." 
 
 "You coward! You did not love your white broth- 
 ers at the Caloosahatchie," cried the soldier. "Here 
 is what you deserve." 
 
 And raising his rifle, he shot him through the brain. 
 
 In the camp of this last remnant of the Seminole 
 Confederacy was found two thousand dollars' worth 
 
GENERAL WILLIAM S. HARNEY 227 
 
 of stolen goods and thirteen revolvers belonging to the 
 massacred dragoons of Colonel Harney. All but one 
 of the captured warriors were hanged; the one was 
 reserved as a guide. It was practically the end of the 
 Seminole War. 
 
 So much for the Everglades. You can rest assured 
 that General Harney was glad to get away from these 
 swampy bottoms and, when Washington ordered 
 him to the plains again, he was only too ready to go. 
 After serving upon the Texan frontier he was moved 
 to Wyoming where, in very few months, there were 
 serious difficulties with the red men, and all about a 
 poor, old cow. Who would think that a cow could 
 raise an Indian war? 
 
 A party of emigrants from Kansas to California 
 passed the Big Platte River, about thirty miles below 
 Fort Laramie, leaving a cow behind them. It had 
 given out on the march and was turned over to the 
 Bois Brules, who apportioned it to a certain chieftain 
 of the tribe. 
 
 Food was scarce about this time, and when an 
 Ogallala chieftain came to visit the Bois Brules, a 
 head man of the village stepped out and said, 
 
 "We glad to see you. Chief. But we cannot have 
 a feast. Our rations from the great white father 
 are only sufficient to feed ourselves. Ugh! Ugh! 
 We no kill even black dog." 
 
 " I have seen a white buffalo [cow] upon the prairie," 
 said the Ogallala chief. "I and my warriors will go 
 out on a hunt." 
 
 So saying, he rode off upon his war pony. When 
 
228 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 the party returned, it was with the carcass of the 
 white buffalo. 
 
 No sooner had the poor old cow disappeared 
 down the throats of the hungry men of the plains 
 than the owner sent a bill for it into Fort Laramie. 
 The officer in command paid him. Then a force of 
 thirty men was sent to the Ogallalas, demanding the 
 person of the red man who had cut down the cow. 
 Unfortunately, the soldiers had been drinking John 
 Barleycorn, and when they arrived at the village their 
 demand for the cattle thief was couched in pretty 
 rough language. 
 
 A chief named Black Beaver met the officers of the 
 United States Government with great dignity. 
 
 "The Ogallala chief who killed the white buffalo 
 is in the village of Bois Brules/' said he. "They can- 
 not give him up to his enemies. But he has behaved 
 badly. You can take him. That is his lodge!" 
 
 The lieutenant in charge of the troops showed some 
 anger. "You must bring him here," said he. 
 
 Black Beaver's eyes shone with a beady lustre. 
 
 "The Indian does not give up the friend who is 
 in his lodge," said he. "Black Beaver's friends would 
 kill him if he did so." 
 
 "I'll give you five minutes," cried the lieutenant. 
 " And then — if the culprit is not delivered — I will 
 give the order to my men to fire." 
 
 The five minutes passed and the red man did not 
 stir. 
 
 "Fire!" shouted the lieutenant, whose indiscretion 
 was helped on by bad whiskey. 
 
GENERAL WILLIAM S. HARNEY 229 
 
 The shots from the rifles of the soldiers rang out, 
 and Black Beaver pitched headlong upon his face. 
 The Indians scattered, hut in a few moments they 
 opened upon the whites from behind tepees and lodge 
 poles. All the whites were killed but one man, who 
 was taken into a warrior's lodge and nursed back to 
 health. Such was the beginning of the war of 1854. 
 
 The entire Sioux nation went upon the war path 
 in defense of the Bois Brules. The whole frontier was 
 in a turmoil. In such a state of affairs the most dis- 
 tinguished Indian fighter in the army was, of course, 
 called for by President Pierce, who said to him, 
 
 "General Harney, you have done so much Indian 
 fighting that I will give you no orders. But I wish 
 you to assume command and whip the redskins for us. 
 Will you do so?" 
 
 "I wilV answered the old war horse, and in an 
 hour he had left for the frontier. 
 
 No sooner had the Hawk-with-a-beaver's-eye reached 
 the Indian country, than a Sioux chieftain called Little 
 Thunder sent him a message by a runner. 
 
 "I will either shake hands with you, or I will fight,'' 
 was the missive. 
 
 General Harney was marching towards the Sioux 
 camp as the runner approached him. 
 
 "Tell Little Thunder that he has robbed the mails 
 and has killed twenty emigrants," said he. "I intend 
 to march immediately upon him and his warriors." 
 
 Next morning, while the bugles blared the charge, 
 the soldiers dashed into the redskin camp and had a 
 hand-to-hand battle with the Sioux. Seventy-two red 
 
230 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 men were soon dead, and the Sioux were driven over ten 
 miles. The redskins retreated with their women and 
 children, and Harney allowed them to get away, because 
 he did not want to kill the latter. 
 
 "I have given them a good lesson,'^ said he. "Now 
 let us see whether or no they will sue for peace.^^ 
 
 They did so. This decisive victory awed the Sioux 
 into submission, and soon runners came in requesting 
 a conference. All but two bands of hostiles made a 
 treaty with the government, and the war was over. 
 
 When the famous Indian fighter was ordered to 
 Oregon, in 1858, in order to quell disturbances among 
 tlie Flat Head Indians, he made a wise move when he 
 took along with him an eminent Jesuit priest called 
 Father de Smet. This man of God had been a mis- 
 sionary among the tribes along the Columbia River 
 and knew the red men and their ways like a book. 
 His influence among them was excellent. 
 
 The hostiles were invited to a council, at which 
 the major of the army said: 
 
 " The great war-chief General Harney, who is known 
 among all the redskins for his success among them, is 
 on his way here; and, if you do not accede to the terms 
 which we propose, he will make war upon you, so that 
 you will be glad to accept even harder conditions. 
 You had better submit. '^ 
 
 "Ugh! Ugh!'' spoke a chief. "We know the 
 Hawk-with-a-beaver's-eye. We fear him. It shall be 
 as you say." 
 
 And when the fearless Everglade fighter arrived, 
 he found that many of the tribes had sued for peace, 
 
GENERAL WILLIAM S. HARNEY 231 
 
 and treaties had been made with them. Such is the 
 power of a name. 
 
 But the gallant soldier's life was to end in troubled 
 times. When the Civil War broke out he hastened 
 to Washington, only to be confronted with an order 
 depriving him of his command, and giving him leave 
 of absence until further orders. The further orders 
 never came, and the name of the great border fighter 
 is still upon the retired list. This was his unjust treat- 
 ment after a life spent in hardships for the government. 
 His sympathies, too, were not with the South. 
 
 Not long afterwards the splendid old soldier went 
 to the Happy Hunting Grounds where, no doubt, he 
 often hunts the buffalo with those with whom he strug- 
 gled with rifle and sabre during his career upon the 
 wide western frontier. As a writer has justly written: 
 
 ''His perfect knowledge of Indian character, and 
 his wisdom in adapting his plan of action to the enemy 
 with whom he had to deal, secured him a greater degree 
 of success than any officer assigned to duty on the 
 frontier. His one rule in intercourse with them, never 
 broken, was to keep faith.'' 
 
 An excellent thing for every young man to remember 
 — Keep the faith! 
 
WILD BILL HICKOK: TRAPPER, SCOUT 
 AND FEARLESS GUN FIGHTER. 
 
 IN the year preceding the Civil War in the United 
 States, a man lay upon the floor of a dugout 
 at Rock Creek, Kansas, bleeding from many 
 deep and dangerous wounds. Some travellers were 
 bending over him and, as he opened, his lips to answer 
 the numerous queries of, "How did you get into this 
 fight?" "How did you defend yourself?" his words 
 came in short, sudden gasps. 
 
 " When six of the crowd piled on me and one struck 
 me with his gun, I thought my day had come, so I just 
 got wild and slashed about like a bear with a death 
 wound, and guess that is how I came to get away with 
 them." 
 
 " I just got wild and slashed about!" That sentence 
 struck his hearers as being of particular humor. So 
 they christened the half-dead man Wild Bill, and as 
 Wild Bill he was always known thereafter. 
 
 But how did the fight come about? This is interest- 
 ing, for it was one of the most famous affairs of frontier 
 history. The papers were full of it at the time and the 
 magazines had a description of the great battle between 
 Wild Bill Hickok and the McCandlas gang. 
 
 In the latter part of the year 1860, the hero of this 
 essay, who was born in Illinois, left the employment of 
 some fighters, to accept a position with the Overland 
 
 232 
 
WILD BILL HICKOK. 
 
WILD BILL HICKOK 233 
 
 Stage Company as watchman and hostler at Rock 
 Creek Station, a point upon the old River Platte stage 
 route, fifty miles west of Topeka, Kansas. The stage 
 company, which ran its coaches between St. Joseph, 
 Missouri, and Denver, Colorado, had built stables for 
 twenty-five horses at this point, and had placed two 
 men in charge — Hickok and "Doc.'' Mills, a small 
 Irishman who did the cooking and assisted in the care 
 of the horses. It was lonely, but they liked it. 
 
 The two men lived in a small log hut, having but 
 one room, divided by the suspension of an old horse 
 blanket, back of which was the bed. There was one 
 entrance in the front, and not a single window. To 
 the right of this "dugout'' were the stables, built of 
 heavy logs and so well made that when the heavy 
 doors were locked it would be impossible for any but 
 a master cracksman, or professional safe blower, to get 
 inside. In this wild and silent place the news of the 
 approaching war between the North and South had 
 penetrated and, as the daily coach rolled up before the 
 cabin door. Bill always inquired anxiously for papers 
 and information of the coming insurrection. Person- 
 ally he favored the Union cause but, with the good 
 sense of a level-headed man, said nothing about his 
 sentiments. 
 
 About thirteen miles west of Rock Creek was a 
 ranch called "The McCandlas Outfit." The house and 
 stables were difficult to find and were well known as a 
 place to which many a stolen horse was driven. " Those 
 two McCandlas boys, Jack and Jim," Doc. Mills used 
 to say, "have been a regular terror to Central Kansas. 
 
234 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 They've killed more innocent men, an' run off more 
 bosses than any ranchers in this here country. There's 
 about a dozen ^hangers on' in their outfit, an' when 
 boss stealin' gits kinder dull they turn their talents to 
 robbin' stage coaches, or murderin' travellers. Ain't 
 no one got nerve enough ter tackle 'em?" 
 
 "Wait until they tackle me," Hickok would answer. 
 "I'll show 'em a trick or two." 
 
 The McCandlas gang was in favor of the Southern 
 Confederacy. Jack McCandlas announced that he had 
 been delegated a special agent to collect horses for the 
 Southern army and to enlist recruits for the service. 
 But it has never yet been discovered by what authority 
 he acted. 
 
 An old man named Shapley — "Parson" Shapley he 
 was called — hved about five miles from Rock Creek 
 Station, and with him was his aged wife. He was a 
 kind-hearted soul, but, when rebellion threatened, he 
 showed the hot blood of his fighting ancestry and spoke 
 his full mind, with the true frankness of a Westerner. 
 The McCandlas gang said that he would suffer for his 
 free speech and the members of this organization kept 
 their word. The " Parson" had come out strong for the 
 Union. 
 
 It was a cold day in December. Wild Bill Hickok 
 was standing in front of his dugout, when he saw com- 
 ing down the road a party of four horsemen. The evil 
 face of Jim McCandlas was in front, and this border 
 ruffian was leading the white-haired old parson by a 
 lariat fastened about his neck. The man of God looked 
 subdued, but angry. 
 
WILD BILL HICKOK 235 
 
 When the little party arrived abreast of the dugout, 
 Jim McCandlas sang out, in a tone of authority : 
 
 "Look ahere, Bill Hickok, I mean business. I am 
 a-gatherin' up horses for the Secesh service and I want 
 yer to jist git those horses in yer stable ready fer me when 
 I come back here, which will be about three or four 
 o'clock this afternoon. This old hypocritical cuss I've 
 got here has been havin' his say a little too free around 
 here, and I concluded to take him along with me to 
 show him th' necessity of keepin' his mouth shet.'' 
 
 "I notice you've got him," said Bill, as he puffed 
 on a corn-cob pipe. 
 
 " Yes, we've got him, all right. Now, what we want 
 is you, and we want your horses for the Confederate 
 service. Have 'em ready for me when I come back in 
 half an hour." Hickok's eyes sparkled, as he made 
 answer. 
 
 "When you want these horses you can come and 
 take them," he cried. "You'll have no difficulty in 
 finding me here. I'll be on deck from now on." 
 
 Bill withdrew into the dugout, while McCandlas — 
 with a smothered oath — rode down the trail with his 
 men. 
 
 Hickok was alone, for "Doc." Mills had left the 
 cabin only a few moments before this conversation, 
 and had gone off with a shotgun to shoot quail. In 
 the cabin were several weapons, a large rifle, two revolv- 
 ers, and two bowie knives. 
 
 "I'll give these fellers an' interestin' time when 
 they return," said Bill, as he surveyed the row of guns 
 and knives. Then, placing them on a table behind the 
 
236 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 blanket in the centre of the dugout, he bolted the stable- 
 door, locked it so it would have to be battered in, and 
 then bolted the door to the dugout. 
 
 At about three in the afternoon the McCandlas boys 
 were seen approaching at a smart trot, with eight hench- 
 men at their side. They rode up to the stables and 
 found the stout doors firmly locked. 
 
 ^' Come out of your shell. Bill!'' cried Jim McCandlas, 
 "and give up the horses. If you don't do it thar'll be 
 a murder at Rock Creek, an' th' Overland Stage Com- 
 pany will hev ter hev another driver, I reckon." 
 
 "The first man who opens the stable door will be 
 shot, and I'll do it," cried Bill. "If there's any murder- 
 ing done at Rock Creek there'll be more than one body 
 to bury. You'd better get away from here before there's 
 trouble." 
 
 "Ha! ha!" laughed Jim McCandlas. "We'll soon 
 fix you, Mister Hickok." 
 
 The ten desperadoes were really highly elated at the 
 turn which events had taken, for they wanted to get 
 Wild Bill out of the country and here was a good chance 
 to put him out of the way forever. 
 
 "Bring out a log!" shouted Jim McCandlas. ''Tie 
 your horses to trees, first, and then we'll batter down 
 the door." 
 
 It was one against ten. Surely the many would 
 crush the lone defender of the cabin in the foothills! 
 
 The log was soon hammering away at the door, and, 
 after a dozen sharp blows, the hinges broke, — the panels 
 splintered, crashed, and fell in. With a wild yell Jim 
 McCandlas jumped over the crumbling, wooden frag- 
 
WILD BILL HICKOK 237 
 
 ments, a large revolver in one hand, a bowie knife in 
 the other. The nine others pressed in from behind. 
 
 As the burly ruffian rushed into the room, a shot 
 rang out from Hickok's large rifle and an ounce ball 
 ploughed into the heart of the desperado. The bully 
 of the Kansas frontier pitched upon his face without a 
 murmur. Crack! Crack! Crack! went the shots from 
 the pistols of Bill, and at every shot a member of the 
 gang went to the floor — stone dead. Each bullet had 
 struck a vital point. 
 
 Six of the gang were now upon the defender of the 
 dugout, and six revolvers spoke as Hickok seized a 
 bowie knife and jabbed it into his nearest enemy. The 
 knife did awful execution. But — as it swung back for 
 another lunge — one of the desperadoes struck Bill over 
 the head and knocked him backward, clean across the 
 table. Jack McCandlas was on him in an instant and, 
 with his knife uplifted, was aiming a blow at the heart 
 of his victim, when Bill shoved a pistol into his breast, 
 and fired. The knife fell upon the table, McCandlas 
 trembled for a moment, then, with the chill of death 
 upon him, dropped dead upon the floor. 
 
 The defender of the dugout had been struck by 
 several bullets, but he had not been crippled. Leap- 
 hig to his feet, he slashed right and left with his bowie 
 knife, striking down two other desperadoes who attacked 
 him. The floor was red with blood. All but four of 
 the McCandlas gang were dead, and of these four two 
 were desperately wounded. 
 
 "We can't kill this feller," cried an outlaw. "Tm 
 going to make a break for it!'' 
 
238 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 Suiting the action to the words, he turned and 
 ran. All followed. 
 
 The two uninjured desperadoes gained their horses, 
 and, mounting, got away. One of the injured men 
 ran down the hillside to his horse, but was so badly 
 wounded that he could not mount. The other came 
 quickly after him, and was disappearing in a gully 
 as "Doc.'' Mills ran up with his shotgun. 
 
 "Quick! Give me your gun!" shouted Hickok 
 to him and, seizing the loaded piece, he killed the 
 fleeing member of the famous gang. 
 
 The wounded desperado, who could not mount, 
 managed to get away to a neighboring town, where he 
 died soon afterwards of his terrible injuries. Thus, 
 one man had killed seven attackers and had won the 
 most desperate frontier fight in the annals of the border. 
 
 But what of the valiant Hickok? 
 
 The "nervy'' fighter had kept his feet only under 
 the excitement of battle; now — weak from loss of 
 blood — he collapsed and was carried into the dug- 
 out by his faithful companion, "Doc." Mills. In an 
 hour the western stage rolled up containing six pas- 
 sengers, one of whom possessed both medical knowledge 
 and a bottle of brandy. With this he revived the 
 defender of the lone hut on the hillside, and upon ex- 
 amining him found that he had a fracture of the skull ; 
 three terrible gashes in the breast; his left forearm was 
 cut through to the bone; four bullets were in his body; 
 one was in his left hip, and two through the fleshy part 
 of his right leg. His right cheek was wide open, and 
 his forehead was bare of flesh. Such was the awful 
 
WILD BILL HICKOK 239 
 
 condition of the winner of this thrilHng battle. Is it 
 any wonder that it took him six months to get 
 well?* 
 
 The frontier soon rang with the name of Wild Bill 
 — the greatest fighter that ever made a record — the 
 destroyer of the McCandlas gang and marvellous shot. 
 It reached General John C. Fremont, in command at 
 Fort Leavenworth, and, in a very short time a message 
 arrived from this general offering Wild Bill the position 
 of brigade wagon master in his army which was shortly 
 to operate against the Confederates. Wild Bill promptly 
 accepted, and soon was in the midst of the hardest 
 kind of warfare. Here is how he looked at this time 
 of his career: 
 
 In person he was about six feet one in height, 
 straight as the straightest of the red warriors of the 
 plains. Broad shoulders were his; a well-formed chest 
 and limbs; and a face strikingly handsome. He had 
 a sharp, clear, blue eye, which stared you straight in 
 the face when in conversation; a finely shaped nose 
 inclined to be aquiline; a well-turned mouth and lips 
 partly concealed by a handsome moustache. His 
 hair and complexion were those of a perfect blonde. 
 The former was worn in uncut ringlets falling carelessly 
 over his powerfully formed shoulders. Add to this 
 figure a costume blending the immaculate neatness 
 of the dandy with the extravagant style of the fron- 
 tiersman, and you have Wild Bill, the most famous 
 shot on the plains. 
 
 *From Wild Bill's own recital of fight as reported by James 
 William Buel. 
 
240 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 General George A. Custer, who lost his life at the 
 battle of the Little Big Horn, has said of him: 
 
 "Whether on foot or on horseback, he was one 
 of the most perfect types of physical manhood I ever 
 saw. Of his courage there could be no question. His 
 skill in the use of the rifle and pistol was unerring. 
 His deportment was entirely free from all bluster or 
 bravado. He never spoke of himself unless requested 
 to do so. His conversation never bordered upon the 
 vulgar or blasphemous. 
 
 "His influence among the frontiersmen was un- 
 bounded; his word was law; and many are the personal 
 quarrels and disturbances which he has checked among 
 his comrades by the simple announcement that Hhis 
 has gone far enough,' if need be, followed by the ominous 
 warning that, if persisted in, the quarreler 'must settle 
 with me.' 
 
 "Wild Bill always carried two handsome, ivory- 
 handed revolvers of the large size. He was never 
 seen without them. I have a personal knowledge of 
 at least half a dozen men whom he has at various times 
 killed, others have been severely wounded, — yet he 
 always escaped unliurt in every encounter." 
 
 Such was the appearance of this typical frontiers- 
 man. His adventures were many, and those during 
 the Civil War were most numerous and exciting. I 
 will narrate only a few of them, for to tell them all 
 would take a good-sized volume. 
 
 He was ordered one day to conduct a provision 
 train from Fort Leavenworth to Sedalia, Missouri, 
 and on the third day out suddenly a crowd of Con- 
 
WILD BILL HICKOK 241 
 
 federates surrounded the vehicles. liike cowards, all 
 of the men under Wild Bill surrendered without resist- 
 ance. With the famous gun fighter it was different. 
 
 This fearless man opened fire, single handed, and 
 turned his horse towards Kansas City to make a break 
 for freedom. Fifty of the Confederate horsemen fol- 
 lowed and soon there was a thrilling race for liberty. 
 
 For several miles the chase continued, while the 
 zip, zip of leaden bullets whizzed dangerously close 
 to the head of the retreating Wild Bill. Suddenly he 
 turned in his saddle and pulled the trigger of his pistol. 
 One of his pursuers fell from his horse. Another shot 
 and he had emptied a second saddle. Three more, 
 and he had stretched upon the sod as many more of 
 the most ambitious of his followers. Then, realizing 
 that this fugitive was no ordinary "Yank," the Con- 
 federates wheeled and withdrew. "By George," said 
 one, "that fellow can shoot straighter on horseback 
 than any one that I ever saw." 
 
 When Bill rode into Kansas City he found a con- 
 siderable force there. 
 
 "Come, men," he shouted, "my provision train 
 has just been captured, but with your assistance, 
 I can soon get it back again. To horse! and we'll show 
 these Johnny Rebs what the despised Yanks can do." 
 
 "Hurrah!" shouted the soldiers. "Lead us on, 
 Wild Bill, and we'll soon show these fellows that we 
 can ride and fight as well as they." 
 
 Immediately leaping upon their horses, two com- 
 panies of cavalry rode out with Wild Bill and hurried 
 back on the trail. Within fifteen miles of the place 
 
242 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 where the Confederates were first met, they were again 
 discovered and, speedily closing up, the Yankee cavalry- 
 men charged the enemy, with Wild Bill at their head. 
 "I've been dishonored by the loss of my train,'' he 
 had said. "Let me at them in the front rank." 
 
 The fight was a short one. Taken by surprise, 
 the Confederates speedily scattered, leaving the provi- 
 sion train in the hands of the Yankee soldiers. In 
 triumph Wild Bill conducted the wagons into Sedalia, 
 and here he was greeted with the loud cheers of the 
 Union sympathizers. "Bully for Wild Bill," they 
 cried. " He's a soldier who ought to command a cavalry 
 column. Hurrah for the Wild Man of the West!" 
 
 Shortly after this affair the famous battle of Pea 
 Ridge was fought (March 6th, 7th, and 8th, 1862) 
 between the Union commander Curtis and the Con- 
 federate chieftains Price and McCullogh. As the 
 battle commenced, a captain said to the well-known 
 marksman : 
 
 "Wild Bill, you are a fine shot. I need you as a 
 sharpshooter. Therefore, place yourself on that hill 
 overlooking Cross Timber Hollow and pick off all the 
 Confederates that you can, for we must win this 
 battle." 
 
 "All right," replied the frontiersman. "Give me 
 a chance and I'll show that I am a good sharpshooter." 
 
 Crawling to the protection of a large log, Wild Bill 
 soon began to fire at the enemy. For four hours he 
 lay in this place, shooting repeatedly at the men in 
 gray, and soon the Confederates realized that they had 
 a skilled marksman against them. By actual count 
 
WILD BILL HICKOK 243 
 
 this famous shot killed thirty-five of the enemy, in- 
 cluding General McCullogh. 
 
