:.i|'li 
 
Class 
 Book_ 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 
 
Press of The Merrj^ War, 
 Clinton, Iowa 
 
ANECDOTES 
 
 OF 
 
 BUFFALO BILL 
 
 Which Have Never Before 
 Appeared in Print. 
 
 By His 
 
 Boyhood Friend and "Pard' 
 
 D. H. Wingef. 
 
 Clinton. Iowa, June, 1912 
 

 THIS BOOK 
 
 IS 
 
 TO BOYS 
 
 FOR BOYS 
 
 ABOUT BOYS 
 
 
 />. 
 
 6CI.A319652 
 
 9^ .^ . 
 
"BILLY" CODY. 
 
 The Original Boy Scout. 
 
 This cut is reproduced from a drawing 
 made from an old tintype taken after he 
 had made his first scout, and killed his 
 first Indian. Age about 14 years. I'll tell 
 you more about Billy, further on. 
 
To the 
 BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA 
 
 I Dedicate This Book, 
 
 and with my compliments 
 
 and those of Col. Cody 
 
 To 
 
 GENERAL BADEN POWELL 
 The Organizer of the movement. 
 
 Boys be true to his teachings, and you will 
 
 have the esteem of all America. 
 
 You will have clean hands 
 
 and brave hearts. 
 
 You will be the pride of the Original Boy 
 
 Scout, "Buffalo Bill," and I'll be 
 
 glad I wrote this book 
 
 for you. 
 
 Let me hear from you all. 
 
 Sincerely your friend. 
 
 jd;^i^^^^^ 
 
PARDS' 
 
 D. H. WINGET 
 
 The Writer 
 
 COL. W. F. CODY 
 BuHalo Bill . 
 
"PARDS" 
 
 Facing this page is a photo of the writ- 
 er and. Col. W. F. Cody, "Buffalo Bill," 
 taken at Chicago in April, 1912. 
 
 Half a hundred years have gone since 
 first we knew the depth of friendship of 
 "boy pards," and time has only strength- 
 ened and intensified that friendship, until 
 now, in the days of civilization, we can 
 still look each other in the eye and read 
 there that deep true friendship which can 
 only be expressed by "Pard." 
 
WHY THIS BOOK? 
 
 When I conceived the idea of writing 
 this book, true to life as I recall the scenes 
 and anecdotes, I felt that, so far as facts 
 were concerned, I could do it. I have made 
 no flowery flourishes which would take me 
 from the narrow path of truth. I have not 
 dressed the stories in rosy hues, to make a 
 yellow impression, nor have I in a single 
 instance departed from facts, though on 
 some exact dates I may not be accurate. 
 The names I give are real names, the peo- 
 ple of this story are or were real people. 
 Having decided, I next asked permission 
 of my "Pard," which, with the answer is 
 reproduced by "Two Letters" following 
 this. 
 
TWO LETTERS— NO. 1, REQUEST. 
 
 Clmton, Iowa, Oct. 17, 1911. 
 To Col. W. F. Cody. 
 
 My dear Col: — 
 
 I have conceived the idea of writing a 
 book, "Anecdotes of Buffalo Bill which 
 have never appeared in print." I believe 
 as well as anyone now living- besides your- 
 self, I am fitted to write this. It shall tell 
 of our boyhood days, of days which we 
 passed in the west, when the west was 
 young; of the days when history was being 
 made at the point of the pistol, and not in- 
 frequently at the end of a rope. Of the 
 days of "bad men" and bad Indians. Many 
 of the little stories you will recall and 
 many of them will have been forgotten, but 
 you'll recall them. 
 
 I shall not go into this without your per- 
 mission, and to be honest with you I shall 
 tell you now that our boyish pranks shall 
 come to the foreground, no matter if they 
 do hit us close. We were no worse than 
 other boys and to tell the truth, we were no 
 better. 
 
 Can you stand it? 
 
 Your boyhood pard, 
 b. H. Winget. 
 
 11 
 
TWO LETTERS— NO. 2, PERMISSION. 
 
 BUFFALO BILL'S PAWNEE BILL'S 
 
 and 
 
 WILD WEST FAR EAST 
 
 Euroute. 
 
 Northfolk, Va.. Oct. 30, 1911. 
 D. H. Winget, 
 My Dear Old Pard:— 
 
 You say you are going to write a book 
 of "Anecdotes of Buffalo Bill which have 
 never appeared in print." 
 
 You have my full permission. Stick to 
 facts, write history, for in this particular 
 line I know of no one more able to do it 
 than yourself. 
 
 Of course it may hit hard in places, but 
 we were no better than other boys. If you 
 can stand it, I can, so fly at it. 
 
 And I wish you unbounded success, 
 Your friend and pard, 
 W. F. Cody, 
 
 "Buffalo Bill." 
 
 12 
 
HASHED HISTORY. 
 
 Not Dry Picking with Dates, Miles and Stilted 
 Historical Dove tailing. — Just a Bunch of 
 Anecdotes of Buffalo Bill Which Have Never 
 Appeared in Print. — Recollections of "Billy- 
 Cody," the Boy, by his Boyhood "Pard." — 
 Brief Notes of His Doings as Scout, Indian 
 Fighter, Pony Express Rider.— In Short, Just 
 Tales of Buffalo Bill from Boyhood To Now, 
 As I Recall Them. 
 
 This book has not to do with Indians en- 
 tirely. It is not written to take place in 
 the line of those yellowback blood-and- 
 thunder stories of the prairies, written by 
 people who were never west of the Ohio 
 line or north of Kokomo, Indiana. It is in- 
 tended to be hashed history, if so I may 
 term it.^ It does not take up the story and 
 follow day by day the doings of Buffalo 
 Bill. That would be too much like the 
 route card or itinerary of his Wild West 
 show. 
 
 This is just a bunch of anecdotes of the 
 
 13 
 
boy and man, as they recur to me, backed 
 by no notes or data save memory. It is 
 not a history of the King of Scouts as a 
 scout, though of this line of brave men, he 
 was the bravest. It is not a tale of the 
 Pony Express, though he was one of its 
 fu'st riders. It is not a story of the man 
 as a show man, though he has been seen in 
 the saddle with his peerless historical pa- 
 geant by more people than any other man 
 living or dead in history. 
 
 No, all this has been printed and re- 
 printed in the public press, in magazines, 
 in books, and is to many an old story. 
 
 It has been left to me, his boyhood chum 
 and "pard," to gather up the threads here 
 and there which have been missed by the 
 historians and story writers, because they 
 did not know, and to weave them into the 
 fabric of his life, using names as I can re- 
 member them, and dates where I am sure 
 of them, but keeping so close to actual his- 
 tory that both the writer and the one writ- 
 ten, of can sit on a bible and make affida- 
 vit to the whole. And this is what we 
 might call ''patchwork" history. 
 
 T have heard people say, speaking of 
 Buffalo Bill that he was never on the plains 
 
 14 
 
never a scout, never saw an Indian, never 
 kiUed an Indian, and an editor away out 
 in Cheyenne, where to my certain knowl- 
 edge Cody killed two Indians, writes in his 
 "sage brush" philosophy that Buffalo Bill 
 never saw a hostile Indian in his life, when 
 there is at least two people living in that 
 city, James Currie and Ed. Estes, who were 
 with us when Cody killed two Indians, and 
 rescued a man named Hillyard Cooper from 
 them after they had killed his wife before 
 his eyes, the man securely bound to the 
 wheel of his "moving" wagon. 
 
 15 
 
BUFFALO BILL'S FACE. 
 
 Probably Known by More People Than Any 
 Other Man of the Century, Living or Dead. — 
 A Letter Bearing His Picture Only Finds 
 Him in London, England. — Cody, as Boy and 
 Man, Scout and Guide. — A Maker of History. 
 Known the World Around. — The Wild West 
 and Western, Boys. — "Chuckaway" and Tea 
 Kettles. — Sugar and Ponies. 
 
 I will venture to say that Buffalo Bill 
 is the best known man in the United Statea 
 if not in the world. 
 
 I say this because I believe I can prove 
 it. Some years ago I mailed a letter to 
 him from Clinton, Iowa, and it reached 
 him in London, England, bearing for super- 
 scription only his picture and the wore 
 "England" on the envelope, and last year 
 (1911) j I sent many letters to him in this 
 country addressed the same way. 
 
 As I say, many people know him as 
 
 16 
 
Buffalo Bill, the showman, and the Chief 
 of Scouts of the U. S. 
 
 Still a large number knoAV him as a 
 guide and buffalo hunter. 
 