 "This sharpshooter behind that log is getting en- 
 tirely too active/' cried a Confederate general. " Charge 
 up that hill and dislodge the man!" 
 
 The skirmishers in gray were only too willing to 
 make a rush for this fellow with the accurate aim. 
 With a wild cheer they began to charge up the hill 
 where Wild Bill was crouching behind the protecting 
 log. They fired as they ran, and so rapidly that the 
 log in front of Wild Bill soon looked like a pepper box. 
 It seemed as if the sharpshooter would easily be captured. 
 
 "To the rescue of Wild Bill,'' cried a Yankee lieu- 
 tenant, at this juncture. "Let us save our comrade!" 
 
 As he ceased, a hundred men followed him and, 
 charging from the rear of Wild Bill's position, were 
 soon in a desperate hand-to-hand struggle with the 
 advancing Confederates. The fight was desperate, 
 but in the melee Wild Bill withdrew with his own 
 men, and thus safely escaped into the Union lines. 
 
 Shortly after this affair. General Curtis sent for the 
 accurate marksman, and said to him: 
 
 " Wild Bill, you are a good shot and a reliable man. 
 For this reason I am going to send you into the Con- 
 federate lines as a spy. I want to know the intentions 
 of the Confederate general, and also how many men 
 he has with him. Here is a fine horse. Use him and 
 bring me the news which I wish to know." 
 
 "All right," replied the willing frontiersman, and 
 it was not many hours before he was making a wide 
 detour around the Confederate army. 
 
244 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 Assuming the name of Bill Barnes, Wild Bill rode 
 through Kansas and Indian Territory, entered Ark- 
 ansas, and enlisted in a Confederate company of 
 mounted rangers. General Price had joined General 
 Shelby with a huge force, and between them they 
 hoped to crush the advancing Unionists. The riders 
 whom Wild Bill had joined soon took up a position on 
 the left flank of General Price's troops on Elk River, 
 where it was decided to make a stand against General 
 Curtis, who was rapidly moving forward. Most for- 
 tunately for the spy, he was appointed orderly to 
 General Price, himself. 
 
 It was not long before the pickets of both armies 
 had begun skirmishing and, separated by only a nar- 
 row creek, lay ready to grapple in the deadly embrace 
 of a battle. Wild Bill grew anxious, for he knew that 
 General Curtis was expecting to hear from him. "I 
 must reach the Union lines,'' said he, "before this 
 battle takes place, and must give my general the valu- 
 able information that I have gathered." 
 
 Next morning fortune favored this desperate and 
 daring adventurer. General Price called him to his 
 headquarters, giving him some dispatches to deliver 
 to General Shelby. It was the moment for which he 
 had waited, and he determined to ride into the Union 
 lines. 
 
 In his own company was a large, lean desperado 
 from Arkansas, called Jake Lawson, who was very 
 proud of boasting of his own courage and ability to 
 shoot with both rifle and revolver. Wild Bill deter- 
 mined to test the mettle of this boaster, so he called 
 
WILD BILL HICKOK 245 
 
 his men together and, addressing Lawson, said in 
 loud tones: 
 
 "See here, Jake, let's have some fun. These men 
 in our company have never been under fire, so sup- 
 pose you and I give them a little example of real pluck 
 in order to encourage them for tomorrow's battle." 
 
 "Well! Well!" replied Lawson. "What do you 
 want to do now? Do you want to have a fight with 
 me?" 
 
 "Oh, no," Bill answered, smiling, "nothing as bad 
 as that. But I'll test your courage with a less dangerous 
 experiment. I'll wager my horse against yours that 
 I can ride closer to the enemy's line than you, yourself, 
 can." 
 
 Lawson looked at Wild Bill for a moment, and 
 then walked into his tent, sa5dng: 
 
 "Pooh! Pooh! That's a fool proposition." But 
 a laugh from the other members of the company brought 
 him out again. 
 
 "What's the matter with your nerve?" asked Bill. 
 "You aren't afraid, are you, Jake?" 
 
 "No! I'm not afeerd," Lawson replied, "but 
 what's the use of trying such nonsense?" 
 
 "None at all," answered the challenger. "If you 
 haven't got the sand to accept the challenge, why, step 
 out and admit yourself to be a coward. I wanted to 
 see the real color of your character, that's all." 
 
 At this reply, all of the rangers began to laugh, 
 and several made the remark that Jake Lawson was a 
 pretty poor sort of a soldier. This nettled the rough 
 fellow and, taking his horse from the picket line, he 
 
246 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 soon rode up to Wild Bill and started to gallop towards 
 the Union lines. 
 
 "Come on!" cried Wild Bill as, putting spurs to 
 his mount, he dashed down the creek which lay be- 
 tween the two armies, with Lawson beside him. 
 
 As soon as the Union pickets saw the two riders 
 coming towards their line they began to fire. The 
 Confederate pickets replied and, as the two men gal- 
 loped forward, the bullets fairly hailed about their 
 heads. Wild Bill pressed to the bank of the creek, 
 and then cried out in a loud voice, 
 
 "Yanks! Hold your fire! I'm Wild Bill trying 
 to get into my own lines and back to my own friends!'' 
 
 As these words rang out, his companion realized 
 that he was riding with one of the well-known scouts 
 of the West, and its best marksman and gun fighter. 
 
 "Here!" he cried. "You must stop and come 
 back with me to our own lines." 
 
 As he spoke, he drew his pistol. But he was too 
 late for the lightning fingers of the ever-ready Wild 
 Bill. In a second this remarkable gun fighter had 
 drawn his own pistol, levelled it at the head of the 
 Confederate, and had fired. The man in gray instantly 
 fell into the water and, as he slipped from the back of 
 his steed, the reins of the galloping and frightened 
 animal were seized by the nimble-fingered Wild Bill. 
 Bullets zipped around the head of the spy in furious 
 volleys but, spurring on his willing steed, the des- 
 perate man pressed on towards the other shore, where 
 he could hear the wild cheers of his own friends. In 
 a few moments he was scrambling up the bank, while 
 
WILD BILL HICKOK 247 
 
 his companions-in-arms were rapidly firing at the 
 Confederate pickets. His fearless feat had met with 
 perfect success. 
 
 The dispatches were placed in the hands of General 
 Curtis, and they were so valuable that it led to a re- 
 disposition of the Union force and retreat of the Con- 
 federates, without a battle. Exciting enough, you 
 say, but this was not the only adventure of the re- 
 markable spy. A short time afterwards he was again 
 sent into the Confederate lines and had an experience 
 that was far more thrilling than this hair-breadth 
 escape. 
 
 "I want you to go and see what the Confederates 
 are doing,'' said General Curtis to him, not long after- 
 wards. "Stay as long as you like, but be sure and 
 bring me accurate information.'^ 
 
 "General," replied Wild Bill, "I shall bring you 
 all that you wish for." 
 
 That night he started south, making a wide detour 
 around the Southern army. Finding a stray jackass 
 he mounted him, and dressing himself like a tattered 
 farmer approached the Confederate forces. With an 
 old shotgun over one shoulder, he ambled along to 
 Pine Bluff, where a division of Van Dorn's army was 
 stationed. He trotted among the troops, then, finding 
 headquarters, rode up and presented himself to a re- 
 cruiting sergeant. 
 
 "Well, sir," cried the Confederate, as he burst into 
 laughter, " where the deuce did you blow in from?" 
 
 Bill scratched his head. "I've got a leetle cabin 
 up heah in the Ozarks whar I've been a-livin' with this 
 
248 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 heah jackass an' Billy Bowlegs fer nigh on ter tli' las' 
 twenty year/' he drawled. 
 
 "Ah, ha!" said the sergeant. "And who may 
 Bowlegs be, my fine scarecrow?" 
 
 Wild Bill smiled broadly. "Why, look ahere, 
 Mister," he answered. "Ain't ye never heard o' 
 Billy Bowlegs, th' greatest wildcat an' bear killer in 
 th' whole uv Arkinsaw? Billy Bowlegs is my yaller 
 dawg, an' th' finest dawg, by gum, in th' hull of this 
 kentry. Ef you'd seen him tackle a catermount upon 
 Huckleberry Hill two weeks ergo — a catermount 
 bigger'n my jackass — you'd hev bet th' last dollar 
 in yer purse thet he could whip anything thet ever 
 wore hair or gnawed er bone. You see, sergint, the 
 neighborhood's been a-losin' lots o' pigs an' calves for 
 a long time, though pigs an' calves be scarce articles 
 on th' hill, an' 
 
 "Well, never mind that cur of yours," the sergeant 
 growled. "We've no time, now, to listen to your 
 palaver about yellow curs, even though yours may be 
 the best scrapper in all of this here country. We want 
 men just now, who can fight just like your dog. Do 
 you think that you could fight like this here Billy 
 Bowlegs, especially if we should set you on a drove of 
 Yankees?" 
 
 "I think I mought," drawled Wild Bill, "specially 
 ef you'll furnish me with ammernition. I've got plenty 
 uv percussion caps jist now, but my powder an' shot 
 hez run durned low." 
 
 At this remark, all broke into loud laughter. But 
 Bill stood with his mouth wide open and his arms 
 
WILD BILL HICKOK 249 
 
 hanging carelessly by his side, as if he didn't have 
 sense enough to come indoors when it rained. 
 
 "Why, —you confounded idiot," shouted the ser- 
 geant, at last. "You don't suppose that our soldiers 
 fight with shotguns like that antiquated piece of yours, 
 do you?" 
 
 Wild Bill opened his eyes in apparent wonder. 
 "Of course I do," said he. "Ain't shotguns better'n 
 squirrel rifles by a durned sight?" 
 
 "Ha! ha!" laughed the soldier. "You're a poor 
 sort of a fellow, but I'll enlist you. What's your name?" 
 "Ozark Pete." 
 
 "All right, you can begin to learn the manual of 
 arms and can try to be a soldier, although I have small 
 hopes of ever making you one." 
 
 So Bill was appointed to Company I, under a Cap- 
 tain Leverson. 
 
 The Confederates soon moved towards the army 
 under General Curtis and Bill continued to amuse the 
 soldiers with his eccentric remarks. But, unfortun- 
 ately for him, there was a corporal in a nearby com- 
 pany who began to suspect the real character of the 
 would-be Confederate. Finally this fellow became 
 satisfied that the tattered recruit was no other than 
 Wild Bill, the famous gun fighter and spy. He re- 
 ported his discovery to his conmianding ofl^cer and, 
 when near the Union army, Bill was surrounded by 
 twelve men who soon disarmed and bound him. "I 
 reckon that I am caught this time," said Wild Bill 
 to himself, "but being lucky I may yet get out." 
 Next morning the captured spy was tried by court 
 
250 FMIOUS SCOUTS 
 
 martial and sentenced to be shot in a few days. He 
 was seized; his arms were securely bound, and he was 
 taken to a small log hut where a guard was stationed 
 to watch him closely as they knew that he was a keen 
 and cunning man. ''I'll get out of this, yet,'' said 
 Wild Bill to himself. "See if I don't. There's only 
 one man watching me and I'll soon fix him." 
 
 That night a dreadful rain storm arose and Bill's 
 guard, overcome by the fatigue of the long day's march, 
 sat down and soon fell into a doze. It was the op- 
 portunity for which Bill had long waited. Anxiously 
 he gazed about for something with which to loosen the 
 ropes which were tied about his hands. At three in 
 the morning he saw, protruding from the side of the 
 hut, a rough piece of iron to which a lantern had been 
 attached. He crept towards it, and, rubbing the rope 
 across the iron, soon loosened it considerably. With 
 beating heart he worked on, and finally the cords 
 snapped, — he was free! 
 
 He did not stop for a moment. Seizing the old 
 piece of metal, he crept upon the slumbering guards- 
 man and, leaping upon him like a panther, had soon 
 knocked him senseless with one quick blow. Quickly 
 stripping the prostrate figure of its coat and hat, he 
 grabbed his musket and cartridge box and, stealing 
 out into the darkness, soon wormed a way through the 
 Confederate pickets to the army of General Curtis. 
 He was received with shouts of welcome, while the 
 cries of "Long live Wild Bill!" came to the ears of the 
 furthermost Southern pickets, warning them that the 
 keenest scout in the Yankee army had again given 
 
WILD BILL HICKOK 251 
 
 them the slip. "That there feller is leagued with the 
 Devil, himself/' said many of Van Dorn's men. "It 
 is impossible to capture and keep such a human eel.'' 
 
 Shortly after this General Curtis again asked Bill 
 to enter the Confederate lines, but the now famous 
 scout refused. 
 
 "General," he said, "I've been there twice and 
 many of the Rebs know me. I'll scout for you all 
 you want but I'll never enter the lines agin. It means 
 sure death for me, and I want to live awhile yet." 
 
 General Curtis did not insist upon another spying 
 expedition and was soon busy in driving Price and 
 Shelby out of Missouri, establishing himself at Fort 
 Leavenworth, and watching the swarms of guerillas 
 who continued to harass his wagon trains. He was 
 thus engaged, when in February a chief called Man- 
 to-yu-kee (Conquering Bear), one of the subchiefs 
 among the Sioux Indians, came to the fort and said, 
 "Five hundred Choctaw warriors are camped ten miles 
 west of Lawrence, on the Kaw River. You must 
 look out, or they will attack and massaore the whites." 
 
 General Curtis, naturally, was alarmed, and send- 
 ing for Wild Bill, asked, 
 
 "What course of action would you advise? You 
 are well acquainted with the Indians and their ways." 
 
 "The Indian is a mighty uncertain animal," replied 
 the scout. "Those who profess the greatest friend- 
 ship are frequently the most deadly enemies to the 
 whites. I'll tell you my own idea. You send me 
 back to the Sioux camp with this chief, and, before I 
 return, you can depend upon it that I will know how 
 
252 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 many Choctaws are near Lawrence, and what they 
 are up to. If I'm not back here in four days, just put 
 it down that I have dropped my scalp." 
 
 "I think that you are risking your hfe, unless you 
 take two or three hundred men with you," said Curtis. 
 "If you need an escort, I can let you have it." 
 
 "I don't want any one," answered Bill. "I will 
 go with Conquering Bear and, if he deceives me, then 
 he will meet with trouble. I will leave tomorrow 
 on my horse Black Nell." 
 
 "I hope for your safe return but I doubt it," said 
 General Curtis as he turned away. 
 
 As Bill jogged on with Conquering Bear, he turned 
 to his red companion, saying: 
 
 "I shall go with you directly to your people. I 
 shall expect you to guide me to the hostile camp, but 
 remember, if you deceive me in the slightest way, 
 one of us will have to die." 
 
 "It shall be as you say, pale face," grunted Con- 
 quering Bear. 
 
 On the following day, the two travellers reached 
 the camp of the Choctaws, and, passing through it in 
 order to see another small camp, they rode on until 
 twilight. Just as it became fairly dark. Conquering 
 Bear gave a wild war-whoop, and, as he concluded, 
 a large force of redskins rushed in upon Wild Bill from 
 every side. He had been ambuscaded. 
 
 But luck was ever with the famous plainsman, 
 and it grew very dark, so dark that the red men ran 
 into each other by mistake. It was just what the scout 
 wished for and, giving the Indian whoop and other 
 
WILD BILL HICKOK 253 
 
 redskin signals, which he well knew, he succeeded in 
 eluding his pursuers and in galloping off in the dark- 
 ness upon his faithful mare. In four days' time he 
 was back in the camp of General Curtis. 
 
 "I want leave of absence for a week," said he. 
 ''I'm going to get even with that rascally Conquering 
 Bear, or die in the attempt.'' 
 
 "You can go," remarked the general, smiling. 
 
 Not many days later. Bill reached Lawrence, Kan- 
 sas, and began to make active endeavors to get a per- 
 sonal meeting with the traitorous Conquering Bear. 
 As he could speak the Sioux language he soon found a 
 young warrior from the tribe of the enemy, whom he 
 treated liberally to food and drink, and got him to take 
 a message to the chief, which read: 
 
 "Meet me two miles from the village and I will 
 give you a present. I want to talk with you. 
 
 Musqua — a Friend." 
 
 Word came back that Conquering Bear would be 
 present, and the vengeful scout was overjoyed. 
 
 Setting out for the meeting place, Wild Bill hid in 
 the thicket and, at the time appointed, was much over- 
 joyed to see the approach of his enemy. When the red 
 man was within six paces, the frontiersman leaped 
 from his hiding place and, as tlie chief saw who con- 
 fronted him, his face assumed an expression of abject 
 fear. He drew back, as if to run away. 
 
 "Stop!" shouted Wild Bill in the Sioux language. 
 "You must fight me," and, drawing two pistols from 
 his belt, he threw one to the redskin. 
 
 Conquering Bear had regained his composure. 
 
254 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 "I no fight with pistols/' said he. "Give me the big 
 knife." 
 
 In a second the scout had tossed him a bowie 
 knife. "Come on!" he cried, "fight me in this circle," 
 and, leaning down, he drew a ring ten feet in diameter, 
 in the leaves. The Indian watched him and did not 
 stir. 
 
 "Here, you coward!" again shouted the scout, 
 ''unless you give me satisfaction for your traitorous 
 conduct when you had me in your power, I will shoot 
 you down without a qualm of conscience!" 
 
 This roused the red man and, leaping inside the 
 imaginary circle with his knife in his right hand, he 
 made a savage lunge at the irate soldier-of-fortune. 
 The scout dodged the blow and seized his opponent 
 by the waist, winding his leg about him as he did so. 
 Each kept the knife of the other from making a thrust, 
 and thus — in deadly embrace — they struggled back 
 and forth in a circle. Suddenly Wild Bill made a 
 savage lunge and cut the redskin in the back, while 
 the Indian struck him in the shoulder, opening a deep 
 and dangerous gash. Both struggled desperately. The 
 red man was weakening fast and, realizing that he must 
 make one quick blow to dispatch his antagonist, he 
 aimed a last, despairing thrust at the frontiersman. 
 It was skillfully parried. In a second the dexterous 
 arm of the ranger had driven his own blade into the 
 neck of the Indian. With a convulsive twinge, the 
 redskin fell upon his face, burying his tightly clutched 
 knife in the ground to the hilt. 
 
 The young Indian boy immediately ran to the 
 
WILD BILL HICKOK 255 
 
 bleeding scout and bandaged his wounds in order to 
 stop the flow of blood. Supporting the weakened 
 frontiersman, the youth now staggered back to Law- 
 rence, where Bill engaged a wagon to carry him to a 
 physician. The Indian boy was now paid a handsome 
 sum, and he was taken to Kansas City by the weakened 
 fighter, who gave him many presents before he finally 
 sent him back to the Sioux reservation on the Niobrara 
 River. The daring plainsman's wound was a bad 
 one and, for years afterwards, he suffered great pain 
 and annoyance from it. 
 
 The remaining days of Wild Bill's life were filled 
 with hazardous events and personal encounters which 
 the average person will scarcely believe. One must 
 remember that the country in which this famous shot 
 resided was filled with lawless characters who would 
 shoot upon the slightest provocation. A man had to 
 use the pistol as a means of self-protection and, al- 
 though not of a quarrelsome disposition, Wild Bill 
 was in many serious affairs. 
 
 After a successful duel with a man named Tutt, 
 he went trapping in Nebraska and, having reached 
 the little town of Jefferson one day, entered a restau- 
 rant where he found a number of cowboys who had 
 just been paid off. 
 
 "See here, stranger, what air you doin' in these 
 here diggins?" said a stout fellow in buckskin. 
 
 "Yes," shouted another. "You've got to treat 
 all of us afore you go away." 
 
 As he spoke, Wild Bill was in the act of drinking 
 some wine, and raising the glass to his lips. At this 
 
256 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 particular moment, a herder gave him a shove, so that 
 he fell forward and the liquid was splashed over his 
 face. Without uttering a word, the incensed frontiers- 
 man wheeled around and struck the fellow a blow 
 which sent him senseless into a corner. 
 
 "You've got to fight, now/' yelled the herders, 
 in unison. 
 
 Bill was apparently delighted. "All right," he 
 cried. " Til fight all four of you at either five or fifteen 
 paces.'' 
 
 " Come on," cried one of the men. " The restaurant 
 keeper will mark off the proper distance." 
 
 In a few moments all were outside, standing fifteen 
 paces from each other. 
 
 "Are you ready?" cried the umpire. "One, two, 
 three. Fire!" 
 
 Before the last word had died on his lips. Wild 
 Bill's revolver had spoken. He had killed the man 
 on his left. But, as he fired, so did the cowboys. 
 Crack! spoke their eager guns and the daring scout 
 felt a twinge of pain in his right shoulder. His arm 
 dropped uselessly to his side. 
 
 In an instant Bill's revolver was shifted to his 
 other hand, and he dropped the three remaining cow- 
 boys with three accurate shots. Two only were 
 killed outright. One was struck in the jaw^ but, in 
 1878, was still living in Kansas City, where he often 
 spoke with awe of the wonderful shooting ability of 
 the lightning-fingered Wild Bill. 
 
 In spite of this victory, the remarkable feat gave 
 Bill entirely too much prominence for his own liking. 
 
WILD BILL HICKOK 257 
 
 so he moved further west and joined an expedition 
 of United States troops against the Cheyennes, under 
 Black Kettle, which was led by General Custer.* He 
 was present at the battle of the Wichita, and, not long 
 afterwards, was appointed sheriff of Hays City, one of 
 the liveliest and most lawless towns upon the frontier. 
 Here he was in many shooting scrapes, where his re- 
 markable quickness with the pistol was always able 
 to make him winner of any exchange of bullets. And 
 these affairs were of daily occurrence. 
 
 Directly after his appointment, he was called upon 
 to put out of the way one of the most noted desperadoes 
 on the border — Jack Strawhan — who had shot half 
 a dozen men and who openly boasted that he could 
 "clean out'' the newly appointed marshal of Hays 
 City. Learning that Wild Bill was in town, the noted 
 bandit paid a special visit to that place, stating that 
 he would soon "shoot up Mister Wild Bill/' — a boast 
 which reached the ears of his intended victim in a very 
 few hours. "I'm ready for him at any moment," 
 said the famous gunfighter. 
 
 It was the nineteenth day of October, 1869. As 
 Wild Bill, the town marshal, leaned against the long 
 bar in Tommy Drum's restaurant, his keen eye saw 
 the burly form of Strawhan as he entered the room 
 by a side door. The marshal of Hays City apparently 
 took no notice of his enemy but, out of the corner of 
 his quick eye, he watched every movement of his boast- 
 ful antagonist. 
 
 Strawhan walked carelessly towards the bar in an 
 
 *See "Famous Cavalry Leaders." 
 
258 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 indifferent manner. When within ten feet of his rival, 
 he halted. Bill did not move, but that ever watchful 
 eye of his was on the figure of the crafty desperado. 
 A second more, and Strawhan jerked a heavy pistol 
 from his hip pocket and raised it in the direction of 
 the marshal. Crack! The town bully was seen to 
 reel and fall and, as the startled bystanders gazed at 
 Wild Bill, they saw that he had instantaneously drawn 
 a small derringer from his pocket, the bullet from which 
 had entered the right eye of the vindictive Strawhan. 
 Without paying the slightest attention to the dying 
 man, Bill cried out, "Step up, boys, it's my turn to 
 treat! Come on! None of you can refuse the invita- 
 tion of the marshal!'' And no one did. 
 
 But Wild Bill's tenure of office was to be short. 
 A fight with some soldiers, shortly afterwards, made 
 him so unpopular that he was forced to fly from Hays 
 City for other parts. Not many weeks later he was 
 appointed marshal of Abilene, Kansas, a town full of 
 gamblers, toughs, and desperadoes of all kinds. His 
 encounters here were numerous, but owing to his 
 quickness with the pistol he came unscratched through 
 every trial of arms, and was soon respected by all the 
 rougher element of the place. 
 