 But I am not afraid of contradiction 
 when I say there is but a handful who 
 know him as "Billy Cody," the school boy. 
 
 Well, I am of that handful, I know him 
 as a boy — a school boy, and this is my ex- 
 cuse for writing this, the unvarnished story 
 of his early life, bringing it down as late 
 as I may, with little sketches which I have 
 never seen in print, and telling as truth- 
 ful as a mirror, his and our many pranks 
 pleasant and otherwise, as boys of the 
 wild west. 
 
 It was the wild west then, away back 
 in the fifties. True we were boys, not 
 young men. In this enlightened age, where 
 our language is so plentifully sprinkled 
 with slang, we would be called kids. 
 
 And we were kids, imbued with all the 
 ginger and .steam of the son of a goat ; 
 could not stand still a minute, something 
 doing all the time; our every day being 
 hallcw e'en, and our nights spent laying 
 out the program for the coming morn. 
 
 Not bad kids, mind you, no better — no 
 
 17 
 
worse than others — just boys bubbling over 
 with health, good bounding red blood, and 
 on the best of terms with all the world. 
 
 If in these sketches there may be some 
 things which do not coincide with your 
 ideas of what the boy of to-day should be, 
 pass it over, for those pranks are but atoms 
 of what seems to me ancient history. 
 
 They tell of days when the West was 
 young; of the days before the noble red 
 man was the fat, easy going old grunter 
 he is to-day; of the days when the friendly 
 tribes would come to town and shoot with 
 their arrows a 5-cent piece put up for a 
 target; when your pet dog or eat looked to 
 the friendly Indian only as a good square 
 meal, and they were made the victims of 
 the bow and arrow; of the days when the 
 friendly buck or squaw would enter your 
 home without knocking and ask for 
 "chuekaway," which being interpreted 
 means grub ; and when these same bucks 
 or squaAvs could be made to take a swift 
 hike when they saw your mother reach on 
 the stove for the tea kettle. They bore no 
 malice. They did not stop to reason or 
 explain, nor did they look around — they 
 vanished. 
 
Those were the days when a cup of dark 
 brown sugar would buy an Indian pony 
 from the tribe, and as a consequence all 
 us boys had our own horses, and as a fur- 
 ther consequence most of our games were 
 played on horseback. It was no uncom- 
 mon thing away back "then" to see a 
 whole herd of school boys' ponies grazing 
 on the play ground, or standing patiently 
 waiting the appearance of their young 
 masters and mistresses, for girls had their 
 ponies, too. 
 
 Billy was a splendid rider and had al- 
 ways a splendid mount. His ponies were 
 all trained to come at his call, and there 
 were few very few other persons who 
 could approach them. 
 
 19 
 
BOY SCOUTS. 
 
 Just a Word With Our Boys. — What is Neces- 
 sary To Make a Good Clean Boy Scout. — A 
 Clean Pure Character. — Bravery, Truth, Chiv- 
 alry. — A Word To Parents of "Our Boys." 
 — How To Train Them. — Appeal To Their 
 Honor, Counsel With Them, Believe in 
 Them, Rely Upon Them. 
 
 There are thousands of Boy Scouts all 
 over the country. Has it ever occurred to 
 you that the best known scout in the v»'orld 
 is Buffalo Bill ? It is the spirit of the scout 
 nature which makes this organization so 
 fascinating. Take the great Scout Cody 
 for your example. First be sure you are 
 right, then go ahead. 
 
 In the first place be brave, cultivate 
 that bravery which is born in every boy. 
 
 Dare to do right, to be right. Then 
 have the courage of your convictions, and 
 fight for them. 
 
 Let us take the early life of the great 
 
 20 
 
Scout. His tastes were not low. His brav- 
 ery as a boy was never questioned. He was 
 open and above board in all his actions. 
 
 He was not two-faced. 
 
 He would not lie. 
 
 He made a confidante of hiiK^ father, 
 Who was an early pioner»of Iowa. The two 
 were "pards." His noble mother had con- 
 fidence in her boy because she knew he 
 was true. 
 
 He was the champion of the weak. In 
 short he was a manly boy. All these things 
 it takes to make a true Boy Scout. 
 
 Are you eligible, my boy, to follow the 
 great scout i Think it over. Be on good 
 terms with your father be his "pard." 
 
 Honor your little mother. Be her pride 
 and her champion. 
 
 Dare to do right. 
 
 Dare to be true. 
 
 And you will have in you all that is 
 necessary for a Boy Scout. 
 
 To The Parents: 
 
 Father, invite the confidence of your 
 boy. Encourage him to be brave and true. 
 Take him in counsel with you. Meet him 
 on the level. Appeal to his honor in all 
 things. Cultivate his pride. A good heart 
 
 21 
 
to heart talk is Avortli more than a wagon 
 load of bh^ch switches. He is a coming man. 
 Meet him as such. It depends a whole lot 
 upon what kind of a man he will make, 
 whether it be one who will look the world 
 in the face with steadfast eye, or an apol- 
 ogetic whimpering thing subservient to ev- 
 ery one. Make him a leader. There will 
 be plenty of those who follow and are driv- 
 en like cattle. 
 
 Mothers, cultivate in your boy a pride; 
 make him feel that he is your protector, 
 your champion. Make him feel that he is 
 the one you look to, that he has your wel» 
 fare in his keeping. If he needs correction, 
 put it in such form that it appeals to his 
 honor ; make him feel that he is responsible, 
 and by all means take a pride in praising 
 him when it is deserved. 
 
 Thus you will give him confidence and 
 pride, and you will have developed a true 
 blue Boy Scout with all the attributes of 
 the King of Scouts. 
 
 22 
 
THE BOY AVENGER. 
 
 Stabbing of Billy's Father.— I'll Kill That Man." 
 — A Border Riot and a Border Ruffian Laid 
 Low. — His Father Avenged. — Billy's Knows 
 and I Know.— What's That Knife Worth?— Ask 
 Buffalo Bill. 
 
 It was way back in the border ruffian 
 times in Kansas, Just about the time Kan- 
 sas territory was knocking at the doors 
 to be admitted to statehood, and the feel- 
 ing ran very high and bitter between those 
 who wished her to be a free state and those 
 who wanted a slave state. Buffalo Bill's 
 father Isaac Cody was a good talker, and 
 a man who had the courage of his convic- 
 tions. Mass meetings were held among the 
 settlers which were largely attended by 
 Missourians all of whom clammored for 
 slavery. At one of those meetings Isaac 
 Cody was called upon to speak. His speech 
 was a ringing free state talk and it seem- 
 
 23 
 
ed that he drove every argument home. 
 He lived before his time. He looked far, 
 far into the future and in that ringing 
 speech prophesied what in after years Abra- 
 ham Lincoln brought to pass. This was too 
 much for the Missourians, and one of them 
 a big burly ruffian mounted the box upon 
 which Mr. Cody stood and stabbed him 
 twice with a huge bowie knife. Little Billy 
 with his friend and companion were both 
 in tears, but Billy straightened up, and 
 seemed to grow to a man, as he said, "I'll 
 never lose track of that man until I kill 
 him." It was not his good fortune to get 
 him at once, but some time afterward, the 
 man turned out to be the leader of one of 
 the most desperate gangs of thieves and 
 ruffians that ever infested the Kansas bor- 
 der They were known as Border Ruffians, 
 and not a few pitched battles were the re- 
 sult of their forays on the Kansas border. 
 It was after one of these ''riots" that the 
 killed and wounded were gathered up, and, 
 as we looked over the men laid out in a 
 row, the ruffian lay there with his face up- 
 ward, the sun shining in it, showing, be- 
 tween the eyes, a bullet hole. 
 
 "Didn't I tell you I would," said Billy, 
 
 24 
 
and boys as we were we simply shook hands 
 and from his side I pulled Billy's bowie 
 knife where it had been driven to the hilt. 
 His father was avenged. 
 
 Thus a boy had rid the border of one of 
 its most dangerous characters, and the 
 people breathed easier. 
 
 This, I believe, is the first time this ever 
 appeared in print, and to this day I believe 
 there are but two people who know who 
 killed "Weston Red." 
 
 Billy knows and I know. 
 
 If you wish to know what that knife is 
 worth, try to buy it from Buffalo Bill. 
 
 25 
 
THE ORIGINAL BOY SCOUT. 
 
 His First Scouting Trip. — He Spies on an In- 
 dian Camp in War Paint and brings the News: 
 To the Fort.— A Company of U. S. Troops Sent 
 out with Billy as Guide. — His Bravery Recog- 
 nized by the Government. — A Handsome Pres- 
 ent. — A Young Hero, 
 
 The grand army of Boy Scouts is grad- 
 ually surrounding the civilized world and 
 while not directly connected with this army, 
 Buffalo Bill may safely be said to have 
 been the first, or original Boy Scout. 
 
 At the tender age of 15 or 16 years he 
 went on his first scout. 
 
 Rumors were afloat of a band of Indians 
 on the war path, and "Billy Cody," mount- 
 ed his pony to find out the truth of the 
 matter. He rode half the night, and was 
 rewarded in his search by finding a large 
 body of Cherokees, and as he noted their 
 movements he saw that they were in a 
 
 26 
 
state of unrest, and that preparations were 
 being made for something unusual. 
 
 After satisfying himself that all was not 
 right, he turned his faithful "Billy" pony 
 toward home, and as day was breaking, 
 rode into Fort Leavenworth and reported 
 the facts. 
 
 About that time the small trains or par- 
 ties of movers, or settlers, were preparing 
 to make the trip to the far west, and al- 
 ready several had started. On the morn- 
 ing he rode in, a government supply train 
 was getting ready to move, and Billy's 
 news, caused the commander to send out a 
 troop of cavalry instead. With them Billy 
 rode as guide, and scout— his first trip as 
 a scout. 
 
 Just at the point designated by him 
 about two hundred Cherokees were found, 
 in full war paint, and stripped for battle, 
 massacre and robbery. At first sight of 
 the troop, they mounted their horses, and, 
 firing a few parting shots dashed away, 
 followed by the cavalry with Billy well to 
 the front. On this raid, eight ablebodied 
 bucks were sent to the happy hunting 
 grounds, 
 
 Billy was brought before the Com- 
 
 27 
 
mander and thanked most heartily, and, as 
 a further testimonial of the government's 
 recognition of his service, was presented 
 with a fine rangey horse, saddle and bridle, 
 a pair of "navy" revolvers and a cavalry 
 carbine. 
 
 I tell you Billy was proud of this, and 
 when it became known Billy was quite a 
 hero, and I being his chum was just as 
 proud as he. 
 
 The supply train moved with an escort 
 of Uncle Sam's cavalry, and many of the 
 westward ho, settlers dropped in behind 
 and traveled with this strong escort of 
 soldiers. 
 
 After this all trains were sent out with 
 a military guard, and a scout or guide. 
 Thus, I claim that "Billy" Cody was the 
 original Boy Scout. 
 
 Though years have passed since scouts 
 were useful on our border, the thrilling life, 
 the tales of dangers and bravery, have held 
 a fascination for the youth of all countries, 
 and no more enticing name could be found 
 around which to gather our boys than that 
 of "Scout." 
 
 The original "Boy Scout" is no longer 
 a boy, that is to say, in years, but his big 
 
 28 
 
boyish heart* is still Avarm for the boys. He 
 loves the good clean American boy, such as 
 are enrolled in the Boy Scout movement, 
 and nothing pleases him so well as to sit 
 alone with a bunch of "Our Boys" and 
 hold a "pow-wow," as he terms it. 
 
 I have heard the old long-haired scout 
 talk with boys, and if his advice as given 
 to them were accepted by every boy, Amer- 
 ica would boast a race of "Boy Scouts" 
 noted for their clean character, their brav- 
 ery, their chivalry. They would be boys 
 and young men who would look you fear- 
 lessly in the eye and tell the truth. They 
 would be brave, in that they would know 
 they v/ere right and would fight for it. 
 They would honor and revere their coun- 
 try's flag and as I have often seen this 
 big "Boy Scout" do, would take off their 
 hat to their country's emblem, and should 
 the time come when it needed defenders, 
 they would be in the first rank and on the 
 firing line, ready, if need be, to lay down 
 their lives for its honor. 
 
 That is the stuff good American scouts 
 are made of. "They are our boys," said 
 Col. Cody "who will be our men, our 
 rulers, our generals, our protectors." 
 
 29 
 
In talking to a bunch of boys one day, 
 the Colonel said : 
 
 "Boys, keep your hands clean. Don t 
 do any dirty tricks of which you will be 
 ashamed. Don't be afraid to tell the truth. 
 Be brave enough to speak it, even if it 
 goes against you. True bravery never 
 hides behind a lie. That is the coward's 
 breast woriis. Keep your muscles haru, 
 get out in the air, waiK, ride, take exercise. 
 Keep up with your stuuies, give your brain 
 the same exercise you do your legs and 
 arms. A cultvated and well balanced brain 
 is one of the things every great general 
 must have, whether it be on the battle 
 field or in the great fight with the world 
 as captains of industry." 
 
 Salute your fathers as your superior 
 oii-icers, make them respect you. Show 
 Ihem that you are coming men. Take them 
 in your counsel, meet them on the level, 
 and you will find them the nicest lot of 
 fellows you ever met. A true soldier and 
 scout holds the name of woman in rever- 
 ence. Then be a soldier true and a scout. 
 Show your mother and your sister that you 
 are their protector, and that they may rely 
 upon you. Don't get out of patience. Take 
 
 30 
 
steps for them, help them whenever you 
 can relieve them of burden. It is not the 
 mark of a softy or a goody-goody boy. It 
 is the insigna of bravery of chivalry and 
 the proud mark of a true boy scout of the 
 later day. The same spirit which led the 
 scout of the plains to fight the Indians, 
 and protect the weak, stands in these days 
 of civilization between the weak — our 
 mothers, our sisters and their burdens." 
 
 "I tell you, boys, if I was a boy to-day, 
 I would join the Boy Scouts, and make it 
 my pride to keep the name pure, and its 
 banner unstained." 
 
 Even while still a boy, "Billy" Cody 
 formed a company of "scouts" to look out 
 for the advance guard of border ruffians 
 and report whenever any of them crossed 
 the river from Missouri, and more than one 
 preconcerted raid was broke up by "Billy 
 Cody's Boys." Those were the days when 
 the Missourians, or pro-slavery people were 
 looked upon as dangerous, and were dan- 
 gerous, for the gang embraced the roughs, 
 outlaws and the scum of humanity, men 
 who were lawless, and held life cheaply. 
 They sought the lives not only of Isaac 
 Cody, but of several other tried and true 
 
 31 
 
pronounced men in favor of a Free State 
 for Kansas. If a handfull of these resolute 
 men could be put out of the way it would 
 be clear sailing for those in favor of slav- 
 ery. 
 
 This organization was formed and led 
 by "Billy Cody," and he never slept. It 
 did seem that he was constantly on the job. 
 Our good and close chum, Harry Hathway, 
 was another we could count on. Ed. House, 
 Henry Brown, Jimmie Mann, Pat Malone, 
 Ed Hastings and little Jimmie Tool, were 
 others, while some of Kansas girls were 
 alert, and not infrequently gave pointers. 
 Among those girls, true as steel, we recall, 
 May Cody, Helen Cody, Laura Hughes, 
 Flora Rush, Abbie Perkins, Clara Weibling, 
 Mamie Sanders, and Carrie Helling. They 
 were true blue, and as I look at it now 
 they should have sailed under the name of 
 "Girl Scouts." They were all girls of 
 true western metal, girls to whom the 
 dangers of the border were well known and 
 for whom they had no terrors. God bless 
 our girl scouts wherever they may be. 
 
 32 
 
Our Indian- Chun:.— How Indian-^ ••Apivar.''- 
 Indian Boy. — A RoUL-h and Tuuiblo Tiil 
 A Bully Horsewhipped. — An Indi-: 
 tude.— We Learn Woodcraft and 
 Language. — An Indian 'Standpatter. — H:s 
 skih- Friend • Remember.9.-i-F;iendshi.p^ 
 
 Did you ever hear of that trait, or wliat- 
 ever you call it, which is. peculiar totlie 
 Indians as to no other race, that of ;;' ap- 
 pearing?" . .. ' 
 
 Let me explain. You are out in the tim- 
 ber all alone, you think, and you turn your 
 head and an Indian is beside you standing 
 quietly looking at you. • , .- ■ 
 
 I cannot explain it, and though J- haye 
 heard the same ciuestion asked, I have.nev'er 
 heard it explained. . I -h^v_e> asked it , often 
 of my Indian friends and I had many, but 
 they did not -seem to know what I meant, 
 or why it w^as so .extraordina,ry; So i, don't 
 
 2 
 
believe they know themselves. I guess its 
 born in them — a part of their make-up, just 
 the same as a negro is born with an aroma 
 all his own. Pie doe.sn't notice it. He 
 doesn't explain it. 
 