 America has had many marksmen, but there can 
 be no question that Wild Bill was the most expert 
 pistol shot which that country, or any other, ever 
 produced. He was gifted by nature with steady nerves 
 and a quick eye, and his natural ability to use the rifle 
 and revolver with great accuracy was improved by 
 years of persistent practice. 
 
WILD BILL HICKOK 259 
 
 Among the great number of fancy shots which this 
 wonderful scout was accustomed to make in order to 
 amuse his friends, was one of driving the cork through 
 the neck of a bottle, and knocking the bottom out 
 without breaking the neck itself. This shot was made 
 at a distance of thirty paces (90 feet) and it is said 
 by contemporaries that he never missed. In order 
 to make a little money he would often get up a shooting 
 match and then take bets of from one to ten dollars 
 that he could shoot a hole through a silver dime at the 
 distance of ten paces, — thirty feet. This was ap- 
 parently so impossible that there was seldom any dif- 
 ficulty in getting his friends to make wagers, until he 
 proved that he could hit the mark nine times out of 
 ten. The money was always placed so that the sun's 
 rays would strike the surface, thus presenting a bril- 
 liant and shining target. 
 
 A writer says: ^'At his request, one day, in order 
 to prove his ability at shooting, I tossed a tomato can 
 about fifteen feet into the air, both of Wild Bill's pistols 
 being in his belt when it left my hand. He drew one 
 of them and fired two bullets through the tin before 
 it struck the ground. Then he followed it along, 
 firing as he went until both weapons were empty. 
 You have heard the expression, 'quick as lightning.' 
 Well,— that will describe Wild BUI." 
 
 When in Cheyenne, Wyoming, after his tenure of 
 office at Abilene had expired, a rough-looking fellow 
 named Cole turned up, who told some of the towns- 
 people, "I've come one thousand miles to kill Wild 
 Bill. I'll lay for him, for he shot my brother. When 
 
260 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 he comes to town well see who's handiest with their 
 pistols.'' 
 
 Bill was told of this remark and was ready. One 
 day, as he was sitting in a restaurant, his attention was 
 diverted by two strangers who entered and walked 
 heavily about the place, casting evil glances at the 
 scout. Instantly the ex-marshal recognized a similarity 
 between the stranger's features and those of the man 
 whom he had been forced to put out of the way at 
 Abilene, and he realized that he was in danger, for his 
 only weapon was a small, double-barrelled pistol which 
 had been presented to him by his friend Buffalo Bill. 
 It held but a single cartridge. 
 
 A large looking-glass was in front and, as Bill gazed 
 at it, he could see the features of the two men and 
 could keep himself prepared for an emergency. By 
 a preconcerted signal, the strangers turned and drew 
 their pistols at the same instant, but Bill was too quick 
 for them. With the one shot which his revolver held, 
 he killed Cole, and threw his empty pistol with such 
 force in the face of the second enemy that he knocked 
 the fellow's hands up into the air. Then, leaping 
 forward, he threw his leg around the tottering man, 
 tripping him up and shoving him backwards with such 
 force that he was knocked unconscious, and the des- 
 perate situation had passed. Bill was arrested but 
 released on a verdict of "self-defense." 
 
 This was but one of many gun-fighting encounters 
 of almost monthly occurrence. It is only natural, 
 then, that such a daring, bold, adventurous and reckless 
 man should come to a tragic end. This was inevitable. 
 
WILD BILL HICKOK 261 
 
 Attracted by the finding of gold in Dakota, Bill 
 moved to Deadwood in 1876, in order to prospect for 
 the yellow metal. While here, he whiled away his 
 idle moments in games of poker and, upon one oc- 
 casion, won a great deal of money from a miner called 
 Jack McCall. On the day following this fortunate 
 affair, the famous scout was seated at a table playing 
 cards with three companions, when McCall entered 
 the room and, sneaking behind him, fired a pistol 
 close to his head. The hero of a hundred battles with 
 the revolver fell forward — dead — while the sneak- 
 ing murderer was soon captured, tried, and hung. So 
 fell the most celebrated gun fighter of the wild and 
 careless days of the opening of the West. He died as 
 all expected that he would, by the shot of an enemy. 
 
 In the pine-clad hills near the rough little town, 
 faithful companions buried the form of this daring 
 man of the plains and, upon a marble headstone, 
 carved the following touching inscription: 
 
 "Wild Bill (J. B. Hickok) 
 
 "Killed by the assassin, Jack McCall, in Deadwood, 
 
 August 2nd, 1876. Pard, we will meet again in the 
 
 Happy Hunting Grounds, to part no more. Good-bye. 
 
 "Colorado Charley.^' 
 
 The papers were filled with accounts of his life 
 and numerous desperate encounters; while a poem, 
 written by the poet scout — Captain Jack Crawford — 
 was freely circulated and much admired by the rough 
 friends of this adventurous scout, Indian fighter, and 
 frontiersman. Here it is. It is a true song of the West : 
 
262 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 WILD BILL'S GRAVE. 
 By His Pard; Captain Jack. 
 
 On the side of the hill between Whitewood and Dead- 
 wood, 
 
 At the foot of a pine stump, there lies a lone grave, 
 Environed with rocks, and with pine trees and redwood, 
 
 Where the wild roses bloom o'er the breast of the brave. 
 
 A mantle of brushwood the greensward encloses; 
 
 The green boughs are waving far up overhead; 
 While, under the sod and the flow'rets, reposes 
 
 The brave and the dead. 
 
 Did I know him in life? Yes, as brother knows brother, 
 I knew him and loved him — 'twas all I could give. 
 
 My love. But the fact is, we loved one another. 
 And either would die that the other might live. 
 
 Rough in his ways? Yes, but kind and good hearted; 
 
 There wasn't a flaw in the heart of Wild Bill, 
 And well I remember the day that he started 
 
 That graveyard on top of the hill. 
 
 A good scout? I reckon there wasn't his equal. 
 
 Both Fremont and Custer could vouch for that fact. 
 
 Quick as chain-lightning with rifle or pistol — 
 And Custer said, " Bill never hacked!'^ 
 
 He called me his " kid" — Buffalo Bill was his " boy" — 
 And, in fact, he knew more than us both: 
 
WILD BILL HICKOK 263 
 
 And, though we have shared both in sorrow and joy, 
 He spoke nary an oath. 
 
 And now let me show you the good that was in him — 
 The letters he wrote to his Agnes — his wife. 
 
 Wliy, a look or a smile, one kind word could win him. 
 Hear part of this letter — the last of his life: 
 
 "Agnes Darling: If such should be that we never 
 meet again, while firing my last shot I will gently 
 breathe the name of my wife — my Agnes — and, with 
 a kind wish even for my enemies, I will make the plunge 
 and try to swim to the other shore.'' 
 
 Oh, charity! come fling your mantle about him, 
 Judge him not harshly — he sleeps 'neath the sod; 
 
 Custer, brave Custer! was lonely without him, 
 Even with God. 
 
CAPTAIN D. L. PAYNE: THE CIMARRON 
 SCOUT 
 
 IN the year 1870 a tall, stalwart frontiersman 
 was walking down the main street of a small 
 town in the territory of Oklahoma. As he 
 strode along, a Cheyenne warrior, who was slouching 
 in a doorway, turned to another redskin, saying: 
 
 "Ugh! You look out for him. Him Cimarron 
 scout. Him Big Thunder with the shooting stick!'' 
 
 The other warrior gazed at the strong figure, and 
 scowled, for the red man bore no love to Captain D. L. 
 Payne, the Cimarron scout. "Ugh!" said he. "We 
 get him yet." 
 
 Through the vast stretches of wild country in the 
 southwestern portion of the then undeveloped West 
 ran the river Cimarron. Near by were the homes of 
 the Cheyennes, Arapahoes, Kiowas and Navajoes. These 
 redskins were jealous of the advancing hordes of white 
 men and were determined to stop their immigration into 
 the fertile country of the Southwest. It was a wide, 
 rolling, and vastly fruitful land, and, in the fierce bat- 
 tling of the frontier for the possession of it, no man 
 took a more active part than Captain D. L. Payne, 
 the Cimarron scout, and leader of the advance guard 
 of white ci^^lization. 
 
 This frontier hero fought through the Civil War 
 with distinction, and — when it was over — could 
 
 264 
 
CAPTAIN D. L. PAYNE. 
 
THE CIMARRON SCOUT 265 
 
 not settle down to the prosaic life in the East. In- 
 stead of peace and quiet he wanted excitement; so he 
 moved to the Kansas frontier where there was plenty 
 of it, for the redskins were continually on the war- 
 path and men had to be quick with the rifle, the revolver, 
 and the dirk. 
 
 In the spring of 1868 this hardy scout was idly 
 sauntering about the streets of Jules City, when a 
 cowboy dashed madly into the town with his horse 
 flecked with foam. ^^ Cimarron ^^ Payne eagerly gazed 
 at him and asked him what was the matter. 
 
 "Matter,'' answered the rider. "Matter enough! 
 The northern Cheyennes imder Tall Bull have made a 
 raid along the Republican River. All the settlers 
 have been massacred who had any ranches in that 
 section. Two women have been carried off by them 
 into captivity. We need every white man in this 
 section to join us in punishing th' red varmints." 
 
 "I'm with you," shouted the frontiersman. "Just 
 wait until I get my horse, my rifle, and my pack. If 
 it's going to be a long campaign, so much the better. 
 Work is slack with me now and I welcome the oppor- 
 tunity to have another brush with the redskins." 
 
 The cowboy rode on through the village spreading 
 the alarm, and soon every able-bodied man in the 
 community was making ready to chase the blood- 
 thirsty Indians. 
 
 As luck would have it General Custer was command- 
 ing a number of government troops in southern Kansas 
 at this time. He was anxious to go in pursuit of the 
 redskins. But, before he could take any definite action 
 
266 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 the governor of Kansas sent for Captain Payne to ask 
 his advice about chasing the marauders. 
 
 "Captain," said the governor, "what would be your 
 advice in this matter? The redskins are strong and 
 well armed.'' 
 
 "I would advise the raising of two or three com- 
 panies of volunteers who should place themselves 
 under the command of General Custer. These should 
 be assisted by the government troops.'' 
 
 "I understand that the Indians are strong." 
 
 "Yes. The northern Cheyennes have joined with 
 their southern brethren, and by this union there are 
 fully one thousand warriors prepared for any move- 
 ment which we may undertake." 
 
 The governor looked grave. 
 
 "I will give you orders to enlist from one to two 
 hundred men," said he. "Report to General Custer 
 at Fort Hays. You can go to Fort Leavenworth and 
 get the necessary men and ammunition. I know that 
 you will have success. Good-bye." 
 
 The Cimarron scout was not long in going to Leaven- 
 worth. In two days' time he had raised a volunteer 
 force of one hundred and fifty men. He also collected 
 one hundred and seventy-five head of mules for the 
 expedition. The volunteers were all men who were 
 skilled in the use of the rifle and revolver and they 
 were eager to reach the scene of conflict, for many had 
 lost friends and relatives in the recent raid. Payne 
 was elected captain, and, taking his force to Fort 
 Hays, on November 20th, the entire command was 
 mounted and started for the land of the redskins. 
 
THE CIMARRON SCOUT 267 
 
 Custer's soldiers joined them, and, with determination 
 and vigor, the band of avengers started for the rippling 
 waters of the Cimarron, along the banks of which it 
 was reported that the Indians had hidden themselves. 
 Governor Crawford, himself, was along, having resigned 
 his position as governor of Kansas in order to take 
 part in this campaign. He meant business. 
 
 Things did not go any too smoothly with the mem- 
 bers of the expedition. Winter was soon upon them 
 with bitter rigor. When the soldiers struck the lower 
 ridge of the Wichita range and the canon of the Cimar- 
 ron, the snow rapidly accumulated and a large number 
 of the horses and mules died of exposure. In spite 
 of the bitter cold, the command, which numbered 
 about twelve hundred men, continued to manoeuvre 
 in the Indian territory until February. Then, finding 
 it impossible to go further in the snow, the soldiers 
 went into camp at a frontier fort for a week. No 
 Indians had been seen, nor had their tracks been sighted. 
 
 "Here, Captain Payne,'' said Custer to the famous 
 scout, " I want you to take twelve men and look for 
 Indian sign. When you find it, come in and report." 
 
 "All right," answered the scout, and in a few hours 
 he had selected his men and had left for the South- 
 west. 
 
 In a week the sun-tanned frontiersman rode into 
 the fort with news of the red men. "The Cheyennes 
 have gone towards the salt plains in New Mexico," 
 he reported. "It's a rough country but we must get 
 after them before they have too good a start." 
 
 The information created great excitement in the 
 
268 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 camp, and preparations were made for an immediate 
 move. On the twelfth of February the force started 
 in the direction of the fleeing Cheyennes, into a desert 
 spot — one of the most dreary wastes in all the South- 
 west. Purposely the Indians had chosen this desert 
 to retreat to, hoping to kill off their pursuers by nature's 
 forces, and they wellnigh succeeded. Many horses 
 died from thirst. Provisions grew scarce. Mules were 
 killed and eaten. For seven days the pursuit con- 
 tinued over this barren country. 
 
 Finally the banks of the Cimarron River were 
 reached and grass was secured for the half-dead pack 
 and saddle animals. Prairie chickens and wild turkeys 
 were here abundant, and a general hunt soon provis- 
 ioned the army for the time. The Indian trail was 
 fresher than ever. 
 
 On March 13th an advance scout rode hastily into 
 camp. 
 
 "The Cheyennes are camped ahead of us on the 
 Red River,'' said he. "They are many and their 
 tepees dot the plains." 
 
 "Get ready to attack, men," ordered General Custer. 
 "We will soon teach them not to massacre defenseless 
 settlers." 
 
 As the troops prepared themselves, suddenly a 
 number of redskins were seen approaching, and, holding 
 up their hands, showed that they wished to have a 
 parley. They soon came in. 
 
 "Ugh! Ugh!" said one — a head chief. "We are 
 ten chiefs of the Cheyennes. We would treat with 
 you without a fight. I am Roman Nose. Here are 
 
THE CIMARRON SCOUT 269 
 
 Lone Wolf, Cross Timber, Eagle Chief and Yellow 
 Nose/^ 
 
 "Come to camp with us," said Captain Payne, 
 who had ridden out to meet them. "Our chief-with- 
 the-yellow-hair would speak with you." 
 
 So they walked stolidly into camp. 
 
 When they arrived General Custer immediately 
 ordered them to be seized. 
 
 "Tell your waiting tribesmen that if you do not 
 give up the two white women whom you have with 
 you," said he to an Indian runner, "I will kill all ten 
 of your chiefs. Begone!" 
 
 The Indian soon brought back a message. 
 
 "We will return the two women prisoners," it ran. 
 "But they are not with us. They are at the Little 
 Robe camp, twelve miles below. We wish to drop 
 down to this camp tomorrow to get the prisoners, 
 and we will return on the day following. Can we not 
 go?'' 
 
 "Do not let them go,'* was the advice of Captain 
 Payne, the Cimarron scout. "They merely wish to 
 escape." 
 
 "I have ten of their chiefs," Custer replied. "As 
 long as I hold them they will not kill the women pris- 
 oners, nor attempt to get away. They can go." 
 
 But this action was so bitterly opposed by Custer's 
 men that there was nearly a mutiny. Several rode 
 forward to watch the redskins, and saw them pack 
 their baggage, squaws and children on sledges made 
 of long poles, and depart for the South. 
 
 "Better move after them," said Captain Payne, 
 
270 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 next day. " They are shifty critters, these Cheyennes.'' 
 
 "You're right," Custer rephed. "We'll follow them 
 and see what's up." So he gave orders for an im- 
 mediate pursuit. 
 
 When Little Robe was reached, not a redskin was 
 in sight. 
 
 "What did I tell you," said the Cimarron scout. 
 "Th' cunning Cheyennes have flown over the country 
 like a brood of quails. They're gone, and we ought 
 to have fought 'em when we could." 
 
 "We want the captive chiefs to be executed!" 
 shouted the soldiers and frontiersmen. "They've 
 broken their pledge to deliver over the women prisoners. 
 Death to the Cheyenne chiefs!" 
 
 But Custer and Captain Payne had influence enough 
 to prevent a massacre. And it was well, for, on the 
 day following, a number of scouts rode hastily into 
 camp, crying: 
 
 "Indians are lurking about us. They look like 
 Cheyennes. Seems as if they're trying to make out 
 what we have done with their chiefs." 
 
 General Custer's eyes shone brightly, as he spoke 
 to his men. "We'll make preparations to execute the 
 ten Cheyennes, at once," he shouted with vigor. "Tie 
 ropes around their necks and lead them to yonder tree. 
 We'll see what the rascally redskins will do when they 
 see from afar that their chiefs are going to be strung 
 up." 
 
 Acting upon his words, a platform was soon built 
 and placed beneath the tree, while a ring of soldiers 
 surrounded the captive chieftains, each with a noose 
 
THE CIMARRON SCOUT 271 
 
 around his neck. The strategy had the desired effect, 
 for, in a few moments, five redskins came galloping 
 up to camp. 
 
 "Ugh! Ugh!'' they grunted. "Do not kill our 
 brothers. We will give up the pale-face squaws. We 
 will have them here, quick.'' 
 
 "All right,'' replied Custer, "but they must be here 
 in two and one-half hours. If they are not here then, 
 your chiefs shall die." 
 
 The redskins rode off at full speed. "They will 
 soon come back," said the Cimarron scout, smiling. 
 
 He was right, for soon a long line of warriors w^as 
 seen coming down a defile in the mountains with Mrs. 
 Morgan and Miss White (the two captured white women) 
 in front, each with a buffalo robe about her. When the 
 red men came within a stone's throw of the camp, 
 four painted braves approached with the women. 
 Walking stolidly up to General Custer, they said: 
 
 "How! How! Chief-with-the-long-hair, here are 
 the pale face women. We have done as we prom- 
 ised." 
 
 The two women were so overjoyed to get out of the 
 hands of the cruel red men that they wept, for they 
 had been subjected to the most cruel indignities. 
 
 "Now that we have returned your women," said 
 the Indians, " return to us our chiefs." 
 
 "That I will not do," replied Custer, "until all 
 of your warriors come into the Reservation and leave 
 the warpath." 
 
 The Cheyennes made no answer, but, sullenly de- 
 parting, soon made off to the southward with their 
 
272 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 people. As they left they shook their fists at the 
 soldiers, saying, ''We will have revenge!'^ 
 
 ''They will join with Tall Bull,'' said a scout, "and 
 no doubt attack us in overwhelming numbers. We 
 must be prepared." 
 
 General Custer, himself, seemed to know the danger, 
 and, calling Captain Payne to him, said: 
 
 "Captain, we have got to send word to Fort 
 Hays at once. Some one must act as courier to notify 
 our friends of our position. Some one must tell the 
 home troops that we have taken the two women." 
 
 "You are right," replied the Cimarron scout. "The 
 sooner a messenger is dispatched, the better." 
 
 "Well, then," said the general, "you are the 
 very man to take the trip. You are thoroughly ac- 
 quainted with the country and I feel safe in entrusting 
 this important message to you.'' 
 
 "All right," cheerfully replied Captain Payne. 
 "I weigh two hundred and fifty pounds, but I think 
 that I can get through the encircling lines of red- 
 skins." 
 
 "You can take your pick of men and horses, and 
 start at once," advised Custer. "I think that you 
 will require about fifty men. With such a number 
 I have no fear of your getting through." 
 
 Payne scratched his head. "The fewer men I 
 have with me, the better," said he. "Fifty of the 
 best soldiers in the expedition couldn't make any 
 headway at fighting the hordes of Indians on the war- 
 path between here and Fort Hays. The men would 
 only make the trip more difficult." 
 
THE CIMARRON SCOUT 273 
 
 "Well, you shall have your own way/' laughingly 
 replied the general. "What men will you take?" 
 
 Captain Payne's mind was already made up. "I'll 
 take Jack Cowan and Charley Picard," said he. "And 
 my purpose is to leave this camp in about fifteen minutes. 
 Good-bye!" In fifteen minutes the Cimarron scout 
 and two companions had started across the wide sweep 
 of sage-covered prairie. In eighteen hours they had 
 marched one hundred and thirty miles and reached 
 Camp Supply. But there were few soldiers here, so 
 the three couriers had to push on to Fort Dodge. 
 
 Each riding a mule, and driving a pack animal 
 before him, (which was laden with over a thousand 
 rounds of ammunition, as a precaution in case of a 
 siege), the three daring couriers were soon on their 
 way. Shortly after dark, as they were clambering up 
 the hills of western Kansas, suddenly they found 
 themselves almost upon the camp of over a hundred 
 Kiowa braves — noted for their hostility to the white 
 men. 
 
 "Let's ride through the camp on a run," said Jack 
 Cowan. "We will see some fun, boys!" 
 
 "No," said the Cimarron scout. "We've got to 
 go easy and carry our message through to Fort Dodge. 
 I'd take a chance with you if our business wasn't 
 most important. We'll back off and go around the 
 camp." 
 
 So they got safely by. But next day, as they 
 were passing through some hills. Captain Payne made 
 an exclamation of astonishment. 
 
 "Followed, by gracious," said he. "There's one 
 
274 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 hundred and fifty redskins coming through the hills 
 on our trail.'' 
 
 "Let me look at 'em through the glasses," said 
 Scout Cowan. Then, as he gazed intently, he ex- 
 claimed, " Their faces are all painted up with war paint. 
 They mean business, sure." 
 
 "Ride to yonder ravine," cautioned the Cimarron 
 scout. "We can find good protection behind the 
 rocks. The redskins have only got bows and arrows. 
 We can hold 'em off in spite of their numbers." 
 
 Quickly hiding themselves among the rocks, the 
 three scouts awaited developments. The redskins 
 came after them at a good pace, and Cowan, unable 
 to restrain his impulsive nature, drew his rifle to his 
 shoulder to shoot at the leader. The bullet missed 
 the warrior, but struck his horse in the head. The 
 pony tumbled over and rolled down so near the three 
 scouts that their mules became frightened and tried 
 to get away. 
 
 Crack! Crack! went the rifles of the other two 
 scouts, while the redskins circled about them yelping 
 like coyotes and harmlessly firing their long arrows. 
 The fight continued for nearly two hours, and, because 
 of the accurate aim of the scouts, several of the red 
 men were shot and killed. The Indians were too cow- 
 ardly to charge the little party. 
 
 As the scouts fired at leisure, the redskins galloped 
 up on the off side of their horses, and, seizing their 
 dead comrades by the heels, rode off with them. Hav- 
 ing at last secured and taken away their slain, the 
 Kiowas divided, a body of about fifty crossing the 
 
THE CIMARRON SCOUT 275 
 
 ravine in order to make an assault from the other side. 
 ''To the other bank, boys/' cried Payne, "and 
 make every shot count/' 
 
 Crack! Crack! went the rifles. Three redskins 
 and two ponies went down, and the Kiowas — seeing 
 that they were getting the worst of it — withdrew 
 for a council. 
 
 In a half an hour Payne cried out, "Get ready, 
 boys, here they come!'' for he saw them approaching. 
 
 The Kiowas came up on the dead run in two parties, 
 each letting loose a shower of arrows. One hit Captain 
 Payne in the right shoulder, cutting a deep gash, but 
 fortunately missed the bone. "Fire away!" cried 
 he. "I'm only scratched!" 
 
 Two red men went down, and one pony, also. "Hi! 
 Hi!" yelled Jack Cowan, jumping upon a rock. PulHng 
 out a bottle of wine, he raised it to his lips, making a 
 mock toast at the redskins. 
 
 Seeing this act of bravado, several red warriors 
 cried out, 
 
 "Ugh! It is California Joe. No good to fight." 
 
 In fact they withdrew. For such a holy horror did 
 they have of this celebrated plainsman, that they feared 
 to come on. Soon the last feathered top of a redskin's 
 head was seen disappearing across the vast plains. 
 The scouts had won the battle. 
 
 Breathing easier the three bold plainsmen pushed 
 onward, camping for the night on a hilltop, so that they 
 could not be easily surprised. As dawn came stealing 
 across the hills, the cry of a coyote sounded from the 
 tall sagobrush. 
 
276 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 "Indians/' whispered Jack Cowan to the Cimarron 
 scout. 
 
 "Yes, Cheyennes/^ answered Captain Payne. "I 
 know their music. We must be on our guard and move 
 with the greatest care.'' 
 
 So, cautiously keeping behind a chain of hills, the 
 scouts began their journey. They had gone forward 
 for about an hour when a wild yell sounded on the left, 
 and three redskins galloped by, firing at them with 
 stolen rifles as they passed. 
 
 "This looks serious," said Payne. "Rifles are 
 more dangerous than bows and arrows. We must be 
 in for a stiff fight." 
 
 No sooner had he spoken than twenty Cheyennes 
 appeared in their front, all hiding on the off side of 
 their ponies and yelping like timber wolves. 
 
 Crash! sounded a volley from the three scouts and 
 a redskin dropped to the sod. 
 
 "We can't stop," cried the Cimarron scout. 
 "Wright's corral is just ahead of us. We must keep 
 on moving." 
 
 Again the Cheyennes came on, and again sounded 
 that accurate volley from the three scouts. 
 
 Thus a running fight was kept up for several miles. 
 One of the pack mules was struck, but fortunately 
 was not disabled, and, by careful shooting, the red 
 men were kept at a respectful distance. Finally, 
 Wright's corral was seen, and, dashing quickly across 
 the open prairie, the frontiersmen were soon under 
 the shelter of the houses there, where twelve men were 
 busily engaged in firing at the advancing Cheyennes. 
 
THE CIMARRON SCOUT 277 
 
 "We've got to charge the devils," cried Captain 
 Payne. "One good ride into them and we'll scatter 
 the whole outfit. Get ready, boys, for a sortie." 
 
 The twelve men at the corral were not eager for 
 this kind of fighting. 
 
 "Come on," shouted Payne, starting for the red- 
 skins. "Will you all hang back like cowards?'^ 
 
 So saying, he rode out after the Indians, and, seeing 
 him alone, all present dashed after him. A few volleys 
 scattered the Cheyennes. They were chased for a 
 mile over the plains, and then the men came back, 
 laughing. "Pretty bold Indians, I guess not," said 
 Cowan. "Reckon they'll run till sundown." 
 
 Next morning the three scouts were again on the 
 trail. On the fourth day out from the corral they 
 reached Fort Hays, but the Cimarron scout had to 
 rub tobacco in his eyes in order to keep them open and 
 avoid falling asleep on the way. He had travelled 
 three hundred and sixty-five miles in one hundred 
 hours, and had had two stout skirmishes with the red- 
 skins. It was one of the swiftest rides, considering 
 the obstacles encountered, ever made on the plains. 
 
 "Custer is afraid that he will be surrounded and 
 annihilated," said the Cimarron scout to the commander 
 of Fort Hays. "I want a relief party, at once." 
 
 "You shall have it," answered the soldier in charge 
 of the fort. " Two hundred troopers shall go out with 
 you tomorrow morning." 
 
 And they did. 
 
 Rapidly pushing over the alkali plain, Custer 
 and his men were soon sighted. All were in splendid 
 
278 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 health and spirits, for they had been left alone — 
 the Cheyennes had not returned to the attack. The 
 ten captured chiefs were brought in to the fort and 
 were placed in a stockade with sixty-five Indian women 
 and children. The two white women were returned 
 to their relatives, and thus the famous expedition ended 
 in triumph and success. Captain Payne was the hero 
 of the occasion, and many and often were the healths 
 that were drunk to the famous Cimarron scout, the 
 intrepid rider of the Kansas plains. 
 
 The great scout lived to be an old man, and had 
 many another brush with the red rovers of the frontier 
 before his death; but the story of his splendid ride 
 will always live in the annals of the country as one of 
 the most daring feats among the many hazardous 
 adventures on the wide, sun-baked plains of the arid 
 Southwest. Long may the fame survive of the bold 
 and resolute Cimarron scout!! 
 
WHITE BEAVER (dR. D. F. POWELL.) 
 
WHITE BEAVER (DR. D. F. POWELL) 
 
 CHIEF MEDICINE MAN OF THE 
 
 WINNEBAGO-SIOUX 
 
 IT was at Whiskey Gap on the Sweetwater River. 
 The crystal fluid of this musical stream was brown 
 and yellowish at this point, and an old cow-puncher 
 had looked at it once and said, "Looks like reg'lar 
 tarantular juice. So's we must call this heah place 
 Whiskey Gap. It's as good a name as any, I reckon. 
 Leastways it sounds good to me.'' By that euphonious 
 name it was always known, and, if you go there today, 
 you will find that any stage-driver can show you the 
 spot where the dun-colored ridges part to allow the 
 rushing stream to crash on its mad course towards the 
 lowlands. But you will not hear the wild yelp of the 
 Arapahoes which rang from the crags and boulders that 
 day in 1868, for on May 16th of that year there was a 
 rattling little skirmish at Whiskey Gap. Here is what 
 occurred : 
 
 Ten white men were prospecting and hunting in 
 this country at that time, among them being the famous 
 Shoshone scout called Jonathan Pugh, and Frank 
 Powell, or White Beaver, one of the most adventurous 
 men of the plains. They were lying about upon the 
 sweet-smelling grasses of the gap, when a wild yell 
 warned them that the redskins were near. Crack! 
 sounded a rifle, and in an instant all was excitement. 
 
 279 
 
280 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 "To the buffalo wallow!" shouted Powell. "The 
 banks make a splendid defensive position and the red- 
 skins can't touch us there. Drive the horses in first 
 and then lie down/' 
 
 "There are a hundred redskins or else I'm no guess," 
 cried Ted Walcott of Arizona. " See 'em circlin' around 
 in th' tall grass like vultures. They won't get any 
 prey this time, howsomever." 
 
 "There goes our first horse," cried Powell. "Some 
 of th' redskins have got pistols and rifles which they've 
 stolen from some luckless devils that have fallen into 
 their clutches. We're in for a long-drawn-out fight, sure. 
 But, by the Great Jehovah, we will lick 'em." 
 
 The little party had now run to the old buffalo 
 wallow; had lain down behind the protecting bank, and 
 all were firing, with careful aim, at the yelping and 
 screeching red men, who rode their horses around the 
 band of white hunters in a wide circle. One by one 
 the horses of the white men were shot down, and, as 
 each one fell, his body was placed upon the edge of the 
 wallow as a barricade. Behind this the whites took 
 shelter and did not waste their cartridges in useless 
 firing. Every time a shot rang out from the barricade, 
 a redskin either fell or heard the zip of a bullet but a 
 hair's breadth from his body. The scouts were, by 
 long practice, accurate marksmen. 
 
 So the battle waged for an entire day. The Arapa- 
 hoes did not have courage enough to charge the barri- 
 cade, but rode round about it, yelling, firing with no 
 good aim, and occasionally wounding a white frontiers- 
 man with a spent bullet. That night they drew off out 
 of range. 
 
WHITE BEAVER 281 
 
 "They haven't left us alone/' said White Beaver. 
 "They're just waiting around, out of gunshot, hoping 
 that some of us will have to go for water so's they can 
 get a pat shot at him. Th' river is a mile away, as I 
 calculate it, and if we can't get water by digging we'll 
 have to make a break for it." 
 
 Sure enough, when morning dawned, there were 
 redskins on the surrounding hills, looking like a lot of 
 vultures sitting around the carcass of a dead horse. 
 They sat there all day, sometimes chanting a weird 
 death song for they felt sure of their victims. Every 
 hillock held an enemy to the whites. 
 
 "This looks bad," said McCabe, "seems as if they've 
 got us." 
 
 The others kept silent and stolidly watched the red 
 men, firing whenever a topknot and painted face showed 
 itself. 
 
 "How! Yow!" yelped a redskin who knew a little 
 English. "You no see squaw again. You all make 
 prayer to Great Father. He see you soon. Arapahoe 
 get much scalp. How! Yow!" 
 
 For three days this situation lasted. Of food there 
 was abundance, but every drop of water had been ex- 
 hausted on the first day chiefly in bathing wounds. The 
 scouts were almost crazed with thirst. The red men 
 grinned at each other, for they saw the end. 
 
 On the morning of the third day White Beaver 
 jumped up and said, with spirit: 
 
 "I will decide this battle; better die at once than 
 linger from parching thirst in the terrible stench of these 
 dead horses." 
 
282 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 "Well, what will you do?'^ asked the Shoshone scout. 
 
 " Do? Why, charge the red devils and trust to luck. 
 Let him who wishes to follow me, come on! As for me, 
 I intend to leap out among the redskins and make a 
 dash for the river." 
 
 Scarcely had he finished speaking than with one 
 bound he had leaped the breastworks and made a 
 break for the river. 
 
 All looked on, astonished at his reckless courage, 
 as — with ear-spHtting yells — the Indians dashed to- 
 ward him. Down they rushed, like timber wolves 
 closing in upon a wounded caribou, each warrior anxious 
 to be the first to get the white man's scalp. 
 
 White Beaver kept on. When scarcely fifty yards 
 separated him from the screeching Arapahoes, he raised 
 his gun, fired, and the leading red man dropped from 
 the back of his pony. Crash! Crash! sounded the guns 
 of the hunters still in the barricade. "Come on, boys," 
 shouted one of them, "don't let Frank Powell fight 
 it out alone!" and, scrambling over the dead horses, 
 the scouts rushed after the fleeing frontiersman. 
 
 For a few moments there was a fierce battle. Red- 
 skins dropped from their saddles by scores, but in spite 
 of their determined stand, the scouts broke through 
 their ranks and reached White Beaver, who, crouching 
 behind a clump of sagebrush, was firing slowly and 
 deliberately at the yelping redskins. Crack! went his 
 rifle, and " Walking Crane," one of the most renowned 
 braves among the Arapahoes, fell to the ground. 
 
 "Ah, ha," cried the scout. "No more scalps will 
 line your wigwam. This settles you." 
 
WHITE BEAVER 283 
 
 Quickly joining him, the scouts threw up a breast- 
 work near the Sweetwater in less time than it takes to 
 tell it. Water was quickly secured and poured into tin 
 cans. Refreshed by this, their rifle fire grew more 
 accurate, so that the red men, realizing that they could 
 not cope with the whites, withdrew. Their death chant 
 sounded up the valley as they carried off their dead. 
 
 The reckless daring and decisive judgment dis- 
 played by Frank Powell in this stiff little fight, gained for 
 him a great reputation among all of the scouts and 
 Indian fighters of the great plains, and the name of 
 White Beaver was soon on ever}^ man's tongue in the 
 Northwest. "Look out for Wliite Beaver,'' they would 
 tell the redskins when they got ugly. " He will be after 
 you with his scouts and you know how he can shoot." 
 
 Not long after the brush at Whiskey Gap, White 
 Beaver with four sunburned rangers was hunting near 
 the Stinking Water River in Wyoming. 
 
 "We must look out for the redskins," he had warned 
 his companions. "The Blackfeet are on the warpath. 
 They are crafty and are good shots. We must always 
 be upon our guard." 
 
 The vast, pine-clad mountains stretched away on 
 every side as the few trappers drove their pack animals 
 up an old elk trail. A little crystal brook gurgled along 
 near the path, and, in the sandy pits on either side, 
 could be seen the tracks of the grizzly bears which came 
 there to drink and to wait for a spring upon an unsus- 
 pecting elk calf. Brown sage hens fluttered before 
 them on several occasions, craning their necks and 
 gazing at the strange men with foolish eyes, while in 
 
284 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 the hemlocks red chipmunks chattered and scolded at 
 the cavalcade. 
 
 Suddenly White Beaver reined in his horse. 
 
 "Listen!" said he. 
 
 The low hoot of an owl sounded from the dense 
 woods on the opposite side of the canon. 
 
 "Look out," whispered White Beaver. "There's 
 trouble ahead." 
 
 The scream of a mountain lion echoed from the same 
 hill upon which they were resting. 
 
 " Don't sound natural to me," said one of the scouts, 
 a man named French. "It's too high." 
 
 "Get behind trees," cried White Beaver. "There's 
 trouble in the wind." 
 
 As he spoke, the sharp crack of a rifle sounded forth, 
 and a wild yell welled from the forest. 
 
 " We're attacked," said French. " Better dig a forti- 
 fication." But White Beaver was busily scanning the 
 hillside with his glass. 
 
 "There's about twenty Blackfeet," he cried, with cool 
 decision. "Come on, boy. We'll charge the vermin, 
 and, if I know the redskins aright, they'll scatter." 
 
 Taking the bridle reins in his teeth, with a revolver 
 in each hand and a rifle caught fast in the saddle-seat 
 before him, White Beaver spurred his horse and started 
 for the redskins, who could now be seen collected on the 
 trail and aiming at the frontiersmen. 
 
 "Hurrah for White Beaver," shouted his com- 
 panions. " Let us follow where he leads!" 
 
 Fierce as wounded panthers, and shooting with 
 rattling rapidity, the five men rode into the Blackfeet 
 
WHITE BEAVER 285 
 
 before they had time to know what their enemy was 
 doing. Seven redskins went down before the accurate 
 fire of the scouts. Many more were wounded. 
 
 "Ugh! These men are devils/' cried the Indians. 
 "They shoot like Katauno, the Great Warrior. We 
 must get away.'' 
 
 Had not the redskins cut away into the sheltering 
 timber, every one would have been annihilated. White 
 Beaver's courage had been too much for them. 
 
 This spirited encounter but increased the reputation 
 of the great scout. He was doubly popular on the frontier 
 and all praised the daring of the courageous warrior. 
 But, how came he to be named White Beaver? 
 
 A Sioux warrior named Rocky Bear had a daughter 
 whom he called Muz-zas-Ka, meaning White Metal. 
 He loved her dearly, and, although not as beautiful as 
 some maidens of her tribe, she was comely and fair to 
 look upon. 
 
 When about eighteen years of age this young maiden 
 was stricken with malarial fever and soon was grievously 
 ill, partly because of the treatment which the red men 
 gave her. For, when Indians are ill, instead of keeping 
 them as quiet as possible, as do tlie whites, the redskins 
 make a great noise and beating of tom-toms or drums 
 around the person who is unwell. 
 
 For some days, as Muz-zas-Ka lay in a stupor, very 
 weak and faint from her illness, the Indian medicine 
 men danced about her, chanting doleful songs and mak- 
 ing a terrible noise with gourds partly filled with shot. 
 This racket, of course, only made her worse, and she 
 was given over to die, as she was delirious. 
 
286 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 At this time, Frank Powell (White Beaver), who 
 had studied medicine, came, by accident, to the camp 
 of the red men. Hearing the death chant near his tent, 
 he asked what was the cause. 
 
 " Muz-zas-Ka, the daughter of Rocky Bear, is about 
 to die," said a squaw. 
 
 "Let me see the maiden," answered Dr. Powell. 
 
 So he was led to the wigwam where lay the poor 
 girl. 
 
 After examining her, he turned to her father, saying : 
 " Let me look after your daughter for two weeks and I 
 can, I believe, restore her to life." 
 
 "Ugh!" grunted Rocky Bear. "I do not believe 
 you. But you can try." 
 
 So Dr. Powell took charge of poor Muz-zas-Ka. 
 
 First he sent all of the tom-tom beating medicine 
 men away and let the patient have absolute quiet. Then 
 he gave her certain medicines which he had with him, 
 which greatly reduced her fever. In a week she was 
 able to sit up, and in a month she had fully recovered. 
 
 Rocky Bear was delighted. To prove his gratitude 
 he presented Dr. Powell with the skin of a white beaver, 
 which, among the Sioux, is regarded with awe and 
 veneration. Just as the Siamese worship white ele- 
 phants, which are extremely rare, the Indians worship 
 the still rarer white beaver. 
 
 In making the present, Rocky Bear said: 
 
 " I love you much. You have saved the life of my 
 fair daughter. Your mother was an Indian woman and 
 a member of the beaver tribe of Senecas. You shall 
 be known, henceforth, as Shoppa-Ska: White Beaver. 
 
WHITE BEAVER 287 
 
 May the Great Spirit ever watch over you. Rocky Bear 
 has spoken/' 
 
 And this is how Dr. Powell came by his name. He 
 won it nobly. 
 
 Rocky Bear was a Cut-off Sioux, and, attracted by 
 the life led by these marauders of the plains, White 
 Beaver joined them. This branch of the tribe was 
 called " Cut-off '^ because it had withdrawn from the 
 main body, had cut itself off, and its members had 
 become bandits and thieves of the prairie, engaging in 
 expeditions for stealing horses, sheep and other posses- 
 sions. They operated against the Arapahoes and 
 Cheyennes, and were real ''bad Injuns.'' They were 
 desperadoes, — reckless and vengeful. 
 
 Following these bad men of the plains, Dr. Powell 
 was led into many frightful slaughters and raids. He 
 was a wonderful shot and, naturally, the Indians were 
 glad to have such a man among them. 
 
 One day Rocky Bear and his reckless followers 
 were camped near the South Platte River, waiting for 
 some innocent victims to come by, when a scout came 
 galloping wildly into camp. 
 
 "A party of fifty Arapahoes is far to the south," 
 said he. " They are crossing a prairie butte with a herd 
 of horses.'' 
 
 In a moment the camp of the Cut-offs was astir. 
 Before an hour they had started for the band of red 
 men, to kill them and take their horses. And it was not 
 long before the little party was sighted, wending its 
 way across the plain in fancied peace and security. 
 
 With a fierce yelping and screeching the Cut-offs 
 
288 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 bore down upon the Arapahoes. White Beaver was in 
 the thick of the battle, kilHng several of the redskins 
 and scalping them in a running fight from his horse, 
 for he w^as like a wild man, himself, and was not at all 
 scrupulous about cutting off the hair of an enemy. The 
 Arapahoes put up a game fight, for their numbers were 
 about equal to those of the other redskins and they had 
 many warriors among them, in fact, it was a war party. 
 
 As White Beaver galloped along, he was particularly 
 attracted by a powerful redskin who was carrying a 
 long lance decorated with fully a dozen scalps. It was 
 plain to every eye that he was the pride and hero of this 
 band of travellers. " Watch me capture the big chief,'^ 
 cried White Beaver in Indian, as he spurred his pony 
 towards this warrior, who, with a rifle and cartridge 
 belt, was creating sad havoc among the attackers. 
 
 The Arapahoe paid no attention to the boastful 
 white man as he advanced. Seizing his revolver, the 
 famous scout endeavored to shoot, but, as every cartridge 
 had been discharged, it failed to go off. It was too 
 late to draw another weapon. His horse just then 
 bumped into the enemy, and the red man made a vicious 
 thrust with his long, keenly pointed lance. He did not 
 impale his antagonist, but missed him. The lance 
 was jabbed again, and striking White Beaver in the 
 left thigh, it cut a vein, from which a torrent of blood 
 spouted. 
 
 White Beaver — unable to hold on — fell to the 
 ground. His horse at this moment was shot by the 
 Indians and the warriors rushed upon him to put an 
 end to the celebrated plainsman. As they came on. 
 
WHITE BEAVER 289 
 
 the prostrate gladiator of the West seized another pistol 
 
 from his belt and killed two red men as they advanced. 
 
 ''Help me, Rocky Bear/' cried White Beaver. "If 
 
 you do not come to my aid they will have my scalp." 
 
 As he called this out, Rocky Bear ran to his rescue 
 
 at the head of a dozen braves. Endeared to White 
 
 Beaver because he had saved the life of his daughter, 
 
 he keenly endeavored to risk his own life in order to 
 
 save the life of the fallen plainsman. Crack! Crack! 
 
 sounded his rifle, and the redskin fell dead who had 
 
 killed the faithful horse. His companions rushed upon 
 
 the Arapahoes with vengeance in their eyes, and, before 
 
 many moments, the Cut-offs had won. It was at a 
 
 dreadful cost, as nearly half their number lay dead upon 
 
 the parched and yellow soil of the prairie. 
 
 As the last Arapahoe rode furiously off across the 
 plain, Rocky Bear lifted the now prostrate White Beaver 
 and placed him upon his own war pony. Then a swing- 
 ing litter was slung between two horses, and he was 
 thus carted away to his mother's ranch, which was 
 luckily near by. Here he lingered between life and death 
 for several days, but, thanks to the care of his devoted 
 mother, finally recovered. As he was rapidly getting 
 stronger, his parent turned to him and said: 
 
 "Frank, let this battle be a lesson to you. You 
 have degenerated from a noble scout and plainsman to 
 an ignoble thief of the mountains. Give up your associa- 
 tion with Rocky Bear and his marauders, for my sake, 
 and for the sake of your dear father, who would turn in 
 his grave if he knew that you were making your camp- 
 ing place with the Cut-off Indians, the outcasts of their 
 
MOtTS 
 
 290 FAMOUS SCOUTS . 
 
 race. Come, from now on I want you to turn over a 
 new leaf/^ 
 
 White Beaver scowled, for he had begun to love 
 the ways of the roving redskins. 
 
 "For your sake, mother/' he said, at length, "I 
 will give up this life of plunder and death. I admit 
 that I have begun to like the ways of the Cut-offs, for 
 they have been most friendly to me. But I know that 
 I am degenerating — as you say. Henceforth I will 
 not build my fire with the associates of Rocky Bear.'' 
 
 And he kept his word. But how came this noted 
 scout to be medicine man of the Winnebago Sioux? 
 Here is the story of this important event in his life, told 
 in his own words: 
 
 "In 1876," he says, "I was on a deer hunt in the 
 pine forests above Black River Falls. It has been my 
 custom to take a deer hunt every 3^ear, and I usually 
 visit the camps of the redskins to be of medical assistance 
 to them if it is needed, and to be brought in contact 
 with the Indian character, for I like to study them and 
 their strange customs. 
 
 "It chanced that while on this hunt, old Wee-noo- 
 Sheik, head chief of the Winnebago Nation, was 
 very ill. He was suffering from fever and from old 
 wounds received in battle. His medicine men had been 
 unable to relieve him and, learning that I was in his 
 vicinity, he sent out several members of his tribe to 
 search for me and beg me to come to see him. I was 
 easily found and readily assented to go and see him. 
 
 "Once in his camp, he told me that I should not 
 leave him until he was cured. In so far as it is not an 
 
WHITE BEAVER 291 
 
 uncommon thing for chiefs to order the execution of a 
 medicine man who fails to cure a distinguished patient 
 of this tribe, I was not in a very rapturous frame of 
 mind when I took charge of Wee-noo-Sheik. His 
 condition became a matter of extreme importance to 
 me, though I betrayed no feehng of anxiety, as I did not 
 regard the case as a very dangerous one in the beginning. 
 I gave him my best professional services. 
 
 "The old chief did not recover as rapidly as I had 
 wished or expected. In about three weeks, however, 
 the ancient warrior was able to go out of his tepee again 
 and to resume his usual occupations. He began to 
 smoke again and went deer hunting. I knew that my 
 own life was in no danger. 
 
 "Directly after his recovery Wee-noo-Sheik called 
 a council of his people and said: 
 
 " ' White Beaver he one big man with the medicine. 
 White Beaver he give me new life. White Beaver, I 
 never forget you. Ugh! I make you medicine chief 
 of my Nation. I have spoken.' And this is how I 
 became chief medicine man of the Winnebago Sioux.'' 
 
 In the spring of 1877 the famous plainsman was away 
 on a scouting campaign with a company of soldiers 
 from Camp Stambaugh, under the command of a Captain 
 Meinhold. These troops had been ordered out because 
 the Cheyennes had become troublesome; had stolen 
 much stock, and had killed many settlers. It was 
 thought that they would soon go on the warpath, so this 
 expedition was sent forward, more to intimidate than to 
 punish. "We wish to show the redskins how many 
 long swords we have," said Captain Meinhold. 
 