 But that "appearing" was only a pass- 
 ing thought brought about by a wave of 
 memory regarding our friend Long-Bow. 
 
 Long-Bow was an Indian boy about our 
 own age, and often joined with us. By 
 "us'' I do not mean our school boy crowd, 
 but just Billy and I. It seemed that we 
 were happier when astride our ponies. We 
 took long rides, and builded air castles, 
 whose foundations rested on the boundless 
 prairies of the far west we had heard so 
 much about. We wanted to grow up so that 
 we could join the ever westward moving, 
 throngs to the land of gold. 
 
 On these rides, many times Long Bow 
 was our companion. He taught us wood- 
 craft. He taught us to follow a trail or 
 how to blind our own trail. He taught us 
 his language and also the almost universal 
 sign language of the red man. 
 
 Long Bow was what we would call in 
 this generation a "stand patter." He was 
 true as steel, and a friend we could trust 
 
 34 
 
more implicitly than many of those in whose 
 veins runs the blood of the white man. 
 
 They say an Indian never forgets an in- 
 jury. True indeed, but let uie add. he never 
 forgets a kindness or proves ungrateful to 
 a friend. 
 
 This was taught me by Long Boav \\lio 
 proved the line I have added. 
 
 One day in a beautiful Kansas autumn, 
 Billy and I were alone in the big timber 
 just west of Leavenworth. It was wild and 
 deep, that timber. It had not given up to 
 the march of civilization, nor cast aside its 
 truly untamed mantle. Squirrels chased 
 each other over the trees, the gray timber 
 wolf had its home in that forest, and the 
 wild eat and catamount were at home in 
 the giant trees or skulking along in the un- 
 der brush. It was wild western nature. 
 
 Our ponies were grazing near us, and 
 we were lying on our backs building air 
 castles, talking of what we would do vvhen 
 we were a little older, when 
 
 Long Bow "appeared." 
 
 We both saw him at once, as he stood 
 there like a statue. 
 
 "How," said he. 
 
 "How," said we. 
 
Then he came and sat with us. He had 
 Sx story to tell of some of the boys in town. 
 They had misused him, and made him feel 
 that he was but an Indian. They in a 
 crowd had fallen upon him and given him a 
 licking. In short they had horsewhipped 
 him. 
 
 Long Bow, half-civilized Indian boy, 
 though he was, felt the indignity and came 
 to us his friends to tell us. How he knew 
 where to find us I do not know. He simply 
 "appeared," and that was all. 
 
 In his short crisp language, helped out 
 and emphsi/ied by signs, he told us of his 
 battle with the town boys, and how, like 
 cowards, they over powered him and thrash- 
 ed him with their quirts.* He told us who 
 they were, and asked us to help him, 
 
 ''I shall kill Sardell," he said, "and that 
 big Tom Watson." 
 
 Billy told him we would help him, and 
 we all shook hands, just like grown-ups, 
 both white and Indian, 
 
 Tom Watson was one of a gang Avhich 
 the school boys did not like. They did not 
 
 * — Quirt, an Indian riding wliip of braided leath- 
 er or raw hide, • 
 
 36 
 
go to school, and simply loafed around the 
 levee picking quarrels Avith the school boys 
 and lamming the tar out of them if thc}^ 
 caught one or two alone. 
 
 It was some weeks after this when Billy 
 and this Tom Watson had a mixup. I don't 
 remember who started it, l)ut Billy gave 
 him all he could stand. There were enough 
 of Billy's crowd to see fair play and to 
 keep off Tom's gang if they should inter- 
 fere. It was a struggle. They were well 
 matched though while Watson had the ad- 
 vantage of weight Billy could get all arounc 
 him and make it hot for him. Not fists 
 alone were used but the ever present quirt 
 was in the hands of each. 
 
 Long Bow was there. He stood ready 
 to spring in, but we held him back, well 
 knowing that fair play was all that was 
 necessary. During a pause in the hostilities 
 Billy told him what a coward he was with 
 his gang to jump Long Bow, and after a 
 short wordy combat, as boys will indulge 
 in they went at it again, the quirts cracked, 
 fists found noses and the battle was on 
 again. 
 
 Billy licked him, good and plenty, and 
 then, after he let liiin up, after having 
 
knocked him down, he told him to apologize 
 to Long Bow. 
 
 This he refused to do, and Billy went 
 after him with the lash end of his quirt 
 and gave him a real horsewhipping, and 
 finally made him take off his hat to the 
 Indian boy. 
 
 That day's work meant bad blood be- 
 tween the school gang and the "rowdies," 
 as we called them, and we took pains when 
 we went down to the levee, to always go 
 in crowds of three or four or a dozen. 
 
 Long Bow was our friend after that. He 
 simply worshipped Billy and more than ever 
 we had him for our companion. 
 
 Several years after that, when Billy had 
 taken to the plains, he was scouting ahead 
 of a train of prairie schooners, looking *or 
 traces of hostile Indians. Then the plains 
 were full of them. 
 
 it was growing dusk, and Billy, riding 
 alone far ahead of the train, came down 
 to the bed of a creek to water his horse 
 and himself. It was a lonely spot, he told 
 me, thick willow under growth on one side 
 and dense grove of schumac on the other. 
 His horse had got its fill of water and Billy 
 
 38 
 
who had laid down on his belly to get his 
 drink, arose to find an Indian in war paint 
 at his side. 
 
 "I tell you pard," says Billy, "I felt 
 cold all over, I felt it was all up with me 
 for the Indian had the drop on me and he 
 had a splendid gun, besdes his long knife 
 in his belt." 
 
 "How, Billy," said the Indian. 
 
 "How, Long Bow," said Billy who re- 
 cognized him at once, though the Indian 
 boy had grown to a stalwart buck, fine of 
 form, lithe and sinewy as a wrestler — a 
 typical savage in all the glory of his hid- 
 eous war paint. 
 
 He took the bridle of Billy's horse and 
 led it into the stream and up the creek to 
 a stony shore, where he stopped. 
 
 "Billy go back to wagons," said Long 
 Bow. Heap Indians over rise all on war 
 path," and he started out with Billy, guid- 
 ing him, covering his trail and keeping with 
 him through the tortuous windings of the 
 western stream until he reached a point 
 nearest the train. 
 
 By this time it was night, and as the 
 stars were out — a perfect starry night with- 
 out a moon, the Indian pointed to the 
 
 39 
 
North star, then facing it directed Billy to 
 his train, some eight or ten miles to the 
 north-east. He told him to hold his train 
 in camp for two sleeps and then to take his 
 regular trail, and his tribe would be far to 
 the south. 
 
 The redskin friend in his war paint 
 stood pat. 
 
 Billy walked for a distance leading his 
 horse, and as he frequently looked behind 
 he saw his friend standing watching him, 
 until the darkness swallowed him up. 
 
 It afterards transpired that if Billy 
 and his train had fallen into the hands of 
 that band of Indians, there would not one 
 have lived to tell the tale. 
 
 Billy rode into camp late at night and 
 gave orders that not a move should be 
 made for two days though he did not tell 
 why. But it saved the train. 
 
 40 
 
"KOUNDING THE ELDER." 
 
 A\Doggcn Mean Trick. — Our Little Churcti. — 
 
 ■ Our Preacher. — The "Elder." — The Bad Boys. 
 
 — The Howling Pack of Hounds. — A Turmoil 
 
 in the Sanctuary. — Anxious Moments. — Vve 
 
 Cross Our Hearts.— 'i he "Clan." 
 
 In Leavenworth, Kansas, many years 
 ago, the Presbyterian church stood between 
 Seneca and Osage streets. It was a little 
 frame building with two front doors. Lead- 
 ing from each door down to the pulpit was 
 an aisle with seats holding about eight peo- 
 ple on the north and south sides, and long 
 seats holding about double the number in 
 the center. It was so arranged that we 
 could go in one door do^vn the aisle and 
 passing the pulpit, out the other door. So 
 much for the lay of the land. 
 
 Our preacher was Mr. A. W. Pitzer, now 
 of "Washington, D. C, a southern man who 
 at the beginning of the civil war resigned 
 and cast his fortunes with his home land 
 
 41 
 
He was a young man, beloved by all and 
 especially by the boys with whom he was 
 a great favorite. Now you have the church 
 the pulpit, pew and preacher, 
 
 I suppose in every church there is some 
 vinegar faced old elder who always finds 
 fault with the boys, and is a constant men- 
 ace to their exuberent spirits. 
 
 Our church had one. His name was Cur- 
 rie, "Old Currie" we called him, and he 
 made us feel that he owned the church, 
 that we must clean our feet, and tip-toe 
 down the aisle or he would "call us" be- 
 fore the congregation, and more than once 
 he would lead us out and make us clean 
 our feet. 
 
 Now we have the church and the elder. 
 The lay of the land and so forth. Now for 
 the bad boys: 
 
 There were in our crowd about six or 
 seven boys, and this bunch resolved itself 
 down to three or four when any particular- 
 ly "devilish" scheme was on foot. That 
 was a quartette of quiet ones, who neve^ 
 told. 
 
 About a half block from the church 
 lived a man who owned a pack of sixteen 
 hounds. 
 
 42 
 
We four, Billy Cody, Will AVinget, Ed. 
 House and the writer were sitting as boys 
 will on the sunnyside of the Terry stage 
 barn, talking, and airing our grievances as 
 boys will, and the talk turned to "Old 
 Currie." This conference led to putting up 
 a job on " Old Currie. ' ' 
 
 Billy outlined a plan whereby we could 
 get even with the old' iellow. 
 
 This was Saturday afternoon, and we 
 knew that "Old Currie" was going to give 
 a talk at the church the following Sunday 
 morning, so it was proposed among us, that 
 we do something. 
 
 Now right here, I want to go on record 
 as not saying that Billy Cody planned this 
 freak, because we all joined hands and 
 crossed our hearts to never tell. But here 's 
 what we did: 
 
 We got a scent bag early in the morn- 
 ing, and from the dog kennel we trailed it 
 straight to the church. Ed got in a win- 
 dow and opened the doors. Through the 
 -, north door, we dragged the scent bag, down 
 the aisle, up the pulpit steps on one side 
 and down the other through the south aisle 
 and out the south door, through the back 
 yard of Dr. Morris residence and out the 
 
 43 
 
front gate and back to the home kennel. 
 
 All was well, but we threw out our line 
 of scouts to be sure that Currie was there 
 and not the preacher. 
 
 Things came our way. The elder in his 
 pompous way marched up the aisle, put his 
 Sunday "plug" hat on the table and as- 
 cended the pulpit to "address the congre- 
 gation." He gave out the hymn, just like 
 a preacher, prayed like a lost calf and fin- 
 ally settled down to preach. 
 
 Word was quickly passed and the hounds 
 were released and took up the scent. Such 
 music as those hounds did make. They all 
 had the deep, hollow baritone voice pecul- 
 iar to their breed and struck up the chorus 
 as the solid pack followed the scent, down 
 Potawatomie street, turning on Sixth street 
 down through the church yard, yelping, 
 howling, baying, rushing, into the church 
 door, doA\Ti the aisle up over the pulpit, 
 knocking down the plug hat and the contri- 
 bution bags on their long sticks, tripping 
 "Old Currie," as they rushed between his 
 legs, overturning and breaking the glass 
 water pitcher, spilling the water, out the 
 south aisle and door, through Dr. Morris' 
 yard and, as the surveyor would put it. 
 
 44 
 
''back to the place of beginning." However 
 it is oul}^ by hearsay that I know what 
 took place in the church, but there was 
 something doing. Women screamed and 
 stood up on the seats, men were terrorized. 
 Currie was seared "stiff," and well doused 
 with water, while the crowd, trying to get 
 out of the way of the dogs, tramped his 
 plug hat into a shapeless mass. My father 
 told me if one of his boys was connected 
 with that scrape he would tan the hide off 
 him. And he would, for I happen to know 
 from experience. 
 
 The papers were full of it. I say papers 
 but there was but one paper at that time. 
 It was the Leavenworth Herald, run by a 
 man named Saterlee, who was afterwards 
 shot and killed by the late Col. D. R. An- 
 thony. Rewards were offered for the per- 
 petrators, but they were never discovered. 
 
 We boys were scared stiff. We met at 
 our rendezvous — behind the barn, and cross- 
 ed our hearts never to reveal our secret. 
 It was about this time that the pro-sia very 
 ruffians from Missouri were making raids 
 across the border, and it was finally laid 
 at their door. 
 
 We did not as kids realize what we 
 
 45 
 
were doing or the enormity of the offense, 
 but when it became tlie talk of the town, 
 we walked the earth with fear and trem- 
 bling, even fearing lest we talk in our sleep 
 and give ourselves away. 
 
 That was a great crowd of boys. I kept 
 track of them long enough to know that 
 one became a gambler and was shot on a 
 steamboat. Another, a preacher, and at 
 last accounts was a bishop. Still another 
 drifted out onto the plains as a wagon mas- 
 ter. Another, my brother, is at Cupple's 
 station, St, Louis. The next is the best 
 known man in the world, and from Billy 
 Cody has become the world known Buffalo 
 Bill, while the last is the writer, located in 
 Clinton, Iowa, running a newspaper. And 
 now, the spirit moves me to write a long 
 letter of confession to our beloved pastor, 
 Mr. Pitzer, and tell him how it happened. 
 
 46 
 
GRAVE ROBBERS. 
 
 A Ghost Indeed.— We All Saw It.— We Heard 
 It Groan.— It was all White and Ten Feet 
 Tall.— The Open Grave.— That Creepy Feel- 
 ing. — Billy's Joke. 
 
 Truth to tell, the incident I am about 
 to rela^te scared me so that 1 did not re- 
 member whether "Billy Cody" was with 
 us tliat night or not, but lie was usually 
 in on any excitement, and our crowd was 
 never complete or at its best without him, 
 AVell,, I'll not "peach" on him anyhow. 
 
 A pauper had died and was buried. His 
 case had been a puzzle to the doctors. 
 
 An old doctor v^'ho wished to know 
 more of the case, wanted the body. He 
 came to one of our crowd — "Hen" Brown 
 and offered him twenty dollars if he would 
 get the body. 
 
 At the gathering of the "clan," that 
 moonlight evening, "Hen" told us all 
 
 47 
 
about it, and where we would find the 
 grave. 
 
 Here was a lark. 
 
 The boys were all up and ready for a 
 "creepy" adventure, so, armed with spades 
 a pick and other garden tools, we started 
 for Pilot Knob, the burying ground. 
 
 This was not the cemetery of to-day by 
 any means. It was the table land at the 
 top of a knob or huge hill — really a cross 
 between a hill and a mountain. On one 
 side to the north, the ascent was gradual 
 and winding and here the funerals 
 approached the summit. On the east the 
 descent while not absolutely perpendicular 
 was a very steep incline. The sides and 
 top of the knob were covered with scrub 
 oak bushes, with here and there a tree — 
 the kind with the glossy, Avhispering leaves. 
 
 Ed, House and the old doctor — Dr. 
 Abeeie with a one horse spring wagon 
 drove around the road, and the rest of us 
 cut across, and up the steep side of the 
 knob. We soon gained the top and found 
 the newly made grave. We started to dig. 
 
 But where was Cody? 
 
 * * *:= # =• \- * 
 
 The moon came out from behind an oc- 
 
 48 
 
casional cloud, only to be veiled by another. 
 The wind whistled a wild wierd tune 
 through the tree tops and bushes, causing 
 them to assist our imagination in forming 
 lisping ghosts and waving phantoms as 
 their leaves showed bright in the moon- 
 light like eyes from a skulking ghost or 
 spirit. 
 
 Pretty soon we began to get nervous. 
 We were only boys, just about the age 
 when ghost stories give you a creepy feel- 
 ing, and the cold little devils chase them- 
 selves up and down your spine. 
 
 "What's that?" i-aid one. 
 
 "What is it?" said another. 
 
 "I saw something white over behind 
 that bush," said George Pierce, 
 
 And we all felt chilly. 
 
 Suddenly we heard a low moaning from 
 the bushes just beyond the grave. It was 
 low and plaintive at first, but soon it took 
 on the unmistakeable moan. 
 
 All work stopped. The tAvo boys scur- 
 ried up out of the grave, and stood with 
 us. The moan again, and as we looked in 
 its direction a ghostly figure all in white 
 rose slowly up, up, till it stood as we 
 thought ten feet hia-h. It was a ghost. No, 
 
 49 
 
you needn't tell me there are no ghosts — 
 I saw one, I heard it groan. A panic 
 seized us, and with one accord we started 
 down the steep side of Pilot Knob, leav- 
 ing all our tools behind, and truth to tell, 
 they may be there yet, for though I have 
 often been up at the old burying ground, 
 I have never had the courage to go near 
 the old pauper's grave. 
 
 As I look back even now when fifty 
 years have passed without a ghost, I feel 
 a shudder and a cold clamy sensation, as 
 I recall that ten foot ghost in the grave- 
 yard on Pilot Knob. 
 