MOUf 
 
 292 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 The troopers went slowly along for several days 
 and then came across many burned cabins and other 
 signs of redskin deviltry. The red men had plainly 
 been upon the warpath. Every sign was fresh, so the 
 soldiers travelled cautiously along, striking, at length, 
 a new trail leading up a river bank; plain evidence that 
 over one hundred Cheyennes had recently gone by. 
 
 As the trail grew plainer, horrible proofs of redskin 
 outrages came to the view of the soldiers. Cabins lay 
 destroyed, while fences were broken dovm and fields 
 of grain had been trampled upon and burned. Finally 
 the dust-stained troopers reached a point overlooking 
 a gorge. Gazing into the valley below, a dreadful sight 
 met their eager eyes. 
 
 There, below them, were broken emigrant wagons, 
 a smouldering camp fire, and fifteen white men and 
 women lying dead and mutilated as only a redskin 
 knows how to mutilate. 
 
 ''The redskins have surprised this party,'' said White 
 Beaver. "They were butchered before they knew who 
 was upon them. Let us bury the dead in a Christian 
 manner." 
 
 Turning to with a will, the soldiers soon dug deep 
 graves, into which they threw the disfigured bodies 
 of the dead, covering them well so as to keep away the 
 wolves and coyotes. 
 
 "We will now chase and punish these rascally red 
 men," cried the captain. "Tighten up your girths, 
 men, and we'll follow this trail if it leads to Mexico." 
 
 "Hurrah!" shouted the soldiers. "We'll get even 
 with the redskins. On, Captain, on!" 
 
WHITE BEAVER 293 
 
 For two days the troopers plodded along on the 
 track of the red men. The Indians had marched 
 very rapidly. But on the evening of the second day, 
 they were come upon, just as they were making 
 camp. 
 
 "Is all ready?" cried the captain. "We will charge 
 the camp at once." 
 
 "All ready!" shouted the troopers. 
 
 "Then charge!" cried the captain, as the bugle 
 blared the order. 
 
 Up over the foothills raced the soldiers, and, in less 
 time than it takes to tell it, they were in the midst of 
 the Cheyennes. Crash! went the carbines and many 
 a red man bit the dust, while the screams of their women 
 echoed shrilly over the tumult of battle. Ten redskins 
 dropped before the unerring rifle of White Beaver and 
 he was eagerly loading for another shot, when zij)! — 
 a bullet struck him in the groin and he fell senseless. 
 The battle swept on over the rolling hills, while the brave 
 scout lay prostrate. 
 
 As the troopers came slowly back, after chasing the 
 murderous Cheyennes for five miles, and killing over 
 half of them, they found the body of White Beaver and 
 lifted him upon a horse. Slowly and carefully he was 
 carried back to Camp Meinhold, where for two months 
 he lay near death's door. But his resolution and courage 
 finally won, and the gallant scout recovered. Ever 
 afterwards he would speak with a shudder of the terrible 
 butchery of the Cheyennes at Massacre Canon. By 
 this name the little valley has always been known and, 
 if you find it today, near the North Platte River, you 
 
iio&fe 
 
 294 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 will hardly realize that such a spirited drama was once 
 enacted in this peaceful-looking littTe vale. 
 
 There have been many famous rifle shots on the 
 plains but few have ever surpassed the accurate 
 marksmanship of this well-known man of the West. 
 He shot in many contests and was usually successful. 
 All admired his marvellous skill with both the rifle 
 and the revolver, and few would match their skill with 
 his. 
 
 This strange character, a man who had fought both 
 with the redskins and against them, spent his declining 
 years at Black River Falls, Wisconsin, in the practice 
 of medicine. He had been a scout, a soldier and a 
 desperado. He had sunk to the lowest depths of 
 degradation on the plains — had become a Cut-off, 
 a Dog Soldier — yet, by a herculean effort of the will, 
 he cast aside the ways of the desperado for the nobler 
 field of assistance to those of his fellowmen who were 
 suffering pain and bodily affliction. A curious transit 
 this, for, in the intervals between fierce campaigns on 
 the plains, he had learned surgery and general medicine. 
 It was to save him from becoming a cast-off of 
 civilization. 
 
 For many years the Winnebago Sioux consulted 
 him on every political step contemplated by the tribe. 
 His word was law among them. He treated them in 
 sickness and counselled them in good health; thus — in 
 peace and honor — closed the life of \Vhite Beaver, one 
 of the best known plainsmen of th@ then unconquered 
 West; an expert rifle shot, and a scout whose ability 
 was supreme. 
 
WHITE BEAVER 295 
 
 He lies where the coyote once snapped at the trail 
 
 Of the elk, as he browsed on the sweet-smelling sedge, 
 Where the brown bison roamed, with the pace of the 
 snail, 
 
 And the warrior sneaked on the porphyry ledge. 
 His eye saw the cabin aflame and surrounded, 
 
 His voice called the plainsmen to march to the fray, 
 His nerve gave the soldiers courage unbounded. 
 
 As they raced with the Cheyenne on sand hummocks 
 gray. 
 Then here's to White Beaver, — the King of the Moun- 
 tain, 
 
 Whose aim was unerring, whose muscles were steel, 
 Whose blood ran as free as a swift-gushing fountain, 
 
 A health to our plainsman,— do'st heed this appeal? 
 
THE HONORABLE WILLIAM F. CODY: 
 BUFFALO BILL 
 
 IT^S spring in old Manhattan, an^ th^ sparrers chirp 
 an' fight, 
 
 In all the ivy-covered fronts, they only stop at 
 night. 
 Th' Hurdy-gurdy's back again, th' Hokey Pokey man 
 Has got a brand-new, white duck suit; 
 He looks just spick an' span. 
 
 I'm gettin' awful tired of my lessons an' my school, 
 I wish that all would burn right up. Our teacher is a 
 
 fool 
 Ter keep us addin' figures, when it's nice an' warm 
 
 outside. 
 An' th' swimmin's sumthin' scrumptious in th' ocean's 
 
 surgin' tide. 
 But hear! th' band is comin', an' there's noises in th' 
 
 park. 
 It's Injuns! Hully gee, boys! There's goin' ter be 
 
 a lark! 
 Good-bye ter books an' lessons, — this schoolin' makes 
 
 me ill. 
 Come, fellers! Join th' cowboys! 
 
 Hurray 
 
 fer 
 
 Buffalo Bill! 
 296 
 
:^^^^^1^^l^l 
 
 r 
 
 
 '^^ ''"Alk^Wv^ 
 
 y 
 
 
 IF 
 
 
 ::,^:x^ . ^ ^' '^^^ 
 
 i^dyS 
 
 
 m 
 
 . "^^ 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 
 M 
 
 
 ■""*'" . .*i'.: •■ ,^f^"i^.m. 
 
 
 
 
 BUFFALO BILL (wiLLIAM F. CODY.) 
 
BUFFALO BILL 297 
 
 Who, in America and Europe, doesn't know Buffalo 
 Bill? Buffalo Bill of the bucking bronchos, the 
 overland stage, the pony express, the yelping red- 
 skins, the daring cowboys, the dashing cowgirls, the 
 famous rifle shots — Johnny Baker and Annie Oak- 
 ley — the jolly vaqueros. Good, old Buffalo Bill. 
 Fine, old Buffalo Bill. Many and many a pleasant 
 hour have you given us with your galaxy of daring 
 riders, untamed horses, galloping redskins, and career- 
 ing soldiers. May your red shirt continue to lead 
 your band of wild equestrians of the plains for many 
 a moon. Here's to you, Buffalo Bill! 
 
 But are you a real, true hero of the plains, Buffalo 
 Bill? Did you ever really figure in the development 
 of the West, Buffalo Bill? Did you ever take part in 
 the dashing escapades which we have seen in the' tan- 
 bark arena, Buffalo Bill? Were you ever truly a mighty 
 hunter of the plains? 
 
 As the French say, certamement. 
 
 But, as the Indians say, "Buffalo Bill, he one big 
 fighter with the stick which speaks with the voice 
 of thunder. The-chief-with-the-red-shirt he take 
 many scalp. He one big man on the trail! Ugh! 
 Buffalo Bill he same as Great Spirit! Ugh! Ugh!" 
 
 Yes, the Honorable William F. Cody is a real, bona- 
 fide hero of the plains. Listen, then, to the story of 
 his adventurous life. But, if you want to have ad- 
 ventures similar to his you can't have them, for there 
 isn't any great West any more, and the wild life which 
 he lived cannot be found again. 
 
 One day — about the year 1852 — a little fellow 
 
298 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 with long brown hair and dressed in a suit of tanned 
 deer hide was standing on the street at Fort Leaven- 
 worth, Kansas. A crowd of Indian ponies were near by, 
 but the boy didn^t try to get on one of them and take 
 a ride because he w^as afraid to do so. He had tried 
 to get on two or three of them, the day before, but they 
 had bucked and plunged so wildly that he had been glad 
 to leave them alone. 
 
 As the boy stood watching the ponies, and saying 
 to himself : " My, I wish that I could ride one of those 
 horses," there came towards him a magnificent specimen 
 of western manhood. The boy looked at him admir- 
 ingly for the fellow was more than six feet tall. His 
 body was clothed in a beautifully beaded suit of buck- 
 skin. His brown face was shaded by a huge sombrero, 
 and his step was as light and springy as a deer's. Look- 
 ing at the boy, he said: 
 
 "Little one, your ponies seem to be very wild.'' 
 
 "Yes," replied the boy. "And one of them has 
 never yet been ridden." 
 
 "Do you want to see him ridden?" 
 
 "You bet." 
 
 "Then I'll ride him for you." 
 
 "All right. Let's see you." 
 
 "Good," said the man of the plains, and whirling 
 his lasso he soon threw it over the head of one of the 
 ponies. The animal reared and plunged madly. But, 
 fastening him by a strong grip, the cowiDoy soon threw 
 him. In a second he had his saddle on his back, and 
 in fifteen minutes the bridle was on the horse's head. 
 Then the frontiersman leaped into the saddle and the 
 
BUFFALO BILL 299 
 
 pony made off, bucking, rearing and plunging in a 
 desperate endeavor to unseat the rider. It was in vain. 
 After bucking for about twenty minutes he decided 
 that it was useless to try to throw the cowboy, and 
 tamely submitted to the guidance of his master. 
 
 As the man in buckskin brought the pony in, the 
 father of the boy stepped up to him, thanking him for 
 his exhibition of horsemanship. 
 
 "Oh that's nothing," said the fellow. "I was raised 
 on horseback. I ran away from home when I was a boy. 
 I was a bareback rider, for a time, in a circus. Then 
 I heard of the gold excitement in California and went 
 there, not as a miner, but as a hocarro, a catcher and 
 breaker-in of wild horses. Last summer we caught 
 this herd that we have brought across the plains, and 
 want to sell it in the states. I'm going over to Weston 
 tomorrow to see if my uncle is still living there, and 
 when we've sold the horses I'll go and see the rest of 
 my folks in Ohio." 
 
 "I am acquainted in Weston," said the father of 
 the boy. "Perhaps I can tell you about your uncle. 
 What is his name?" 
 
 "Elijah Cody!" 
 
 "Elijah Cody! Why, he is my brother!" 
 
 "And my name is Horace Billings. Ever hear of 
 me?" 
 
 "Well, I reckon. You ran away when a young 
 man and we'd given you up for lost. Welcome, Mr. 
 Billings. This is my little son, William Cody." The 
 rough rider smiled broadly. 
 
 "Show me how to rope and ride horses," cried 
 
300 FASfcrJS SCOUTS 
 
 little William at once. "I'm dying to learn how to 
 ride as you do/' 
 
 His cousin laughed. "Why, my boy/' said he, 
 "nothing would give me greater pleasure." And this 
 is how little William F. Cody (Buffalo Bill) first learned 
 how to be a cowboy. 
 
 Soon after this meeting Billings was employed in 
 catching government horses, a large herd of which 
 had stampeded from Leavenworth some time before, 
 and now roamed over the prairies. During the time 
 that he was thus employed little Billy was his constant 
 companion, and received from him excellent lessons 
 in throwing the lasso and managing wild horses. Of 
 course he was not strong enough to overturn the big 
 animals, but he watched his active cousin as he whirled 
 the lasso over the head of the galloping steeds and 
 threw them — with nostrils distended and eyes glaring 
 with terror — upon the ground. It was exciting 
 enough sport and Billy enjoyed it. 
 
 Not long afterwards little Billy Cody had his first 
 brush with the redskins. His parents had moved to 
 the far West because of political troubles in Missouri 
 and Kansas, where Mr. Cody, Billy's father, championed 
 the cause of Abolition, or of doing away with slavery. 
 This change of abode pleased Billy more than it did 
 his parents for he loved adventure, and meeting one 
 day with Mr. Russell, a great freighter, he said to him: 
 
 "Mr. Russell, I have lost my pony. Some redskin, 
 I fear, has stolen him from me for he was grazing 
 out on the prairie behind my cabin just two days ago. 
 What shall I do for another horse?" 
 
BUFFALO BILL 301 
 
 " Billy, my boy, cheer up,'' said Mr. Russell. " Come 
 to Leavenworth with me and I'll employ you. I'll 
 give you twenty-five dollars a month to herd cattle." 
 
 "Fine," cried young Cody. "I'll accept at once." 
 
 But when he told his mother of his plans he met 
 with strong opposition. 
 
 "I'm afraid that you'll fall into the hands of the 
 redskins," said she. "Besides, I want you to stay 
 at home and go to school." 
 
 In spite of all his arguments Billy could not per- 
 suade his mother to let him remain with Mr. Russell, 
 — so he ran away. Just as the freight train was start- 
 ing to Fort Phil Kearney, he turned up, saying, 
 
 "I've come to earn that twenty-five dollars, Mr. 
 Russell. Where are the cattle?" 
 
 "Glad to see you," said the boss freighter. "The 
 cattle are out here. Go to work at once, and I promise 
 you that you'll have some excitement, as the redskins 
 are thick in this here country, and they certainly love 
 the sleek cattle of the white man." 
 
 Young Cody went to work with a will and accom- 
 panied the freight train towards Fort Kearney. When 
 the train reached Plum Creek, on the South Platte 
 River, thirty-five miles west of old Fort Kearney, 
 the wagon-masters and most of the men went to sleep 
 under the wagons, as usual; the cook began to prepare 
 dinner, and the cattle were guarded by only three men. 
 No one thought that Indians could be near. 
 
 Suddenly a wild yell sounded upon the plain and 
 every one jumped to his feet and seized his gun. 
 In astonishment they saw the cattle running in every 
 
MOTi 
 
 302 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 direction, surrounded by redskins, who shot and killed 
 the three men who were watching the herd. The men 
 were well armed with Colt revolvers and guns which 
 carried two buckshot and a large bullet, but the Indians 
 killed them before they could draw their weapons. 
 
 "Fire at the redskins," cried a teamster called 
 McCarty. 
 
 A volley rang out and checked the charge of the 
 Indians. 
 
 "Boys, make a break for the slough yonder," cried 
 McCarty. "We can then have the bank for a breast- 
 work." 
 
 One white man had been badly wounded by a bullet 
 from the red men, and he was carried along, as the 
 wagoners made a break for the slough, which afforded 
 excellent protection. But they were here only a short 
 time before McCarty again called out: 
 
 "Well, boys, we'll try to make our way back to 
 Fort Kearney by wading in the river and keeping the 
 bank for a breastwork." 
 
 "You're right," cried all. "Better retreat. The 
 Indians are too many for us." 
 
 Retreating down the slough for several miles, the 
 white men stood off the redskins with their guns until 
 the slough made a junction with the Platte River. 
 From there on the water was deep, so in order to carry 
 the wounded man along, a raft was constructed of poles 
 and he was transported along upon this. The redskins 
 followed close behind, and fired wherever they could 
 get in good range. 
 
 Little Billy — being the youngest and smallest of 
 
BUFFALO BILL 303 
 
 the party — fell behind the rest, because he became 
 very tired. About ten o'clock that night he was keep- 
 ing very close to the bank, when he suddenly looked 
 up at the moonlit sky and saw the tufted head of a 
 redskin peering over the grass. Instead of running 
 ahead and alarming the men, quietly and discreetly, 
 he immediately aimed at the red man's head and firad. 
 Crack! sounded his gun in the stillness, and a loud 
 whoop welled up into the night air. The next instant 
 a six-foot Indian came tumbling into the river, while 
 little Billy stood trembling with fear that the entire 
 force of red men would immediately be upon him. 
 
 While the young plainsman stood bewildered, the 
 men, who had heard the war-whoop and rifle shot, 
 came rushing up to him. 
 
 "Who fired that shot?'' cried McCarty. 
 
 "I did," answered Billy, rather proudly. 
 
 "Yes, and little Billy has killed an Indian stone 
 dead," cried one of the crowd. "Bully for you, young 
 scout, you'll make a plainsman yet!" 
 
 This was, of course, the first redskin that Bill had 
 ever shot and, as he was not more than eleven years 
 of age, of course his exploit created quite a sensation. 
 The other Indians, upon learning what had happened, 
 fired several shots without effect, which hastened the 
 retreat down the river, so that Fort Kearney was reached 
 just at daybreak, and the wounded man was brought 
 in safe and sound. 
 
 McCarty quickly reported to the conmianding 
 officer and informed him what had happened. A 
 company of cavalry and one of infantry were immedi- 
 
Motrj 
 
 304 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 ately sent to Plum Creek, but the cattle were found 
 to be stampeded and lost among 'the vast herds of 
 buffalo which were grazing near by. The trail of the 
 red men was followed for some distance and then aban- 
 doned, while the three dead cattle herders were 
 buried. Little Bill Cody went along with the soldiers. 
 He was much praised for his daring shot, and many 
 a frontiersman patted him on the back, saying, " You're 
 a good boy. Always keep your nerve with you, and 
 you'll come out all right with the redskins." 
 
 Not long afterwards young Cody had another ex- 
 citing adventure with the red riders of the plains. 
 
 Joining a freight train from Fort Laramie to Fort 
 Leavenworth, little Billy sought employment under 
 a wagon-master called Simpson who was in charge of 
 two trains, which travelled about fifteen miles apart 
 with about two hundred men with each. One morn- 
 ing, while Simpson was with the rear train, he told his 
 assistant wagon-master, George Woods, to call young 
 Cody, saddle up three mules, and ride with him to over- 
 take the head train, then out of sight across the prairie. 
 
 Much overjoyed at the prospect of a ride across 
 the sweeping plain, little Billy eagerly saddled his 
 mule and joined the two freighters, who started out 
 about eleven o'clock. They rode on for about seven 
 miles, when — while on a big plateau — they suddenly 
 saw black specks rapidly nearing them on the prairie. 
 
 "Stop!" cried Simpson. "They may be redskins!" 
 
 "Indians, by all that's holy," cried Woods, "we're 
 gone for sure." 
 
 The Indians, meanwhile, had rapidly approached, 
 
BUFFALO BILL 305 
 
 and were charging down upon the three whites with 
 wild yells of delight, for they were sure that they had 
 them. 
 
 Simpson was an old Indian fighter. "Quick, boys,^' 
 he shouted. ''Shoot your mules and form a barricade 
 with them. The redskins have only got bows and 
 arrows. We've got a good chance to stand 'em off 
 behind the dead bodies of our mules." 
 
 In a jiffy the mules had been slaughtered and 
 the three teamsters leaped inside the barricade of mule 
 flesh, all ready to receive the yelping Indians. Each 
 was armed with a Mississippi yager (rifle) and two 
 revolvers, and as the screeching warriors came swoop- 
 ing down upon their improvised fort, crash! crash! 
 sounded the volleys from their rifles. Three Indians 
 dropped to the sod and, yelling wildly with rage, 
 the others retreated out of range. Seeing that they 
 could not take the little fortification, or drive the gar- 
 rison from it, they circled around it several times, 
 shooting their arrows and yelping like the panthers 
 of the vast Rocky Mountains. 
 
 Suddenly George Woods gave a sharp cry. 
 
 "I'm hit," said he, and as Simpson and young 
 Cody looked at him they saw that an arrow had pierced 
 his shoulder, luckily inflicting only a slight wound. 
 Many an arrow struck and quivered in the bodies of 
 the prostrate mules. 
 
 At this moment the redskins galloped off to a safe 
 distance, where bullets could not reach them, and seemed 
 to be holding a council of war. It was a lucky move 
 for the three plainsmen, for it gave them time to re- 
 
^oxtj 
 
 306 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 load their guns and pistols and prepare for the next 
 charge. With their knives they also threw up earth 
 over the mule barricade, thus making it more effective. 
 The arrow was pulled from Woods's shoulder. 
 
 Again welled out the wild Indian yell, and the red- 
 skins came on for another charge. Crash! Crash! 
 sounded the volleys from the barricade and again the 
 red men were checked. Circling around several times, 
 yelling and screeching, they rode off leaving another 
 dead Indian and a horse behind them. For two hours 
 afterwards they did nothing but palaver with one 
 another, evidently trying to decide upon the best man- 
 ner of capturing the three whites. Thus the exciting 
 day wore to a close. 
 
 That night the cunning red men set the buffalo 
 grass on fire. But it was short and would not burn 
 well. In the smoke the most daring redskins crept 
 up near the mule barricade, but several well-aimed 
 shots kept them at a respectful distance. They aban- 
 doned the idea of surprising the courageous fighters 
 in the fort but, apparently believing that the three 
 whites belonged to the advance train that had passed 
 on the morning of the previous day, they sat around 
 to starve them out. "You never reach your friends!" 
 cried out a redskin who knew a little English. " Ugh ! 
 Your scalps soon belong to us!'' 
 
 About ten o'clock on the next day young Billy 
 jumped up with an expression of joy upon his face. 
 
 ''I hear the second train coming," he cried. "We'll 
 soon be free." 
 
 Sure enough, the cracking of the huge bull whips 
 
BUFFALO BILL 307 
 
 used by the ox drivers was soon heard across the plain. 
 With straining and anxious eyes the three barricaded 
 fighters saw the head wagon coming over a distant 
 ridge. It approached only too slowly, for the Indians, 
 seeing it come on, held a short consultation and then 
 charged the plainsmen for a last time. They were 
 driven off and, as they wildly careered over the prairie, 
 the winners of this stiff little fight sent a rattling vol- 
 ley after them. "Hurray, we^ve won!" yelled Billy. 
 "Hurray for the wagon train!'' 
 
 The teamsters, hearing the shots and seeing the 
 Indians, came running towards the barricade, but by 
 the time they reached it the last redskin was galloping 
 across the prairie. 
 
 "You've put up a plucky fight,'' cried several. 
 "You boys are heroes," said others, and all were 
 certain that Simpson's remarkable presence of mind 
 in forming the defense had saved the day. Woods's 
 wound was bandaged and he was put in one of the 
 wagons, while Simpson and little Billy each obtained 
 a live mule to ride; bade good-bye to the dead mules 
 which had been of such excellent service, and after 
 collecting the ornaments and feathers from the pros- 
 trate redskins left their bodies and bones to bleach upon 
 the prairie. The train mov^d on and reached its des- 
 tination without further attack from the redskins of 
 the plains. 
 
 Little Bill Cody was now a fairly well-seasoned 
 plainsman, and as the years went by he increased in 
 both strength and keenness. When at Julesburg, 
 Colorado, a short time afterwards, the leading wagon- 
 
308 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 master of a large firm of freighters came to him and 
 said: 
 
 "Cody, we are just starting a pony express be- 
 tween this station and the East. We need tough, 
 young men to do the work. I want you, for you are 
 an excellent rider. You will have to ride forty-five 
 miles in a day with a change of ponies every fifteen 
 mUes. You must make fifteen miles an hour and 
 change your mounts without wasting any time. Will 
 you take the position?'' 
 
 "You bet," rephed young Cody. "Til be glad to 
 do it." 
 
 So he was engaged as the carrier of the express 
 packages of Wells, Fargo & Company, by horse. 
 He was fortunate in getting well-broken animals and 
 was so light that he easily made the required forty- 
 five miles a day. But the work was hard and he was 
 in constant fear of an assault by prowling redskins and 
 robbers of his own race. Finally he received a letter 
 from his mother asking him to give up this arduous 
 service. 
 
 "It will surely kill you, William," she wrote. "Fif- 
 teen miles an hour, on horseback, will shake any young 
 man to pieces in a very short time. I have never 
 known a pony express rider who could last any length 
 of time. I want you to give up the work." 
 
 Little Bill — now a good-sized Bill — stuck to it 
 for some time, in spite of this, but after receiving a 
 letter to the effect that his mother was very ill, he gave 
 up this gruelling work and returned to his old home. 
 The experience had done him good. 
 
BUFFALO BILL 309 
 
 But he couldn't stay quiet for long. Soon after 
 reaching home ^ trapper came to him, saying: 
 
 "Bill, I am going to make a trapping expedition 
 up the Republican River and I need a companion upon 
 whom I can rely. We are sure to get many valuable 
 furs, and beaver are thick in this country. Will you 
 come with me, share profits and share expenses?" 
 
 "You bet I will," said Cody, and in a week's time 
 he was outfitted and away on the expedition after 
 valuable furs. 
 
 One day during the winter the two trappers spied 
 a herd of elk and started in pursuit of these noble 
 animals. While creeping around the sharp bend in 
 a creek, young Cody slipped and broke his leg just 
 above the ankle. 
 
 "You'll soon get over your trouble," said Trapper 
 Harrington, as Billy groaned out that he was sure to 
 die. "I'm not much of a surgeon, but I can bind up 
 that leg of yours so that it will mend in a short time. 
 I'll take you back to our dugout on my back and let 
 you stay there quietly until you get thoroughly well." 
 
 After setting the fractured bones in the little hut 
 which the two trappers had made, Harrington said: 
 
 "Bill, our two oxen have died and we need either 
 oxen or horses to take out our furs to the settlements. 
 So I'm going to hit the trail for the nearest village — 
 one hundred and twenty-five miles distant — to obtain 
 some pack animals and then come back for you. I'll 
 leave you plenty to eat. You can live here in comfort 
 until I return." That night he went on his journey. 
 Snow was on the ground and he left plenty of wood 
 
MottJ 
 
 310 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 for the young trapper. "I'll be gone about twenty 
 days," Harrington said on leaving. "Cheer up and all 
 will be well." 
 
 On the twelfth day after his departure the injured 
 trapper was lightly sleeping when he felt some one 
 touch him sharply on the shoulder. He awoke with 
 a start, and looked up to see an Indian warrior by his 
 side. His face was hideously daubed with red paint, 
 so it was plainly evident that he was on the warpath. 
 
 "Ugh! Paleface!" said he. "What are you doing 
 here? How many are there with you?" 
 
 Young Cody's heart sank for, as the redskin spoke, 
 the dugout became filled with other Indians. He 
 could hear the voices of still more outside, and the 
 stamping of horses. 
 
 "I am alone," replied Cody. "My leg is broken. 
 I am a cripple and defenseless." 
 
 "Ugh!" said the redskin, and as he spoke an 
 elderly Indian entered the cabin, whom Billy easily 
 recognized as old Rain-in-the-face, a Sioux chieftain 
 who Hved near Fort Laramie. "How!" said Billy. 
 "You remember me. Chief? I came often to your 
 lodge near Fort Laramie." 
 
 The chieftain scowled at him, and then made 
 reply. 
 
 "Paleface, what are you doing here? My young 
 men are on the warpath. They desire the blood of 
 all of your race. I do not wish to see you die, for you 
 are a papoose. I will see what my young men have to 
 say." 
 
 Turning to his warriors he then held a long conversa- 
 
BUFFALO BILL 311 
 
 tion with them. At the end of this, he spoke to the 
 terrified young trapper: 
 
 "My young men will spare you/' said he, "for 
 you are only a papoose. But they wish your gun and 
 pistol/' 
 
 "Please do not take them," cried Billy. "After 
 you are gone, hungry timber wolves will come down 
 from the mountains. If I have nothing to defend 
 myself with they will eat me." 
 
 "You cannot have them," grunted the old chief. 
 " My young men need your fire sticks. You must keep 
 quiet or they will hurt you." 
 
 So young Billy said nothing more. Meanwhile 
 the redskins unsaddled their horses and remained there 
 all through the day and night. They helped them- 
 selves to the provisions of the trappers, built a fire, 
 and had a big feast. When they left next morning 
 they took all the sugar and coffee, and nearly every- 
 thing else, leaving behind only some meat, a small 
 quantity of flour, a little salt, and some baking powder. 
 "Oh, but I'm glad to see them go," sighed young Cody 
 as they made off. "Unless I had happened to know 
 old Rain-in-the-face, my scalp would now be dangling 
 to the end of one of their spears." 
 
 Soon after the red men left it began snowing and 
 the dugout was completely covered up. It was bitterly 
 cold and there was little food. The young trapper 
 w^as in danger of starvation, but he kept alive for twenty- 
 nine days in spite of the fact that the wolves were 
 pawing and scratching around the hut and were only 
 driven out by well-directed streams of hot water. 
 
312 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 On the twenty-ninth day the cheerful sound of 
 Harrington's voice came slowly up the creek, yelling 
 "Whoa! Haw!" to a span of oxen, newly purchased. 
 Soon he was in the doorway. 
 
 "Hello, Billy," said he, "how are you?" 
 
 "All right, Dave. I've had a tough siege of it 
 since you've been away, and some Indians robbed me 
 of my guns, ammunition, and most of my food. I 
 began to think that you'd never get here, for I was 
 afraid that you had been snowed under. Thank good- 
 ness you are back." 
 
 Harrington soon cleared away the snow and came 
 inside, where young Cody was so overcome by emotion 
 that he flung his arms around his neck and hugged him 
 for fully five minutes. 
 
 "Well, Billy, my boy," cried the rescuer. "I 
 hardly expected to see you alive again. I had a terrible 
 trip of it, and I didn't think that I would ever get 
 through. I was caught in a snowstorm and laid up 
 for five days. The cattle wandered away and I was 
 within an ace of losing them. When I got started 
 again, the snow was so deep that it prevented me from 
 making much headway. But, as I left you here, I 
 was bound to come through, or die in the attempt." 
 
 The tears of joy rolled down his cheeks as young 
 Cody hugged him like a grizzly bear. 
 
 "Noble fellow," said he. "You risked your own 
 life to save mine. I will never forget you." 
 
 "I think it remarkable that the Indians did not 
 kill you," Harrington replied. "You have had a hard 
 time of it. But we will soon be out of this country. 
 
BUFFALO BILL 313 
 
 We can stand it now until the snow melts, as I have 
 plenty of food. Then we will pull our wagon back 
 to the settlements." 
 
 This they did and, arriving at Fort Leavenworth 
 in March, 1860, the team was sold and the furs netted 
 a handsome profit. For many months the young 
 trapper had to hobble around on crutches before he 
 entirely recovered the use of his leg. 
 
 During the Civil War the fearless trapper had some 
 valuable experiences as a "Red Legged Scout," an 
 organized body of riders who had many skirmishes 
 in Arkansas and southern Missouri with "bush- 
 whackers" and independent rangers. He saw much 
 service and did good work. Just after the close of 
 hostilities he was scouting near Fort Fletcher, when 
 General Custer came out to go upon an Indian expedi- 
 tion with General Hancock. Scout Cody was ordered 
 to guide Custer to Fort Larned, — sixty-five miles across 
 the country. 
 
 "Cody, I want to travel quickly and go through 
 as fast as possible," said General Custer to him, look- 
 ing carefully at a long-legged mule which he was rid- 
 ing. " I don^t think that animal of yours is fast enough 
 to suit me." 
 
 "General," replied the scout, "never mind the 
 mule. He'll get there as soon as your horses. This 
 mule is a lolla-paloosa." 
 
 Custer laughed. 
 
 "Very well," said he. "Go ahead, then, but I 
 guarantee that at the end of twenty miles you will 
 be far astern of us. Forward. March." 
 
314 FAM^5»e SCOUTS 
 
 For the first fifteen miles Scout Cody could hardly 
 keep the mule in advance of the general, who was 
 mounted upon a frisky, impatient and ambitious thor- 
 oughbred horse; in fact, all of his men had fine mounts. 
 
 "That mule of yours is no good,'' chaffed Custer. 
 "He's a back number." 
 
 Irritated by this, the scout began to let his mule 
 out and spurred a bit. He soon had outdistanced all 
 of the horses, and by the time that half the distance 
 to Fort Larned had been traversed, occasionally Scout 
 Cody had to wait for the general and some of his party, 
 as their own horses had begun to show decided signs 
 of weakening. Cody smiled good-humoredly. Finally, 
 he said: 
 
 "General, how about this wornout specimen of 
 a mule, anyway?'' 
 
 "Cody, I thought that you had a no-count mule," 
 replied Custer. "But I be switched if you haven't 
 got a human locomotive. That mule's as good as the 
 Union Pacific Express. When we get to the fort 
 I'll give you a dinner." And he did. 
 
 Just at this time the Kansas Pacific Railroad was 
 being constructed across the plains, and when track 
 laying began it was not long before the locomotives 
 reached the heart of the country where roamed the 
 vast herds of buffalo. To build this roadbed twelve 
 hundred men were engaged and, as the roving Indians 
 were very troublesome, it became difficult to obtain 
 a supply of fresh meat with which to supply this army 
 of workmen. "We must have hunters to kill buffalo 
 for us," said one of the Goddard Brothers, who had a 
 
BUFFALO BILL 315 
 
 contract for boarding the employees. "Who would 
 be a good man?'' 
 
 "I suggest William Cody," said a frontiersman. 
 "He is a young fellow who is a good rider and an ex- 
 cellent shot." 
 
 So one day the scout was approached, while in 
 Hays City. 
 
 "Will you become hunter for us?" he was asked 
 by the elder Goddard. "We will require twelve buf- 
 faloes a day, that is, twenty-four hams, as we need only 
 the hump and the hind quarters." 
 
 "This will be dangerous work," replied the scout. 
 "I will be obliged to go from five to ten miles a day 
 accompanied by only one man with a light wagon to 
 transport the meat in. I can only do it for a large 
 salary, for I am in constant danger of my life from rov- 
 ing redskins." 
 
 "We will give you a good salary," Goddard an- 
 swered. "How would five hundred dollars a month 
 suit you?" 
 
 " I will go for that." 
 
 "Then consider yourself engaged." 
 
 Thus the bold and daring Cody began a career as 
 buffalo hunter for the railroad. During his engage- 
 ment, a period of about a year and two months, he 
 killed four thousand two hundred and eighty buffaloes 
 and had many exciting adventures with hostile red 
 men. He was nicknamed Buffalo Bill by the road- 
 hands at this time, and this name stuck to him through 
 life. He says, "I have never been ashamed of it," 
 and there is no reason why he should be. 
 
316 FA:SltWS SCOUTS 
 
 As the famous plainsman started upon his first day's 
 hunting, he turned to one of the soldiers, saying: 
 
 ''I know that sooner or later I will be surrounded 
 by redskins. In case your pickets notice, at any 
 time, that smoke is arising from my hunting ground, 
 it means that I am in great danger. Send me im- 
 mediate assistance." 
 
 "All right," the soldier, who was a captain, replied. 
 "We'll always keep a sharp lookout for you. We'll 
 send you assistance if you need it." 
 
 One day as Buffalo Bill and his companion, " Scotty," 
 were returning to camp with a load of meat, and were 
 within about eight miles of the railroad, suddenly about 
 thirty redskins came riding upon them from a ravine. 
 
 The two hunters had often talked over the pos- 
 sibilities of a surprise, and had planned how to defend 
 themselves. Jumping to the ground, they threw the 
 buffalo hams upon the prairie, and piled them around 
 the wheels in such a manner that a pretty good breast- 
 work was formed. The mules were unhitched and tied 
 to the wagon with the horse of the famous scout. Then 
 the two men crept under the wagon, seized four extra 
 revolvers wliich they always carried with them, and 
 made ready for business. The Indians came on, whoop- 
 ing wildly. They were received with a galling fire 
 which dropped three of them. But they kept riding 
 around in a circle, firing at the fortification, and suc- 
 ceeded in killing the horse and the two mules. Finally 
 they drew off for a council of war. 
 
 "I'm going to signal to the troops," cried Buffalo 
 Bill, and, drawing his match box, he had soon set fire 
 
BUFFALO BILL 317 
 
 to the long prairie grass. The fire spread rapidly over 
 the plains, causing a dense smoke. 
 
 "That ought to bring the soldiers/' said "Scotty," 
 "but the redskins have still got some fight left in 'em." 
 
 As he spoke a rattling volley came from the watch- 
 ful Indians, and again they charged the fortification. 
 They were driven off with the loss of one man. 
 
 In about an hour Buffalo Bill leaped to his feet. 
 "Hurray!" he cried. "Here come the soldiers. We're 
 saved!" 
 
 Sure enough, the signal of distress had proved to 
 be all right and, at a full gallop, a group of cavalry- 
 men came briskly over the plain. The redskins saw 
 them at the same instant and, quickly mounting their 
 horses, made off at a sharp pace. Two hours later the 
 hunters were in camp with their load of meat stuck 
 full of arrows, and with fully forty bullet holes in it. 
 "This meat is a bit hole-y, but it's good," remarked 
 Buffalo Bill loquaciously. "As it has been blessed 
 by fire, it might be called holy meat, eh?" 
 
 Not many moons later, he had another exciting 
 experience. 
 
 Mounted on his favorite horse, Brigham, a buckskin 
 animal with remarkable endurance, he started one day 
 in the spring of 1868 for Smoky Hill River. After 
 galloping for about twenty miles he reached the top 
 of a small hill overlooking the valley of this winding 
 and beautiful stream. "Beautiful," ho said out loud 
 when he gazed upon the crystal water and verdant 
 meadows and, as he uttered the word, about thirty 
 redskins leaped into view, about half a mile distant. 
 
318 FiVMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 Without waiting a second, they began to gallop towards 
 the lonely scout, who had — this day — left " Scotty'^ 
 behind. 
 
 ''The only chance that I have in the world is to 
 make a run for it," thought the buffalo hunter, and, 
 turning his horse, he dug the spurs into him. The in- 
 telligent Brigham seemed to understand what was up, 
 and struck out as if he comprehended that he was soon 
 to be engaged in a race for the life of his master. Un- 
 fortunately, he was not fresh, as he had come a long 
 distance that day, but it was now or never with Buffalo 
 Bill, so he sat tight and urged the faithful animal to 
 do his very best. 
 
 The Indians began to gain upon the fleeing plains- 
 man. After three miles had been covered about nine 
 of the red warriors were not over two hundred yards 
 behind him, and five or six of these seemed to be shorten- 
 ing the gap at every jump of their fresh little ponies. 
 One of the horses in particular, a spotted animal, was 
 getting dangerously close. Brigham was doing his very 
 best but, for four miles, he could not outdistance the 
 fleet Indian mustang. His rider, armed with a rifle, 
 occasionally sent a bullet dangerously near the ears 
 of Buffalo Bill. 
 
 "I've got to check this fellow or he'll shoot Brig- 
 ham and I'll be massacred," said the scout out loud, 
 and wheeling around, he raised his rifle to his shoulder. 
 The redskin on the spotted pony was about eighty 
 yards (two hundred and forty feet) away and, as the 
 scout's rifle cracked down fell the, racing horse, while his 
 rider took a double somersault over his head. Not 
 
BUFFALO BILL 319 
 
 waiting to see whether he recovered or not, Buffalo 
 Bill again turned Brigham's nose towards the railroad, 
 and was off again. 
 
 The scout had determined — if the worst came to 
 the worst — to drop into an old buffalo wallow for 
 protection, and make a desperate battle for his life. 
 The redskins had gained upon him while he was occupied 
 in shooting at their leader, and every now and again 
 they would send a bullet past the head of the white 
 fugitive. Occasionally the scout would wheel in the 
 saddle and return the compliment and, by great good 
 luck, he struck one of the horses, broke its leg, and thus 
 put another Indian out of the race. On, on went 
 pursuer and pursued, but now they neared the outpost 
 near the end of the railroad, where two companies of 
 soldiers were stationed in order to protect the work- 
 men from the redskins. Buffalo BilPs breath came 
 with more freedom. He saw that his desperate ride 
 for life was about over. 
 
 As the red men and white frontiersman raced across 
 the plain, one of the outposts saw the fugitive and 
 Indians and gave the alarm. It was thus not many 
 moments before several cavalrymen were galloping 
 across the plains to rescue their hunter of the buffalo. 
 As soon as the Indians saw them coming they decided 
 that it was better for them to withdraw, so wheeled 
 about and made off in the direction from which they 
 had come. 
 
 In a few moments Buffalo Bill was in the camp. 
 Jumping from Brigham's back and pulling the blanket 
 and saddle from his back, he said: 
 
320 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 ''Boys! This is the finest horse that ever drew 
 breath. He has just saved my fife! Nothing is too 
 good for him for he has outrun thirty redskins/' 
 
 At once the soldiers took charge of the horse, led 
 him around, and rubbed him so vigorously that it 
 seemed as if they would rub him to death. ''Bully, 
 old boy,'' they kept repeating. "You're the finest 
 animal on the prairie." 
 
 " Don't you want a fresh horse so's to chase the red 
 men?" cried Captain Nolan of the Tenth Cavalry, 
 who was just starting out after the disappearing Indians. 
 "Take any cavalry horse that you wish." 
 
 Buffalo Bill nodded and, in a very few moments, 
 had his own saddle and bridle upon a government 
 animal. The horses were all fresh. After galloping 
 after the Indians with fully a hundred cavalrymen, 
 it was soon evident to the scout that they would catch 
 some of the marauders. Before five miles had been 
 covered eight redskins had been overtaken and killed. 
 The rest succeeded in getting away. 
 
 "On coming up to the place where I had killed 
 the first horse — the spotted one — " says Buffalo 
 Bill, "I found that my bullet had struck him in the 
 forehead and killed him instantly. He was a noble 
 animal and ought to have been engaged in better 
 business. 
 
 "When we got back to camp I found old Brigham 
 grazing quietly and contentedly on the grass. He 
 looked up at me as if to ask if we had got away with 
 any of those fellows who had chased us. I believe 
 be read the answer in my eyes." 
 
BUFFALO BILL 321 
 
 This time the scout escaped but, not long after- 
 wards, he was captured and had a pretty severe ex- 
 perience with Satanta, the Kiowa chieftain whom 
 General Custer subsequently defeated at the Battle of 
 the Wichita.* 
 
 One day when alone, and en route for Fort Larned 
 from Fort Zarah, in western Kansas, Buffalo Bill was 
 Hearing Pawnee Rock, a large promontory which rises 
 high above the plains. Suddenly about forty redskins 
 came riding towards him, crying "How! How!" and 
 extending their hands. As the scout looked at them, 
 he saw that they were some Indians that he had seen 
 that morning at Fort Larned, but as their faces were 
 smeared with red paint it was plainly evident that 
 they were now upon the warpath. 
 
 Not wishing to offend the red men, the scout held 
 out his hand to one of them. The redskin grasped it 
 with a tight grip, jerking the rider forward with great 
 violence. A second Indian grabbed the mule by the 
 bridle; a third seized his rifle and revolvers; a fourth 
 struck him upon the head with his tomahawk, which 
 nearly knocked him unconscious. "You come along 
 with us," cried the redskin who had seized him by the 
 hand. " We got use for you. Ugh ! Your hair long — 
 it make good scalp!" 
 
 An Indian who had hold of the bridle started 
 off towards the Arkansas River, leading Buffalo Bill's 
 mule, which was lashed by the other redskins in the 
 rear, all of whom were laughing, singing, shooting, 
 and screeching like coyotes. As they rode onward the 
 
 *See "Famous Cavalry Leaders." 
 
322 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 • 
 
 scout saw an enormous Indian village being moved down 
 the bank of the Arkansas and he became convinced 
 that the Indians had left the post and had gone upon 
 the warpath. Bill's captors waded through the stream 
 with him and, as they did so, not only lashed his mule, 
 but also himself. After trotting into the village, they 
 took him before an important-looking body of red men, 
 among whom was crafty old Satanta. 
 
 The Indians were jabbering away among themselves 
 so that Buffalo Bill could not understand what they 
 were saying. Suddenly Satanta cried out, 
 
 " Paleface, where have you been?" 
 
 ^'I've been after a herd of Whoa-haws [cattle]/' 
 replied the astute plainsman, for it so happened that 
 the redskins had been out of meat for several weeks, 
 as a large herd of cattle promised them by the govern- 
 ment had not yet arrived, although expected by Satan- 
 ta's band. So the moment that the " whoa-haws" were 
 mentioned, the old chief's face lighted up with pleasure, 
 and he said, 
 
 "Ugh! Ugh! That is good news. We wish the 
 whoa-haws. Can Paleface tell me where they are?" 
 
 ''Certainly, Chief," replied the crafty Buffalo Bill. 
 " I have been sent by General Hazen to inform you that 
 the whoa-haws were on the road to feed your band. 
 They are only back from here a few miles." 
 
 Satanta smiled broadly. "Are there any long- 
 swords [soldiers] with the herd?" said he. 
 
 " There are many long-swords," Buffalo Bill answered. 
 
 Thereupon the chiefs held a consultation, at the end 
 of which old Satanta asked, 
 
BUFFALO BILL 323 
 
 "Is it really true that the big white chief (General 
 Hazen) has said that I am to have the cattle?" 
 
 "Yes/' said the scout. "I have been sent to tell 
 you so. And why, pray, do your young men treat 
 me this way? Is that any way to use the ambassador 
 of the big white chief?'' 
 
 Satanta was a veteran liar and he kept up his rep- 
 utation right well. 
 
 "That's only a game of my young men, my boy," 
 said he. "My young fellows wished to see whether or 
 not you were brave. They tried to frighten the long- 
 hair to see if he had the courage of a warrior. Ugh I 
 Ugh! You did well." 
 
 Buffalo Bill swallowed this story with a smiling 
 face. "Very good," he answered. "But it certainly 
 is a rough way to treat friends." 
 
 "Give back the shooting sticks to Long-hair," 
 thundered the wily chieftain. "Can you go and bring 
 the cattle down to the river so that my people can get 
 them?" 
 
 "Of course," cheerfully lied Buffalo Bill, who was 
 beating the champion prevaricator at his own game. 
 "That is what the big white chief has told me to do. 
 But I do not wish any of your young braves to come 
 with me, for it would mean that the long-swords would 
 ride on with me and there might be trouble with those 
 warriors who have been striking me. If I go alone 
 I will tell the long-swords to keep right on to Fort Larned 
 and then there will be no trouble." 
 "You can go," said the old chief. 
 Buffalo Bill did not wait for another order, and, 
 
324 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 • 
 
 wheeling his mule around, was soon reerossing the river. 
 Just as he reached the opposite bank, he looked back 
 and saw that ten or fifteen Indians were following him. 
 They apparently suspected that he had not been telling 
 the truth and wished to keep an eye on the paleface, 
 until the phantom cattle were delivered. 
 
 The moment that his mule had secured a good 
 foothold upon the bank, Buffalo Bill urged him at 
 a gentle lope to the place where he had told Satanta 
 that he would bring the whoa-haws. Upon reaching 
 a ridge and riding down upon the other side, where 
 he was hidden from the eyes of the red men, he turned 
 his mule's head towards Fort Larned; let him out for 
 all that he was worth; and sat down for a desperate 
 ride for his life. The redskins soon saw him, and, 
 whipping their ponies, started in pursuit. 
 
 In spite of the fact that the fleeing plainsman plied 
 both spur and whip, the Indians gained on him. When 
 Buffalo Bill reached the dividing ridge between Ash 
 Creek and Pawnee Fork, with Fort Larned only four 
 miles away, the red men were only a quarter of a mile 
 behind, but, as he reached the other side of the stream, 
 he was overjoyed to see some soldiers in a government 
 wagon. 
 