 Long, long afterward when we were 
 alone, Billy told me all about it. He had 
 gone home, got a sheet and a white skirt 
 and tied them up in a bundle, and while 
 we were tugging up the hill he drew apart 
 from the crowd, and finally, dressed in his 
 ghostly uniform, "appeared," and fright- 
 ened us off. He told me of the time he had 
 to keep from laughing out loud and spoil- 
 ing the whole thing. He had many a 
 _quiet laugh over it, all to himself, but 
 never for a long time did he break the real 
 truth to the boys. 
 
 50 
 
The Leavenworth Herald had a big ar- 
 ticle about an attempted grave robbery, the 
 finding of tools, etc., but we never peeped. 
 We were all in it and we all kept quiet. 
 
 And though I kuov,- that Billy Cody was 
 the ghost, I am free to confess I never 
 recall that night, that wild, wierd night, 
 without a creepy shudder. 
 
 51 
 
FIRST BLOOD. 
 
 The First Blood For Freedom. — Shed by Isaac 
 Cody, Father of Buffalo Bill.— A Cowardly 
 Ruffian Stabs Him in the Back as He is 
 Making a Speech Against Slavery. — A Man 
 With the Courage of His Convictions, and 
 Who Transmitted His Courage and Love of 
 Justice To His Son. 
 
 I fully believe that the fir.st blood in the 
 cause of Abolition of slavery which led up 
 to the great Civil "War, even before the 
 niartj^r John Brown was executed, was 
 shed by Isaac Cody, father of Buffalo Bill. 
 
 It was during those hot times when the 
 fate of Kansas territory Avas trembling in 
 the balance, whether she as a new state 
 should be a slave state or a free state. 
 
 Mr. Cody was a good speaker and was 
 urged at a mass meeting to give his views 
 on the subject. He was not a man to seek 
 notoriety, nor yet to push himself forAv'ard, 
 
 52 
 
but at the earnest solicitation of friends, 
 and responding to loud cries of "Cody, 
 Cody," he took the platform and in a ring- 
 ing speech gave his views on the subject. 
 He was not a man to mince matters, nor was 
 he ever accused of being a weakling, or 
 carrying water on both shoulders. People 
 knew where to find him, and he had the 
 courage of his convictions. He was fear- 
 less in all things and this attribute of brav- 
 ery he transmitted to his son, who through 
 that inherited courage became the bravest 
 and most noted scout and pathfinder the 
 world has ever known. 
 
 The speech of Isaac Cody did not sit 
 well with the pro-slavery people, so he was 
 threatened and hooted at by the border 
 ruffians, a large majority of which made 
 up the mass meeting. To threaten Isaac Cody 
 was <^i'Iy to rouse the ire of a lion, and in 
 unmistakeable terms he gave his views of 
 slavery and his unbiased opinion of those 
 who would pollute the virgin soil of Kansas 
 with its curse. 
 
 While engaged in his speech a big row- 
 dy and a bad man known as Weston Red, 
 stepped up behind him and with a large 
 dirk knife stabbed him twice. As Mr. Cody 
 
 53 
 
fell into the arms of his friends the big ruf- 
 fian was taken care of by' the mob from 
 Missouri and got across the river. 
 
 Billy and I, two boys, thought of course 
 he was killed, but he did not die at that 
 time, but some time later he died from ef- 
 fects of those ugly wounds. This was the 
 first blood for freed(om. 
 
 I put this in my story to show the stuff 
 ■of which Buffalo Bill is made. 
 
 54 
 
"ABBIE." 
 
 Scouting Ahead of a Wagon Train. — An Emi- 
 grant's Wife Murdered. — Cody To the Res- 
 cue. — Two Hair Raisers Forever Put Out of 
 Business. — A Lonely Grave. — "Abbie." — A 
 Child of the Plains.— An Orphan.— A Ward 
 of Buffalo Bill.— The Orphan's Happy Home. 
 
 "We were in advance of a government 
 wagon train, far out on the plains of west- 
 ern Kansas. The sun had long since gone 
 down behind the hills and we could but 
 dimly make out the timber line. By "tim- 
 ber line" I don't mean the upper edge of 
 the timber as you go up the mountains, 
 where snow and verdure meet, but those 
 strips of timber which skirt the water 
 courses of the west. 
 
 When we reached the timber, a camp 
 fire sparkled through the trees and we 
 could see the red smoke as with an occa- 
 sional shower of sparks upward, it marked 
 
 55 
 
the camping place of westward bound trav- 
 elers. 
 
 A shot and a heart-piercing shriek broke 
 out on the still air. Scream followed 
 scream, as we plunged the spurs into our 
 horses and dashed to the rescue of whom 
 or what we did not know. Cody first, Sin- 
 clair next, Powell next, with the writer 
 close behind, followed by Ed. Estes, James 
 Currie, mule drivers and a "greaser" 
 from the wagon train. So far in advance 
 was Cody, that when we came up two In- 
 dians were laid out and the others, maybe 
 four or five had disappeared, and Billy was 
 releasing the man of the camping party 
 from his wagon w^heel where he had been 
 bound by Indians — Dog Soldier Indians, the 
 outlaws of the plains. The wife and moth- 
 er lay dead, a baby's brains had been dash- 
 ed out, and a girl about ten years old was 
 released from the embrace of an Indian by 
 a well directed shot from Cody's rifle. 
 This was one of the two who would never 
 raise another scalp. The man's name, we 
 learned was Cooper. The little wife and 
 mother was laid tenderly under a tree, and 
 later when the wagon train came up, she 
 was buried at the foot of that giant of the 
 
 56 
 
forest, aud in tlie liark of that eottonwood 
 tree the word "Abbie" was carved by the 
 husband, and the little woman was left 
 alone in God's wild country, the soughing 
 winds and rustling leaves, chanting nature's 
 requiem. 
 
 Mr. Cooper and his daughter accom- 
 panied us to Denver, and there for a long 
 time we lost sight of them. 
 
 A few years later, Cody, the scout, was 
 handed a letter written by Hillyard Coop- 
 er, asking him to take charge of "Little 
 Abbie," now about 14 years old. Her fath- 
 er had died, and the child was found in 
 keeping of a miner and his wife. Cody at 
 once took charge of the little one, sent her 
 back to Leavenworth where in the home 
 of a good Christian family she was edu- 
 cated and grew to womanhood — the child 
 of the plains — the ward of the scout. 
 
 She is now the wife of a prominent St. 
 Louis man of the old school, and her 
 grand children revere the name of Buffalo 
 Bill. The doors of this palatial home at 
 
 place on one of the most fashionable 
 
 drives in St. Louis swing open to Buffalo 
 Bill, and a warm welcome always awaits 
 him when he visits St. Louis. 
 
 57 
 
BLACK DEATH. 
 
 Buffalo Bill's Big Bluff.— How He Worked on 
 Superstition and Saved the Train. — A Pow- 
 wow and a Smoke. — The Writer Scared Stiff. 
 — A Pipe of Tobacco, But no Smoke. — The 
 Black Death a Trump Card. 
 
 It looked bad one time on the plains for 
 any small bodies of emigrants or "Avest- 
 ward ho" travelers, for the Indians were 
 either on the war path, or were possessed 
 of that nervous warlike feeling which need- 
 ed but a spark or a temptation in the shape 
 of opportunity to make of them fiends in- 
 carnate. That was the year well remem- 
 bered by many of us whose locks are grey, 
 when the cholera was committing ravages 
 among the red men. 
 
 Black death, they called it, and all the 
 superstitious horror of this unseen enemy, 
 which strikes in the dark seemed to over- 
 shadow them. 
 
 58 
 
On the occasion which leads to this ar- 
 ticle, I chanced to be with Scout Cody ahea< 
 of a wagon train bound for a government 
 post far out on the frontier, with supplies 
 — rations for the soldiers. It was the cus- 
 tom of Cody, as scout, to ride far in 
 advance of the train in order to the better 
 give them time to prepare for attacks by 
 the Indians, if he discovered them, or to 
 select a place to camp if possible beside a 
 water course or water hole. There were 
 three of us in this advance party — not be- 
 cause the scout needed us, but because of 
 our request to ride the day with him. 
 
 We were well mounted and well armed 
 besides being good shots, at least the other 
 two were, and of Cody's accuracy with the 
 rifle the world to-day well knows. 
 
 We had just turned the "rise of a hill, 
 or divide" when Cody's long distance sight 
 made out a large party of Indians ' ' coming 
 our way." He turned to us and said: 
 "Walt, ride like hell back to the train and 
 tell them to corrall for a fight." 
 