 ''Hold on," cried the fleeing scout. "The Indians 
 are after me. Dash into yonder woods and we'll 
 shoot the whole outfit, for there are only about a 
 dozen." 
 
 "All right," answered Denver Jim — a well-known 
 scout — who was with the wagoners. "Here, boys! 
 scramble into that thicket over there." 
 
BUFFALO BILL 325 
 
 The team was hurriedly secreted among some trees 
 and low boxwood bushes. 
 
 In a few moments the Indians came dashing up, 
 lashing their horses with sticks, for the tired animals 
 were panting and blowing. Three or four were allowed 
 to go by, and then a lively rifle fire was opened upon the 
 next three or four, two being killed at the first crack. 
 The others suddenly discovered that they had run into 
 an ambush and, whirling off into the thicket, turned 
 and ran their horses back from the direction in which 
 they had come. The two that had passed heard the 
 shots, and escaped, — as the men hurriedly secured 
 the ornaments and horses of the fallen red men and beat 
 a hasty retreat to the fort. The soldiers there had 
 heard the firing and, believing that Satanta was coming 
 with his red men, the buglers were blowing the call 
 to fall in. Thus ended this thrilling ride. 
 
 These Satanta red men were reduced to subjection, 
 shortly afterwards, but the Sioux rebelled and took 
 up the warpath instead of the ways of peace. Buffalo 
 Bill joined a large infantry column under General 
 Carr, sent to punish these marauders which started out 
 for the Republican River where the Indians were 
 supposed to be in great force. They had no difficulty 
 in finding them. The soldiers were reinforced by a 
 number of Pawnee Indian scouts and these redskins 
 did most excellent service, for they hated the warlike 
 Sioux and were always ready to go into battle against 
 them. 
 
 Not many days after they had been on the trail, 
 the Pawnees came into camp on the dead run. As they 
 
326 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 raced across the prairie, Buffalo Bill stepped up to 
 General Carr, saying, 
 
 "General, here come our men and they have had 
 a big fight. I know it, for this is the way they always 
 come into camp after they have had a tough scrinmaage 
 and have taken a lot of scalps/' 
 
 The general told his trusty scout to ride out to meet 
 them. 
 
 '^How! How!'' said Buffalo Bill. "What have 
 you been doing?'' 
 
 " See heap Sioux," cried one of the Pawnees. " Have 
 big fight. We kill three. They kill four of our men. 
 Have one big fight, sure!" 
 
 When General Carr heard the news, he immediately 
 prepared for active measures. 
 
 "Select all the good horses. Mount your men on 
 them and push after the red men," he cried. "The 
 wagon train will follow with the rest of the party. 
 Buffalo Bill, I want you to pick out five or six of the 
 best Pawnees and go in advance of my conmaand, 
 keeping ten or twelve miles ahead on the trail, so that 
 when you find the Indians, you can discover the loca- 
 tion of their camp and send word to my troops in order 
 that I may arrange a plan for the capture of the village." 
 
 " All right," Buffalo Bill replied. " I shall do as you 
 say and we shall, no doubt, have a lively little battle." 
 
 It was not long before he was well ahead of the 
 column and, moving very cautiously, he and his Paw- 
 nee companions soon discovered the Indian village 
 encamped in the sand hills south of the South Platte 
 River, near Summit Springs. 
 
BUFFALO BILL 327 
 
 "You keep watch here/' said Buffalo Bill to the 
 Pawnees, "while I go back and tell the big chief 
 that the red men are in view. We'll have one smart 
 little fight before another sun, and it will be good fun 
 for all concerned." 
 
 When the presence of the Sioux was reported to 
 General Carr, he immediately ordered his men to tighten 
 up saddles, look to their ammunition, and prepare for 
 action. 
 
 "I advise you to circle around to the north of the 
 camp, sir,'' said Buffalo Bill to the general. "The 
 Sioux will have scouts on this side of their camp, be- 
 cause any one who is following them will come from 
 this direction. I am going to change my horse for old 
 Buckskin Joe, as he is fresh, and I may have to do a 
 lot of hard riding." 
 
 "I'll follow your advice. Bill," replied the general. 
 "We'll bear far around in a circle and fall upon the 
 Sioux from the side opposite the one from which we 
 are travelling." 
 
 By this manoeuvre the command avoided discovery 
 by the Sioux scouts, and, when within a mile of the 
 red men, the general halted the command, saying 
 that, when he sounded the charge, the whole body 
 should rush upon the Indian camp. 
 
 As the soldiers paused on top of a hill overlooking 
 the camp of the unsuspecting Sioux warriors — with 
 their women, ponies, baggage and children — General 
 Carr called out to his buglers, "Sound the charge!" 
 
 The bugler was so excited that he actually forgot 
 the notes. 
 
328 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 Again cried the general, "Sound the charge!" 
 
 The bugler was unable to blow a single blast. 
 
 At this moment Quartermaster Hays — who was 
 riding near the general — comprehended the dilemma 
 which the man was in, and, galloping up to him, jerked 
 the bugle from his hand, and sounded the charge in 
 clear and distinct notes. As the troops rushed for- 
 ward, he threw the bugle away, then — drawing his 
 pistol— was among the first to gallop into the Indian 
 village. 
 
 When the Sioux saw the charging soldiers, pan- 
 demonium broke loose among them. A great many, 
 jumping on their ponies, rushed out of the village on 
 the gallop, leaving everything behind. Those who 
 were on foot fled to the neighboring hills. The Pawnee 
 scouts, regular soldiers and officers, were all mixed up 
 together in the village, while a few Sioux warriors, 
 and some of the women, blazed away at them from 
 their tepees. The village was soon captured and the 
 troopers pursued the stampeded redskins over the 
 plains, where they had scattered like a flock of young 
 prairie chickens. When darkness came, the tired 
 soldiers returned to the camp, much elated at their 
 easy victory. 
 
 "The command must separate into individual 
 companies in order to follow the redskins,'' said General 
 Carr. "Buffalo Bill, I want you to join one of these 
 and push towards the northwest.'' 
 
 At "boots and saddles," next morn, the scout 
 started out with a company which followed a trail 
 of about a hundred Indians. It was soon evident, 
 
BUFFALO BILL 329 
 
 from the tracks of ponies and men, that another large 
 band had joined the first. 
 
 "It's pretty hazardous to follow these redskins," 
 said Buffalo Bill. "They outnumber us and there'll 
 be trouble. We may be badly beaten." 
 
 But there were many brave — if not foolhardy 
 — men in the company, and his good counsel was 
 thrown aside. All insisted upon pressing forward. 
 
 On the third day afterwards, a party of about six 
 hundred Sioux was discovered, riding along in close 
 ranks, near the Platte River. When the Indians 
 caught sight of the soldiers, they immediately prepared 
 for battle. 
 
 "These redskins far outnumbar us," said the 
 company commander. "Let us take advantageous 
 ground and stand 'em off. If we charge into that 
 bunch, we'll be annihilated." 
 
 Not many moments after he had spoken, the red 
 men came on, and the soldiers retreated slowly but 
 surely into a little ravine where they hid their horses 
 in a natural pit. The Indians circled about in order 
 to find out the true strength of the command, and 
 then, seeing that these were very few, they charged 
 desperately. Crash! Crash! sounded the volleys from 
 the soldiers, and, although several of them were 
 badly wounded by arrows, the red men were driven 
 away. 
 
 But they weren't driven off for good. At their 
 council of war an old chief said: 
 
 "We got the palefaces. Let us stay until we get 
 their scalps. They have killed twenty of our warriors. 
 
330 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 We will starve them out. We are many. They are 
 few/^ This counsel was considered to be "good medi- 
 cine/' and it was decided to starve out the whites; so 
 the redskins began to ride around the white men in a 
 circle, just out of rifle range. 
 
 As they rode slowly by, Buffalo Bill saw a magnif- 
 icent-looking chief, riding a piebald pony and smeared 
 with red and yellow paint. A beautiful headdress 
 of eagle feathers was upon his black locks, while a 
 dangling quiver, full of arrows, hung by a deer thong 
 from his back. He had a rifle and cartridge belt, 
 both of which he had, no doubt, stolen from some 
 government post. 
 
 "Boys!" said the scout. "You wait here a moment 
 and watch me try to get a shot at that chief. I believe 
 that I can bring him down.'' 
 
 "You can't touch him," said several, laughing 
 satirically. 
 
 Buffalo Bill did not reply, but, creeping stealthily 
 up a little gorge, hid himself from the eyes of the In- 
 dians and stopped at a point where he believed that 
 he could get a clear shot at the Indian when he again 
 rode by. Soon the painted chieftain came loping 
 his pony through the tall prairie grass, and, just as he 
 brought his mount to a walk, in order to cross the very 
 ravine in which the scout was crouching, Buffalo Bill 
 rose to his knees, took careful aim, and fired. 
 
 His aim was perfect. With a wild, despairing yell, 
 the chief tumbled to the sod, shot clean through the 
 body, while his horse* galloped towards the soldiers; 
 one of whom caught hold of the long deer-thong lariat 
 
BUFFALO BILL 331 
 
 in his mouth, and thus captured him. It was a shot 
 of four hundred yards,— truly a remarkable one. 
 Was it a wonder, then, that as the accurate marksman 
 returned to the command, a cheer went up for " Buffalo 
 Bill, the best shot on the plains! Hip! Hip! Hurray!'' 
 
 Strange to relate, the death of this chieftain so 
 affected the Indians that they retreated without making 
 another charge upon the soldiers. It was Tall Bull, 
 one of the most cunning and able of the Sioux leaders, 
 and a redskin who had great influence among the wild 
 riders of the plains. 
 
 Not many days afterwards, this company joined 
 General Carr's command, and a stiff fight was had 
 with the Sioux, which ended successfully. Three 
 hundred red warriors, several hundred squaws, and a 
 great herd of ponies, fell into the hands of the whites, 
 and, among the women, was the stout but pretty widow 
 of Tall Bull. 
 
 When this lady saw Buffalo Bill, her black eyes 
 sparkled, not with anger, but with pleasure. 
 
 "Him great man. Him Prairie Chief. I love 
 Prairie Chief,'' she cried. "Him send my husband 
 Tall Bull to the land of the Hereafter. Him one big 
 chief!" 
 
 Strange as it may seem, the conquered chieftainess 
 considered the slayer of her husband to be a great 
 warrior, for he had vanquished the ablest fighter among 
 all the Sioux. In fact, she wished to marry the gallant 
 scout, but he successfully eluded her. For many years 
 afterwards the famous marksman was known among 
 all the northern Indians by the name which this en- 
 
332 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 amored lady had given him — the Prairie Chief — 
 and it stuck to him for many years. 
 
 One other duel of Buffalo Bill's is worthy of mention, 
 for it increased his already brilliant reputation as a 
 marksman of wonderful ability. 
 
 After the great Custer massacre, which I have fully 
 described in *' Famous Cavalry Leaders," the so-called 
 Prairie Chief was ordered to join General Merritt, 
 who — with five hundred men and horses — was mak- 
 ing a forced march to War Bonnet Creek, in order 
 to intercept a number of Cheyennes — allies of the 
 Sioux — who had broken from the Red Cloud Agency 
 and had gone on the warpath. 
 
 One beautifully clear morning Buffalo Bill went 
 out on a scout in order to see if the command was any- 
 where near the redskins. As he was crossing a rough 
 tableland, a cloud of dust, away off upon the prairie, 
 warned him that Indians, or soldiers, were near by. 
 Through his glass he saw that there were red warriors 
 ahead, and putting spurs to his horse, was soon back 
 by the side of General Merritt. 
 
 ^'Indians are coming,'' said he. "They are only 
 about ten minutes away. Get ready, for there's going 
 to be a big fight.'' 
 
 "Mount!" ordered General Merritt, and, as the 
 soldiers sprang upon the backs of their steeds, they 
 were told to keep out of sight. The general and Buffalo 
 Bill rode to a neighboring hilltop. 
 
 "Those redskins are coming right towards us," 
 said the scout. "Hello! They're after two mounted 
 soldiers, evidently with dispatches for us. See, about 
 
BUFFALO BILL 333 
 
 twenty of them have pushed off to the right !^' 
 
 The Indians were plainly endeavoring to intercept 
 the two dispatch bearers. 
 
 "I want to save those two fellows/' said he, "but 
 I don't want to send out any of my soldiers, for, if the 
 Cheyennes see them, they'll stampede, and I won't 
 be able to have a fight." 
 
 "Wait until the two couriers get nearer," answered 
 Buffalo Bill, ''and then, just as the Cheyennes are 
 closing in on them, I'll take the scouts and cut these 
 twenty redskins off from the main body." 
 
 "All right, Cody," said the general. "If you can 
 do that, go ahead and good luck to you." 
 
 Buffalo Bill ran quickly to the command; jumped 
 upon his horse; picked out fifteen scouts, and returned 
 with them, to the point of observation, where General 
 Merritt was watching the exciting race through his 
 glasses. Finally, he lowered them, crying out, 
 
 "Go in now, Cody, and be quick about it! The 
 Indians are going to charge upon the couriers." 
 
 Instantly, Buffalo Bill dashed over the bluff, fol- 
 lowed by the scouts, who urged their horses forward 
 at a sharp gallop. The two messengers were only 
 a short distance away, while the pursuing Cheyennes 
 were about two hundred yards behind them. As the 
 scouts charged, they opened fire. 
 
 The Cheyennes fired back with much spirit, and 
 a running fight was kept up for several minutes, the 
 Indians retreating all the while, leaving three of their 
 number on the plain. General Merritt was about 
 half a mile away watching the skirmish through his 
 
334 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 field glasses, and he saw the little band of redskins 
 turn and put up an excellent fight. 
 
 At this moment, one of the Cheyennes, who wore 
 all the ornaments of a chieftain, including the white 
 eagle feathers in his hair, cried out to Buffalo Bill, in 
 his own language, 
 
 "I know you, Pa-he-haska. If you want to fight, 
 come on ahead and fight me!" 
 
 "I'll be only too glad to accommodate you," called 
 the scout, as the chief rode his horse back and forth 
 in front of him. 
 
 The two enemies now galloped towards each other 
 at full speed. When they were about thirty yards 
 apart, Buffalo Bill raised his rifle and fired. As the 
 smoke from his rifle rolled upward, the horse which 
 the red man was riding fell to the ground, — shot stone 
 dead. At the same instant the steed of the intrepid 
 frontiersman stepped into a gopher hole and went to 
 earth, throwing his rider over his head. But the scout 
 was not injured, and, jumping to his feet with the 
 agility of a cat, again fired at the chieftain, just as the 
 painted warrior raised his own rifle. 
 
 Crack! sounded that death-dealing weapon of Buf- 
 falo Bill's. 
 
 Crack! spoke the "thunder-stick" of the redskin, 
 and a bullet whizzed by the ear of the buckskin-clad 
 man of the plains. 
 
 The leaden missile from the carefully aimed rifle 
 of the scout did not miss. Screaming with anguish, the 
 redskin reeled and fell, while the spouting blood crim- 
 soned his beautifully tanned shirt. With a dull thud 
 
BUFFALO BILL 335 
 
 he touched the earth. — In a second, the scout was bend- 
 ing over him. — A dexterous twist, — he had drawn 
 his knife and raised both scalp and war bonnet from 
 the head of the prostrate warrior. 
 
 As the redskin friends of the fallen chieftain began 
 to gallop towards him, General Merritt realized the 
 danger that Buffalo Bill was now in, and cried out, 
 
 "Company K, ride to the rescue of Buffalo Bill 
 and ride like the Old Nick, for he'll be captured if you 
 don't reach him in a few minutes." 
 
 With a cheer, the troopers galloped towards the 
 lone plainsman, and they reached him none too soon, 
 for the red men were all around him. As they swung 
 into view, the fearless fighter waved the topknot and 
 war bonnet of the dead redskin in the air, shouting: 
 
 " The first scalp for Custer f 
 
 The words had scarcely left his lips when General 
 Merritt ordered the entire regiment to charge upon the 
 oncoming lines of Indians. The battle opened in 
 earnest. Bullets flew; wild war-whoops rang out, and 
 several warriors fell to the ground in their last sleep. 
 For a time the red men kept up a stubborn fight, and 
 then — seeing that they could not defeat the celebrated 
 Fifth Cavalry — the braves began a running retreat 
 towards the Red Cloud Agency, from which they had 
 recently escaped. For thirty-five miles the cavalry- 
 men pursued them, pushing them so hard that they 
 were forced to abandon their loose horses, camp equi- 
 page and other belongings. Finally, they were driven 
 into the agency, and the great fight of the War Bonnet 
 was a thing of the past. 
 
336 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 To chronicle all of the great buffalo hunts, Indian 
 battles, rides after horse thieves and robbers, and 
 dangerous scouting expeditions in which this famous 
 plainsman was subsequently engaged, would take an 
 enormous volume. As you know, he came through 
 all these hazardous adventures unscathed, and has 
 lived to be a celebrated show-man and exhibitor of 
 the once rough and reckless wild life of the American 
 plains. 
 
 At the present time of writing — August, 1910 — 
 he is touring the country (as he says) for the last time, 
 with the famous Wild West Show. May he continue 
 to enjoy the greatest health and good spirits, and may 
 the plaudits of an appreciative multitude continue 
 to resound in the ears of the great plainsman; for Buffalo 
 Bill has been the best known of all the daring scouts 
 upon the American plains; his heart has always been 
 warm, and his aim has ever been true. Good luck and 
 smiling good fortune be with you ever, Buffalo Bill, 
 hero of a hundred battles and true monarch of the 
 great American prairie. 
 
CONCLUSION 
 
 WE have now learned about all of the famous 
 pioneers and men of the plains, the back- 
 woods, the prairie and the mountains, who 
 have made names for themselves in the development of 
 the North American continent. Undoubtedly famous 
 scouts have existed in South Africa, x\ustralia and the 
 Canadian wilds, but it has been impossible for me to 
 secure any data regarding these men, and I have, there- 
 fore, had to leave them out. I should have liked to 
 include a record of the services of Major Walsh, of the 
 Canadian mounted police, but no information was to be 
 had. 
 
 These were all rough, honest fellows. Some were 
 not, perhaps, tutored in philosophy, in history, in the 
 arts and niceties of a more complex civilization, but 
 they were all brave, resolute, fearless and manly. From 
 Israel Putnam, the master woodsman of the French 
 and Indian War, to Buffalo Bill, the skilled scout and 
 plainsman, we see that the continent has produced real, 
 true heroes, men whose lives were dangerous, daring, 
 and full of the excitement of battle. And what is the 
 lesson to be learned? 
 
 The lessons are many. In our present civilization, 
 where the lives of most men are spent in shops, factories, 
 counting houses and the like, it is almost impossible 
 for them to attain the rough, hardy values of these 
 
 337 
 
338 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 • 
 
 characters, whose existences were in the open air and 
 the wild woodland. It is necessary, however, that the 
 modern young man should keep his body and muscles 
 in trim; that he should have a healthy mind in a healthy 
 body, or, as the Romans put it: "Mens sana in corpore 
 sano." 
 
 The danger of modern civilization is that the young 
 man becomes too much of an indoor animal, and, where 
 called upon to exercise some of the stern virtues, cannot 
 hold his own with those who lead a more hardy and 
 vigorous life. The city boy is cramped, held in, unable 
 to live the free life which makes big lungs and hard 
 muscles. 
 
 But — if willing to do so — the boys of the city 
 can make athletes of themselves, and can learn to 
 shoot, to ride, and to do all of those things which made 
 these pioneers famous. 
 
 In America — both in Canada and the United 
 States — the National Guard holds out a splendid op- 
 portunity to all those who wish to learn how to handle the 
 rifle; mount a horse; learn the pitching of a tent, camp 
 cooking, and how to take care of one's self in the open. 
 
 In England, the militia, "Yeomanry,'' and particu- 
 larly the Boy Scouts, are always anxious for recruits 
 and will welcome all who come to learn. There is ever 
 a chance to become proficient in the arts which the 
 famous scouts, trappers and pioneers had to know, 
 because they used them in their daily lives. 
 
 The great George Washington laid down a series 
 of Rules of Conduct, and says, in Rule 56: "Let your 
 recreations be manful, not sinful." 
 
CONCLUSION 339 
 
 Get out into the woods — when vacation time comes; 
 — go camping, pole a canoe up rapids, fish, hunt — if 
 it is possible; play tennis, ride and sail boats. Do 
 anything but loll around the city, dissipating your 
 energies when you could be fitting yourself for a time 
 when your country might need you on the firing line. 
 And that time appears to come once, sometimes twice, 
 in every generation. 
 
 All people deplore war, but war seems to come. 
 Warfare will never cease. 
 
 There is no reason why the English-speaking races 
 should ever have conflicts. They have had them in 
 the past, but now, standing for the same principles 
 of right, justice and civilization, there should never 
 be any cause of actual hostilities between the Canadians, 
 the people of the United States, of Australia, South 
 Africa, England, and wherever men have the common 
 English language. All disputes can be arbitrated, and 
 the people of the above mentioned countries should 
 have sufficient intelligence and common sense to agree 
 with any decision of a hoard of arbitration. I think that 
 they have. 
 
 In time of peace prepare yourself for battle, for you 
 do not know when some alien people — jealous of you 
 and your world position — confident in their own 
 prowess, and bent upon the aggrandizement of their 
 empire, will take it into their heads that they desire 
 and wish your territory, and, by force of arms, will 
 take that which is yours. Americans and Englishmen 
 do not wish to see their countries walked over, as the 
 Chinese have had the pleasure of viewing, because they 
 
340 FAMOUS SCOUTS 
 
 could not keep law and order in their own boundaries. 
 Therefore, young man, take seriously to heart the 
 lesson which the lives of these stout woodsmen teach. 
 Cultivate the life of the camp and learn the use of the 
 rifle. The wild game is now extinct where you live, 
 perhaps, but wooden targets are easily constructed, 
 and with these you can learn to shoot as well as did 
 Kit Carson, Davy Crockett, or Meriweather Lewis. 
 Learn how to he a soldier. It will assist you in every 
 way, and you never know when the trumpet call of 
 battle will cry to you to be up and doing. Then, if you 
 have prepared yourself, you will be ready, and you can 
 undertake the privations and sufferings of a campaign. 
 
 FIT YOURSELVES! 
 "Hark! I hear the tramp of thousands, 
 And of arm'd men the hum; 
 Lo! a nation's hosts have gathered 
 ^Round the quick, alarming drum — 
 Saying, ^Come, 
 Freemen, come. 
 Ere your heritage be wasted,' 
 Said the quick, alarming drum. 
 
 " Fit yourselves! the blare of gatlings, 
 And the roll of muffled drum, 
 Will not call to you, unready. 
 When the steel-clad minies hum. 
 You will come! 
 Yes — will come! 
 
 When the great, red god of battle 
 Rolls the deep, awakening drum." 
 
BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 
 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL BOOKS 
 
 (Trade Mark) 
 By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON 
 Eachlvol.,largel2mo, cloth, illustrated, per vol. . $1.50 
 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL STORIES 
 
 (Trade Mark) 
 Being three " Little Colonel " stories in the Cosy Corner 
 Series, " The Little Colonel, " " Two Little Knights of 
 Kentucky," and " The Great Scissors," put into a single 
 volume. 
 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL'S HOUSE PARTY 
 
 (Trade Mark) 
 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL'S HOLIDAYS 
 
 (Trade Mark) 
 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL'S HERO 
 
 (Trade Mark) 
 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL AT BOARDING- 
 
 (Trade Mark) 
 
 SCHOOL 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 
 
 (Trade Mark) 
 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 (Trade Mark) 
 
 VACATION 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL, MAID OF HONOR 
 
 (Trade Mark) 
 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL'S KNIGHT COMES 
 
 (Trade Mark) 
 
 RIDING 
 MARY WARE: THE LITTLE COLONEL'S 
 
 CHUM (Trade Mark) 
 
 MARY WARE IN TEXAS 
 
 These eleven volumes, boxed as an eleven-volume set $16.50 
 A— 1 
 
L. C. PAGE ^ CO MP ANY S 
 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL 
 
 (Trade Mark) 
 
 TWO LITTLE KNIGHTS OF KENTUCKY 
 THE GIANT SCISSORS 
 BIG BROTHER 
 
 Special Holiday Editions 
 Each one volume, cloth decorative, small quarto, $1.25 
 New plates, handsomely illustrated with eight full-page 
 drawings in color, and many marginal sketches. 
 