 Walt turned his horse and soon but a 
 cloud of dust told us that he was letting 
 his noble mare hit the prairie as fast as she 
 wanted to, and she was some racer. 
 
 59 
 
I asked Bill: "Why not turn back our- 
 selves, and make for the wagon train!" 
 
 "They've seen us, and it would only 
 hasten matters if we turned tail. Better 
 face it out here with a pow-wow. It's the 
 only thing to do. It will save the train — " 
 
 "But, Bill!" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 And the way he said "well" meant a 
 whole lot. It Avas the ultimatum. It sound- 
 ed to me that somebody had to die to save 
 the train, and we were elected. 
 
 Now, if I were to brace up at this late 
 date, and say that I looked well after my 
 trusty rifle and prepared for the worst, it 
 would be so big a lie that our friend St. 
 Ananias would reach to embrace me. I 
 did no such thing. I simply sat my horse 
 and shivered. I was scared stiff. 
 
 Cody, however, shading his eye watch- 
 ed the oncoming hord of red devils, and 
 bidding me sit my horse, he dismounted and 
 taking his red blanket from his saddle went 
 out alone and on foot to meet them. With 
 the blanket over his arm he made a sign to 
 them and spread the blanket upon the 
 prairie and stood upon it, his long hair 
 waving in the wind, his hand uplifted thus 
 
 60 
 
appearing a statue turned to stone in the 
 act of command. 
 
 They approached him, and two or three 
 bucks and the chief dismounted and came 
 to his blanket. The oncoming crowd stop- 
 ped and partly surrounded him, while three 
 others pressed on to where I sat holding 
 the horj^es and trying to say the Lord's 
 prayer to rag time. 
 
 The pow-wow lasted but a short time, 
 and the Indians who came to secure me, 
 made no move, "save to plant themselves 
 on either side, and one of them conde- 
 scended to say "How." 
 
 "How," said I, but that was all. For 
 the life of me, I couldn't think of a funny 
 story to tell them, so I contented myself 
 with asking one of them for tobac, which 
 he reluctantly gave me. I lighted my pipe 
 took a puff and offered it to him, but he 
 refused, so there was no peace pipe smoke 
 in our little pow wow. 
 
 Soon, however, I saw the pipe passed 
 around those who sat on the blanket with 
 Cody, and I knew there was some progress 
 made by him. They had consented to 
 "talk" with him, and shortly after he 
 stood up, waving his arms to the sky turn- 
 
 61 
 
ing each way giving the same heavenward 
 signals. It was less than ten minutes after 
 his physical culture act that the entire 
 band mounted and turning from the east, 
 took up their journey to the southwest 
 chanting the death song of the tribe or 
 some other horrible melody. 
 
 My two friends without even a Mexican 
 "Adios" or Indian "how," departed after 
 the moving band, leaving me with a full 
 pipe of tobacco ahead but with a scare 
 which I am sure made my red hair stick 
 out like last fall's swamp grass. 
 
 When Cody returned I asked him how 
 he did it. 
 
 "1 threatened to call Black death from 
 the skies of the east, the west and the north 
 if Ihey did not take the trail I pointed out, 
 and as they had suffered the loss of sever- 
 al by cholera the night before, 1 guess 
 they thought there was something in my 
 incantations for I used the name of the 
 thunder god, and every god they feared, 
 calling on the Great Spirit of the Medi- 
 cine Man to loose the black death if they 
 did not move, or to grant them freedom 
 from it if they went peaceably away. I 
 simply had to act like '"a locoed idiot, 
 
 62 
 
and lie like sin. It was the only thing to 
 do, and you see my cards won." 
 
 Many deaths occurred that summer 
 among the Indians, and the ravages of 
 cholera, its quick action served to quell 
 what promised to be a general uprising. 
 
 Bill with his big bluff accomplished that 
 day what a regiment of soldiers could not 
 have done. 
 
 63 
 
ON THE BIG PLAINS. 
 
 Biily Makes His Start in Life as a Night Herd. 
 — His First Trip on the Plains. — Parting of 
 Boy Pards. — A Good-bye Letter to His Sweet- 
 heart.— A Fare Well in Truth.— The Little 
 Grave on Pilot Knob. 
 
 "Pard, I'm going on the plains." This 
 Billy said to me one night after he had 
 had trouble at school, and had put the 
 school bull}^ Steve Gobei, to the bad. It 
 was as usual taking the part of a small 
 boy that Billy got into this trouble, and 
 incidentally in avenging a covert insult to 
 one of our girl school mates. In the rough 
 and tumble with the big bully, who was 
 the terror of the school, Billy's dirk 
 knife got tangled up with Gobel, and Billy 
 was going to "duck" for a while. He hired 
 out to Uncle Billy Russell as a night herd, 
 and was to make his first trip across the 
 plains with a wagon train. That night I 
 shall never forget. Billy and I at the foot 
 
 64 
 
of the big oak tree on the government res- 
 ervation just above the line of the city lim- 
 its. We talked it all over. There were 
 three of us, Billy and I, and our Indian boy 
 friend, Long Bow. Oh how I envied Billy. 
 He was at last to make the start for the 
 Big Plains. How many times we had talk- 
 ed it over and how many castles we had 
 builded looking forward to the time when 
 we two pards should strike the trail and 
 go out fighting Indians and killing buffalo. 
 And now he must go alone. 
 
 I have seen girl friends at parting. I 
 have seen them give vent to their feelings 
 in tears, as they were close in each other's 
 embrace, but the close hand clasp as we 
 stood there beneath the moon each with a 
 lump in his throat spoke more and meant 
 more than floods of tears. It was the 
 first parting of boy friends. For we were 
 friends then, and though half a hundred 
 years have rolled • by we are the same 
 friends as thtn. He gave me a good-bye 
 letter to his girl sweetheart who shall be 
 nameless here, as she sleeps and has slept 
 for years in the little home burying ground 
 on Pilot Knob. For days and weeks the 
 little miss was inconsolable and ere many 
 
months had rolled away she was taken with 
 lung fever and died. Billy never saw her 
 again, but truth to tell, many a time since 
 both he and I have stood by her grave. 
 
 Billy went out as night herd, and it was 
 his first trip on the plains. It was on 
 this trip that he killed his first Indian. 
 Then he was about 1'6 or 17 years old 
 
 66 j 
 
 4 
 
QUANTRELL, THE OUTLAW. 
 
 And Yet He Was Our School Teacher. — A Mau 
 Beloved by All His Pupils. — A Broom Wire 
 and a Tumble. — An April Fool Joke. — Billy 
 Escapes a Licking Because He Was Brave 
 Enough To Tell the Truth, and Shield a 
 School Girl. — All the World Admires Brav- 
 ery. 
 
 Qiiantrell is remembered only as the dar- 
 ing desperado of Missouri. Lawrence, Kan- 
 say, today shudders at the memory of his 
 attrocilies when he sacked and burned that 
 city and massacred men, women and chii- 
 dri-n. 
 
 Yet Quantrell was not always a desper- 
 ado. A I one time he was a school teacher 
 in Leavenworth, Kansas. He was well liked 
 withal, but was in school hours a severe 
 disciplinarian, sparing not the rod. At re- 
 cess, however, he was on the play ground 
 with tlie boys and girls and took interest 
 
 67 
 
iu tnc health-giving sports of that early 
 'iay. 
 
 It was April first, all fools' day, and the 
 us'ial irjcks of the day were in evidence. 
 A party of the boys stretched a fine broom 
 wire i'A ross the aisle at the approach to the 
 teacher's desk. 
 
 The teacher approached the wire and it 
 threw him headlong onto the rostrum. 
 
 For a moment there was a hush, and 
 then Mr. Quantrell faced the school, and i 
 shall never forget that livid face, that glar- 
 ing eye that quivering lip. For a full mo- 
 ment there was silence, then — 
 
 "John Jestiee, lock that door and bring 
 me the key." 
 
 "Now, I'm going to commence with the 
 back seat and thrash every pupil unless I 
 am told at once who did that." 
 
 "Who tied that wire in the aisle?" 
 
 Not a sound. 
 
 "Mary Hughes, step this way." 
 
 This was too much for Cody, and up 
 Avent his hand and he snapped his fingers. 
 
 "What is it, Billy?" 
 
 "She didn't do it." 
 
 "Who did?" 
 
 "She didn't." 
 
 6S 
 
''That's no answer. I shall proceed and 
 thrash every boy and girl in this school till 
 I get the right one. Come up here, Mary." 
 