 IN THE DESERT OF WAITING; The Legend 
 
 OF Camelback Mountain. 
 
 THE THREE WEAVERS: A Fairy Tale for 
 Fathers and Mothers as Well as for Their 
 Daughters. 
 
 KEEPING TRYST 
 
 THE LEGEND OF THE BLEEDING HEART 
 
 THE RESCUE OF PRINCESS WINSOME: 
 
 A Fairy Play for Old and Young. 
 THE JESTER'S SWORD 
 
 Each one volume, tall 16mo, cloth decorative . $0.50 
 
 Paper boards .35 
 
 There has been a constant demand for publication in 
 separate form of these six stories which were originally 
 included in six of the " Little Colonel ' books. 
 
 JOEL: A BO Y OF GALILEE: By Annie Fellows 
 
 Johnston. Illustrated by L. J. Bridgman. 
 New illustrated edition, uniform with the Little Colonel 
 Books, 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative . $1.50 
 
 A story of the time of Christ, which is one of the author's 
 best-known books. 
 
 A— 2 
 
BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 
 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL GOOD TIMES 
 BOOK 
 
 Uniform in size with the Little Colonel Series . $1 .50 
 Bound in white kid (morocco) and gold . . 3.00 
 Cover design and decorations by Peter Verberg. 
 Published in response to many inquiries from readers 
 of the Little Colonel books as to where they could obtain 
 a " Good Times Book " such as Betty kept. 
 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL DOLL BOOK 
 
 Large quarto, boards $1.50 
 
 A series of "Little Colonel" dolls, — not only the 
 Little Colonel herself, but Betty and Kitty and Mary 
 Ware, yes, and Rob, Phil, and many another of the well- 
 loved characters, — even Mom' Beck herself. There are 
 many of them and each has several changes of costume, so 
 that the happy group can be appropriately clad for the 
 rehearsal of any scene or incident in the series. 
 
 The large, cumbersome sheets of most of the so-called 
 doll " books " have been discarded, and instead each 
 character, each costume, occupies a sheet by itself, the 
 dolls and costumes being cut out only as they are wanted. 
 ASA HOLMES: Or, At the Cross-Roads. A sketch 
 
 of Country Life and Country Humor. By Annie 
 
 Fellows Johnston. 
 
 With a frontispiece by Ernest Fosbery. 
 
 Large 16mo, cloth, gilt top $1.00 
 
 '' ' Asa Holmes; or. At the Cross-Roads ' is the most 
 delightful, most syrnpathetic and wholesome book that 
 has been published in a long while." — Boston Times. 
 THE RIVAL CAMPERS; Or, The Adventures op 
 
 Henry Burns. By Ruel Perley Smith. 
 
 Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . $1.50 
 
 A story of a party of typical American lads, courageous, 
 alert, and athletic, who spend a summer camping on an 
 island off the Maine coast. 
 THE RIVAL CAMPERS AFLOAT; Or, The 
 
 Prize Yacht Viking. By Ruel Perley Smith. 
 
 Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . $1.50 
 
 This book is a continuation of the adventures of " The 
 Rival Campers " on their prize yacht Viking. 
 A-3 
 
L. C. PAGE ^ COMPANY'S 
 
 THE RIVAL CAMPERS ASHORE 
 
 By RuEL Pekley Smith. 
 
 Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . , $1.50 
 
 " As interesting ashore as when afloat." — The Interior. 
 
 THE RIVAL CAMPERS AMONG THE 
 OYSTER PIRATES; Or, Jack Harvey's Adven- 
 tures. By RuEL Perley Smith. Illustrated. $1.50 
 " Just the type of book which is most popular with lads 
 
 who are in their early teens." — The Philadelphia Item. 
 
 PRISONERS OF FORTUNE: A Tale of the Mas- 
 sachusetts Bay Colony By Ruel Perley Smith. 
 Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece . $1.50 
 " There is an atmosphere of old New England in the 
 book, the humor of the born raconteur about the hero, 
 who tells his story with the gravity of a preacher, but with 
 a solemn humor that is irresistible." — Courier- Journal, 
 
 FAMOUS CAVALRY LEADERS. By Charles H 
 
 L. Johnston. 
 
 Large 12mo, With 24 illustrations . . . $1.50 
 
 Biographical sketches, with interesting anecdotes and 
 reminiscences of the heroes of history who were leaders 
 of cavalry. 
 
 " More of such books should be written, books that 
 acquaint young readers with liistorical personages in a 
 pleasant informal way." — N. Y. Sun. 
 
 FAMOUS INDIAN CHIEFS. By Charles H. L. 
 Johnston. 
 
 Large 12mo, illustrated $1.50 
 
 In this book Mr. Johnston gives interesting sketches of 
 the Indian braves who have figured with prominence in 
 the history of our o-^ni land, including Powhatan, the 
 Indian Csesar; Massasoit, the friend of the Puritans; 
 Pontiac, the red Napoleon; Tecumseh, the famous war 
 chief of the Shawnees; Sitting Bull, the famous war chief 
 of the Sioux; Ceronimo, the renowned Apache Chief, ate., 
 etc. 
 
 A-4 
 
BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 
 
 FAMOUS SCOUTS. By Charles H. L. Johnston. 
 
 Large r2mo, illustrated $1.50 
 
 Mr. Johnston gives us historical facts and biographical 
 sketches and interesting anecdotes of those heroes oi early 
 pioneer days who made names for themselves among the 
 hardy adventurers who thronged the border. There are 
 tales of Gen. Israel Putnam; the celebrated Daniel Boone; 
 Kit Carson, the noted scout; Lewis and Clarke, the hardy 
 explorers; the world-renowned Buffalo Bill, and of many 
 other famous scouts, trappers and pioneers. 
 BEAUTIFUL JOE'S PARADISE: Or, The 
 Island of Brotherly Lo ve . A sequel to ' ' Beautiful Joe." 
 By Marshall Saunders, author of " Beautiful Joe." 
 One vol., library 12mo, cloth, illustrated . . $1.50 
 " This book revives the spirit of ' Beautiful Joe ' capi- 
 tally. It is fairly riotous with fun, and is about as unusual 
 as anything in the animal book line that has seen the 
 light." — Philadelphia Item. 
 'TILDA JANE. By Marshall Saunders. 
 
 One vol., 12mo, fully illustrated, cloth decorative, $1.50 
 " I cannot think of any better book for children than 
 this. I commend it unreservedly." — Cyrus Townsend 
 Brady. 
 
 'TILDA JANE'S ORPHANS. A sequel to " 'Tilda 
 Jane." By Marshall Saunders. 
 One vol., 12mo, fully illustrated, cloth decorative, $1.50 
 'Tilda Jane is the same original, delightful girl, and as 
 fond of her animal pets as ever. 
 
 THE STORY OF THE GRAVELE YS. By Mar- 
 shall Saunders, author of " Beautiful Joe's Para- 
 dise," " 'Tilda Jane," etc. 
 Library 12mo, cloth decorative. Illustrated by E. B. 
 
 Barry $1.50 
 
 Here we have the haps and mishaps, the trials and 
 
 triumphs, of a delightful New England family, of whose 
 
 devotion and sturdiness it will do the reader good to hear. 
 
 BORN TO THE BLUE. By Florence Kimball 
 
 Russel. 
 
 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . . $1.25 
 
 The atmosphere of army life on the plains breathes on 
 
 every page of this delightful tale. The boy is the son of a 
 
 captain of U. S. cavalry stationed at a frontier post in the 
 
 days when our regulars earned the gratitude of a nation. 
 
Z. C. PAGE &- COMPANY'S 
 
 IN WEST POINT GRAY 
 
 By Florence Kimball Russel. 
 
 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . . $1.50 
 " Singularly enough one of the best books of the year 
 for boys is written by a woman and deals with life at West 
 Point, The presentment of life in the famous military 
 academy whence so many heroes have graduated is realistic 
 and enjoyable." — 'New York Sun. 
 
 THE SANDMAN: HIS FARM STORIES 
 
 By William J, Hopkins. With fifty illustrations by 
 
 Ada Clendenin Williamson. 
 
 Large 12mo, decorative cover .... $1.50 
 
 " An amusing, original book, written for the benefit of 
 very small children. It should be one of the most popular 
 of the year's books for reading to small children." — 
 Buffalo Express. 
 
 THE SANDMAN: MORE FARM STORIES 
 
 By William J. Hopkins. 
 
 Large 12mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated $1.50 
 
 Mr. Hopkins's first essay at bedtime stories met with 
 
 such approval that this second book of " Sandman " tales 
 
 was issued for scores of eager children. Life on the farm, 
 
 and out-of-doors, is portrayed in his inimitable manner. 
 
 THE SANDMAN: HIS SHIP STORIES 
 
 By William J. Hopkins, author of " The Sandman: 
 His Farm Stories," etc. 
 
 Large 12mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated $1.50 
 " Children call for these stories over and over again." — 
 Chicago Evening Post. 
 
 THE SANDMAN: HIS SEA STORIES 
 
 By William J. Hopkins. 
 
 Large 12mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated $1.50 
 
 Each year adds to the popularity of this unique series 
 
 of stories to be read to the little ones at bed time and at 
 
 other times. 
 
 A— 6 
 
BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 
 
 A TEXAS BLUE BONNET 
 
 By Emilia Elliott. 
 
 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . . $1.50 
 This is the story of a warm-hearted, impulsive and breezy 
 girl of the Southwest, who has lived all her life on a big 
 ranch. She comes to the far East for a long visit, and her 
 experiences "up North " are indeed delightful reading. 
 Blue Bonnet is sure to win the hearts of all girl readers. 
 
 THE DOCTOR'S LITTLE GIRL 
 
 By Mabion Ames Taggart, author of " Pussy-Cat 
 
 Town," etc. 
 
 One vol., library 12mo, illustrated . . . $1.50 
 
 A thoroughly enjoyable tale of a little girl and her com- 
 rade father, written in a delightful vein of sympathetic 
 comprehension of the child's point of view. 
 
 SWEET NANCY 
 
 The Further Adventures of the Doctor's Little 
 Girl. By Marion Ames Taggart. 
 One vol., library, 12mo, illustrated . . . $1.50 
 In the new book, the author tells how Nancy becomes 
 
 in fact " the doctor's assistant," and continues to shed 
 
 happiness around her. 
 
 CARLOTA 
 A Story of the San Gabriel Mission. By Frances 
 Margaret Fox. 
 
 Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated 
 in colors by Ethelind Ridgway , . . . $1.00 
 "It is a pleasure to recommend this little story as an 
 
 entertaining contribution to juvenile literature." — T/ie 
 
 iVeiw York Sun. 
 
 THE SEVEN CHRISTMAS CANDLES 
 
 By Frances Margaret Fox. 
 
 Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and deco- 
 rated in colors by E. B. Barry .... $1.00 
 Miss Fox's new book deals with the fortunes of the de- 
 lightful Mulvaney children. 
 SEVEN LITTLE WISE MEN 
 By Frances Margaret Fox. 
 Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated in colors by 
 
 E.B.Barry $1.00 
 
 In this new story Miss Fox relates how seven little chil- 
 dren, who lived in Sunny California, prepared for the great 
 Christmas Festival. 
 A— 7 
 
L. C. PAGE dr* COMPANY'S 
 
 PUSSY-CAT TOWN 
 
 By Mahion Ames Taggaht. 
 
 Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and deco- 
 rated in colors . . . . . . . . $1.00 
 
 " Anything more interesting than the doings of the cats 
 in this story, their humor, their wisdom, their patriotism, 
 would be hard to imagine." — Chicago Post. 
 
 THE ROSES OF SAINT ELIZABETH 
 
 By Jane Scott Woodruff. 
 
 Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated 
 in colors by Adelaide Everhart . . , . $1.00 
 This is a charming little story of a child whose father was 
 caretaker of the great castle of the Wartburg. 
 
 GABRIEL AND THE HOUR BOOK 
 
 By EvALEEN Stein. 
 
 Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and deco- 
 rated in colors by Adelaide Everhart . . . $1.00 
 Gabriel was a loving, patient, little French lad, who 
 assisted the monks in the long ago days, when all the books 
 were written and illuminated by hand, in the monasteries. 
 
 A LITTLE SHEPHERD OF PROVENCE 
 
 By EvALEEN Stein. 
 
 Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated in colors by 
 
 Diantha Home Marlowe $1.00 
 
 This is the story of Little lame Jean, a goatherd of 
 
 Provence, and of the " golden goat " who is supposed 
 
 to guard a hidden treasure. 
 
 THE ENCHANTED AUTOMOBILE 
 
 Translated from the French by Mary J S afford. 
 Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and deco- 
 rated in colors by Edna M. Sawj^er . . . $1.00 
 " An up-to-date French fairy-tale which fairly radiates 
 
 the spirit of the hour, — unceasiQg diligence." — Chicago 
 
 Record-Herald. 
 
 O-HEART-SAN 
 
 The Story of a Japanese Girl. By Helen Eggles- 
 TON Haskell. 
 
 Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and deco- 
 rated in colors by Frank P. Fairbanks . . . $1.00 
 " The story comes straight from the heart of Japan. 
 
 From every page breathes the fragrance of tea leaves, 
 
 cherry blossoms and chrysanthemums." — The Chicago 
 
 Inter-Ocean. 
 
 A— 8 
 
BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 
 
 THE YOUNG SECTION-HAND; Or, The Ad- 
 ventures OP Allan West. By Burton E. Stevenson 
 bquare 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . $1 56 
 
 _ Mr. Stevenson's hero is a manly lad of sixteen, who is 
 given a chance as a section-hand on a big Western rail- 
 road, and whose experiences are as real as they are thrilling. 
 
 THE YOUNG TRAIN DISPATCHER. By Bur- 
 
 TON E. Stevenson. 
 
 Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1 50 
 
 A better book for boys has never left an American 
 press. — bpring field Union. 
 
 THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER. By Burton E 
 
 Stevenson. 
 
 Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1 50 
 
 Jslothing better in the way of a book of adventure for 
 boys m which the actualities of life are set forth in a practi- 
 cal way could be devised or written." — Boston Herald. 
 
 CAPTAIN JACK LORIMER. By Winn Standish. 
 
 Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1 50 
 
 Jack is a fine example of the all-around American high- 
 school boy. ^ 
 
 JACK LORIMER'S CHAMPIONS; Or, Sports 
 
 ON Land and Lake. By Winn Standish. 
 
 Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1 50 
 
 , It IS exactly the sort of book to give a boy interested 
 
 m athletics, tor it shows him what it means to always 
 
 play fair.' — Chicago Tribune. 
 
 JACK LORIMER'S HOLIDAYS; Or, Millvale 
 High in Camp. By Winn Standish. 
 
 Illustrated SI 50 
 
 Full of just the kind of fun, sports and adventure' to 
 
 excite the healthy minded youngster to emulation. 
 
 JACK LORIMER'S SUBSTITUTE; Or, The Act- 
 iNG Captain of the Team. By Winn Standish. 
 
 Illustrated $1 50 
 
 On the sporting side, this book takes up football, wres- 
 tling, tobogganing, but it is more of a school story perhaos 
 than any ot its predecessors. 
 A— 9 
 
L. C. PAGE &' COMPANY'S 
 
 THE RED FEATHERS. By Theodore Roberts 
 Cloth decorative, illustrated . . . . $1.50 
 
 " The Red Feathers " tells of the remarkable adventures 
 
 of an Indian boy who lived in the Stone Age, many years 
 
 ago, when the world was yoimg. 
 
 FLYING PLOVER. By Theodore Roberts. 
 Cloth decorative. Illustrated by Charles Livingston 
 
 Bull $1.00 
 
 Squat-By-The-Fire is a very old and wise Indian who 
 
 lives alone with her grandson, " Flying Plover," to whom 
 
 she tells the stories each evening. 
 
 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS. By G. E. 
 
 Theodore Roberts. 
 
 Cloth decorative. Illustrated by Charles Livingston 
 
 Bull $1.50 
 
 The story of a fearless young English lad, Dick Ramsey, 
 who, after the death of his father, crosses the seas and 
 takes up the life of a hunter and trapper in the Canadian 
 forests. 
 
 LITTLE WHITE INDIANS. By Fannie E. Os- 
 trander. 
 
 Cloth decorative, illustrated . . . . $1 .25 
 
 " A bright, interesting story which will appeal strongly 
 to the ' make-believe ' instinct in children, and will give 
 them a healthy, active interest in ' the simple life.' " 
 
 THE BOY WHO WON 
 
 By Fannie E. Ostrander, author of " Little White 
 
 Indians." 
 
 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by R. Farrington 
 
 Elwell $1.25 
 
 ^ A companion volume to " Little White Indians " con- 
 tinuing the adventures of the different " tribes," whose 
 " doings " were so interest intilv told in the earlier volume. 
 MARCHING WITH MORGAN. How Donald 
 
 Lovell Became a Soldier of the Revolution. 
 
 By John V. Lane. 
 
 Cloth decorative, illustrated . . . . $1.50 
 
 This is a splendid boy's story of the expedition of 
 Montgomery and Arnold against Quebec. 
 A^IO 
 
BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 
 
 COSY CORNER SERIES 
 
 It is the intention of the publishers that this series shall 
 contain only the very highest and purest literature, — 
 stories that shall not only appeal to the children them- 
 selves, but be appreciated by all those who feel with 
 them in their joys and sorrows. 
 
 The numerous illustrations in each book are by well- 
 known artists, and each volume has a separate attract- 
 ive cover design. 
 
 Each 1 vol., 16mo, cloth $0.50 
 
 By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON 
 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL (Trade Mark.) 
 
 The scene of this story is laid in Kentucky. Its hero- 
 ine IS a small girl, who is known as the Little Colonel 
 on account of her fancied resemblance to an old-school 
 Southern gentleman, whose fine estate and old family 
 are famous in the region. 
 
 THE GIANT SCISSORS 
 
 This is the story of Joyce and of her adventures in 
 France. Joyce is a great friend of the Little Colonel, 
 and m later volumes shares with her the delightful ex- 
 periences of the House Party " and the " Holidays." 
 
 TWO LITTLE KNIGHTS OF KENTUCKY 
 
 Who Were the Little Colonel's Neighbors. 
 
 In this volume the Little Colonel returns to us like an 
 old friend but with added grace and charm. She is not, 
 however, the central figure of the story, that place being 
 taken by the " two little knights." 
 
 MH.DRED'S INHERITANCE 
 
 A delightful little story of a lonely English girl who 
 comes to America and is befriended by a sympathetic 
 Amencan family who are attracted by her beautiful 
 speaking voice. By means of this one gift she is en- 
 abled to help a school-girl who tas temporarily lost the 
 use of her eyes, and thus finally her life becomes a busj. 
 happy one. 
 
 A- 11 
 
X. C. PAGE <*• COMPANY^ S 
 
 By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON {Continued) 
 CICELY AND OTHER STORIES FOR GIRLS 
 
 The readers of Mrs. Johnston's charming juveniles 
 will be glad to learn of the issue of this volume for young 
 people. 
 
 AUNT »LIZA'S HERO AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 A collection of six bright little stories, which will appeal 
 to all boys and most girls. 
 
 BIG BROTHER 
 
 A story of two boys. The devotion and care of Stephen, 
 himself a small boy, for his baby brother, is the theme of 
 the simple tale. 
 
 OLE MAMMY»S TORMENT 
 
 " Ole Mammy's Torment " has been fitly called " a 
 classic of Southern life." It relates the haps and mis- 
 haps of a small negro lad, and tells how he was led by 
 love and kindness to a knowledge of the right. 
 
 THE STORY OF DAGO 
 
 In this story Mrs. Johnston relates the story of Dago, 
 a pet monkey, owned jointly by two brothers. Dago 
 tells his own story, and the account of his haps and mis- 
 haps is both interesting and amusing. 
 
 THE QUILT THAT JACK BUILT 
 
 A pleasant little story of a boy's labor of love, and how 
 it changed the course of his life many years after it WM 
 accomplished 
 
 FLIP'S ISLANDS OF PROVIDENCE 
 
 A story of a boy's life battle, his early defeat, and his 
 final triumph, weU worth the reading. 
 A — 12 
 
BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 
 
 By EDITH ROBINSON 
 A LITTLE PURITAN'S FIRST CHRISTMAS 
 
 A story of Colonial times in Boston, telling how Christ- 
 mas was invented by Betty Sewail, a typical child of the 
 Puritans, aided by her brother Sam, 
 
 A LITTLE DAUGHTER OF LIBERTY 
 
 The author introduces this story as follows: 
 " One ride is memorable in the early history of the 
 American Revolution, the well-knowQ ride of Paul 
 Revere. Equally deserving of commendation is another 
 ride, — the ride of Anthony Severn, — which was no less 
 historic in its action or memorable in its consequences." 
 
 A LOYAL LITTLE MAID 
 
 A delightful and interesting story of Revolutionary 
 days, in which the child heroine, Betsey Schuyler, renders 
 important services to George Washington. 
 
 A LITTLE PURITAN REBEL 
 
 This is an historical tale of a real girl, during the time 
 when the gallant Sir Harry Vane was governor of Massa- 
 chusetts. 
 
 A LITTLE PURITAN PIONEER 
 
 The scene of this story is laid in the Puritan settlement 
 at Charlestown. 
 
 A LITTLE PURITAN BOUND GIRL 
 
 A story of Boston in Puritan days, which is of great 
 interest to youthful readers. 
 
 A LITTLE PURITAN CAVALIER 
 
 The story of a " Little Puritan Cavalier " who tried 
 with all his boyish enthusiasm to emulate the spirit and 
 ideals of the dead Crusaders. 
 
 A PURITAN KNIGHT ERRANT 
 
 The story tells of a young lad in Colonial tim^ who 
 endeavored to carry out the high ideals of the knights 
 of olden days. 
 A— 13 
 
Z. C. FACE &* COMPANY'S 
 
 By OUIDA (Louise de la Ramee) , 
 
 A DOG OF FLANDERS 
 
 A Christmas Story 
 
 Too well and favorably known to require description. 
 
 THE NURNBERG STOVE 
 
 This beautiful story has never before been published 
 at a popular price. 
 
 By FRANCES MARGARET FOX 
 
 THE LITTLE GIANT»S NEIGHBOURS 
 
 A charming nature story Df a " little giant " whose 
 neighbors were the creatures of the field and garden. 
 
 FARMER BROWN AND THE BIRDS 
 
 A little story which teaches children that the birds are 
 man's best friends. 
 
 BETTY OF OLD MACKINAW 
 
 A charming story of child life. 
 
 BROTHER BILLY 
 
 The story of Betty's brother, and some further advett- 
 tures of Betty herself. 
 
 MOTHER NATURE'S LITTLE ONES 
 
 Curious little sketches d scribing the early lifetime, Odr 
 *' childhood," of the little creatures out-of-doors. 
 
 HOW CHRISTMAS CAME TO THE MUL- 
 
 VANEYS 
 
 A bright, lifelike little story of a family of poor children 
 with an unlimited capacity for fun and mischief. 
 
 THE COUNTRY CHRISTMAS 
 
 Miss Fox has vividly described the happy surprises that 
 made the occasion so memorable to the Mulvaneys, and 
 the funny things the children did in their new environ- 
 ment. 
 A- 14 
 
«'■'» 14 3910 
 
One copy del. to Cat. Div.