 Billy got up from his seat and walked 
 to the rostrum. 
 
 "Mr. Quantrell, I did that." 
 
 "Did any one else help?" 
 
 "Yes sir." 
 
 "Who was it?" 
 
 "I'd rather not tell— I'll take the lick- 
 ing for doing it. I didn't think it would 
 hurt you. It was only done for a joke, and 
 not in school hours." 
 
 "Take off your coat." 
 
 I can see Billy, now, after long years, 
 how slowly and reluctantly he removed his 
 jacket. I could see signs of a pretty big 
 row, as the "big boys" straightened up in 
 their seats. 
 
 "Billy, look me in the eye." 
 
 Billy looked into the eye of that infuri- 
 ated teacher. It was a fearless gaze, and 
 whether Quantrell was overcome by fear 
 or admiration, we shall never know. 
 
 "Billy, if you had lied to me, I should 
 have thrashed you till you couldn't move. 
 You may go to your seat." 
 
 The tense feeling gradually wore off, 
 
and the school moved on till recess, when 
 our teacher was with us on the play ground, 
 and he bore no hard feelings towards Billy 
 or any of the boys. 
 
 And yet this man Quantrell, our good 
 natured beloved school teacher, became one 
 of the most fiendish blood thirsty villians 
 and murderers that ever cut a throat. It 
 don't seem possible, does it Billy. 
 
 70 
 
HON. W. F. CODY. 
 
 Buffalo Bill in tlie Legislature.— Elected in His 
 Absence From the State. — A Surprise, a 
 Joke.— A Buffalo Bill "Roar."— A "Fixer" 
 Bribery Don't Work. — The Kansas Legisla- 
 ture Entertains. — Buffalo Bill the Center of 
 Attraction. — He Shies at Women. — "It's Too 
 Warm, Here; Let's Slope." 
 
 If I were to lay down my pen without 
 speaking of Cody as a law maker, this 
 would be incomplete. While away on a 
 hunt in 1870, I think it was, his friends 
 elected him a member of the Nebraska 
 legislature. When he came home, and was 
 informed of the honor thus thrust upon 
 him, he simply "bucked," and told his 
 friends he wouldn't serve. "A joke's a 
 joke," said he, "but this is rather beyond 
 it." When told that it was all straight, 
 and that his district needed him, he finally 
 buckled down to the facts in the case, and 
 
 71 
 
proceeded to look up the duties of his new 
 office, and prepare himself to make good. 
 
 And he did make good. There are laws 
 upon the statutes of Nebraska to-day estab- 
 lishing the rights of settlers which were 
 formulated and placed there by Buffalo 
 Bill. He at once put on the harness and 
 proceeded to do business. 
 
 A born leader and organizer, it was not 
 long before he had the hang of the ropes 
 and had his organization complete ready 
 to co-operate with him in anything for the 
 good of the young state. In those days 
 the corruption of a legislator was not an 
 easy matter, and knowing Cody as the peo- 
 ple did, they feared to approach him. 
 
 And here let me describe him. He 
 wouldn't cut his hair, which lay in massive 
 locks upon his shoulders. He wouldn't w^ar 
 a plug hat, or a dress suit. He wore his 
 trousers in his boots and his gun was al- 
 ways where he could pull on the drop of 
 a hat. But those were the days when every 
 man went armed. In this he was not im- 
 common. 
 
 He was "approached" once, however by 
 a smooth representative of an eastern firm 
 of land grabbers, who, poor silly fool, think- 
 
 72 
 
ing th;\t ''vvvvy man had his price/' sought 
 to enlist Cody in a move to swindle settlers 
 out of their lands. I chanced to be visit- 
 ing Bill at the time. 
 
 Did you ever hear Buffalo Bill roar? 
 
 No? 
 
 Well, then, in his show days did you 
 ever hear Ins sleiiLorian \-()ice as h*^ intro- 
 duced "The Congress of Rough Riders of 
 the World?" 
 
 Well, Bill used that same voice. And 
 he roared. And he cussed. Yes, he gave 
 that poor cringing devil, the most beauti- 
 i'ai line' oi rhythmical profanity it has ever 
 been my good fortune to hear. Impreca- 
 tions, maledictions and double jointed, em- 
 boH.ied and s-iubclli.-,hed ^^ii.ss words rolled 
 from his lips like bourbon from a moon- 
 shiner's jug. He fairly flattened the poor 
 devil against the wall, and, opening the 
 d'W i./kl iiiju ii lie wa-: in town the follow- 
 ing day he would fill him so full of holes 
 thai; a cullender would be air tight com- 
 pared to him. This he told him as he was 
 busy putting his boot where it would em- 
 pliafiize his language and give vent to his 
 feelings. It was this which really brought 
 ijiii to the front as a maker of that law 
 
wliich protected the rights of the settlers 
 and secured to them their land, wmch to- 
 day comprises some of the finest farms the 
 sun shines on. 
 
 That year the Kansas legislature enter- 
 tained the Nebraska legislature at Topeka. 
 It was a grand gathering of those western 
 solons. The big guns, the grand speak- 
 ers and prominent politicians were all 
 tnere and made speeches, but the greatest 
 crowd surrounded Buffalo Bill. He was 
 the observed of all observers. His fame as 
 a scout and Indian fighter was there be- 
 fore him, and added to that his law for the 
 benefit of the settlers was known and ap- 
 plauded. 
 
 But at the grand ball in the evening! 
 "When the ladies flocked around him. He 
 was sadly out of his element. He showed 
 the white feather and at an opportune mo- 
 ment he turned to me and said: 
 
 "Its too warm here for us. Let's slope 
 for the licker room." 
 
 "You're right, my pard," says I. 
 
 74 
 
BUFFALO BILL'S BILL. 
 
 Hon. W. F. Cody Introduces a Bill in the House 
 To Protect the Rights of Settlers.— His ' 
 Maiden Speech.— "There is No Present, Let 
 Us Build For the Future."— A Christmas 
 G'it to the State. 
 
 Speaking of Buffalo Bill as a law maker 
 puts me in mind of a retort he made in the 
 heat of debate. It was when his bill to 
 protect the rights of settlers came up, and 
 as it was being discussed, one member ob- 
 jected to locking the land up for future 
 generations. 
 
 "We are looking," said the member, 
 ' ' for ourselves and not for generations yet 
 unborn. We will let the future take care of 
 itself. We are making la^vs for ourselves 
 and for the present." 
 
 I can still see the flash of Cody's eye as 
 he arose to defend his bill— that bill which 
 
still holds good and through which the 
 present generation has life, liberty and the 
 pursuit of happiness, guaranteed to Amer- 
 icans by the constitution so wisely builded 
 by its makers at Independence Hall over 
 two hundred years ago. 
 
 "Mr. President," said Bill, as he arose, 
 and was recognized by the chair, "We are 
 building for the future, just the same as 
 Washington and his congress built for the 
 future. It Avas for the future that the con- 
 stitution of the United States was planned, 
 and here in this age we reap its benefits. 
 It was a -wisely constructed document, for, 
 mark you, Mr. President and gentlemen, it 
 in its original entirely, applies to us 
 out here on the border of the boundless 
 west just as perfectly as it did at the birth 
 of the Republic and when the Mississippi 
 river was thought of as the jumping off 
 place of the world. 
 
 "That document, Mr. President was an 
 inspired one. Had it been constructed to 
 fit the then present it would be a worthless 
 parchment to-day. ' ' 
 
 There is no present. 
 
 To-day is yesterday to-morrow, and now 
 is then, in a twinkling. 
 
 76 
 
When we are young we are struggling, 
 hoping, fighting, working for the future, 
 buoyed up by the good angel Hope, for a 
 place in the future. 
 
 All our energies are forward bent. We 
 throw our lariet over the point of a star 
 and secure it to our wagon. We burn the 
 fires of our youth and middle age, we keep 
 our muscles tense, buoyed up with bright 
 prospects ahead. Not for now are we work- 
 ing, it is for the future— the evanescent 
 future— just beyond— out of our grasp. 
 We attain this or that object only to use 
 ir as a stepping stone, and thrusting our- 
 selves further into the future, push it be- 
 hind us. 
 
 Is it not the truth? All the men we 
 know are in the conflict. Some not such 
 energetic fighters, some idly lying on the 
 surface drifting along, waiting for some- 
 thing to turn up — mayhap the toes of a 
 rich relation — but all looking to the future. 
 The hand of time moves on picturing 
 the good, the bad, the fortunate and the 
 failure, the swift sailing steamer and the 
 unmanned derelict— all drifting or pushing, 
 for the future. But the future is never 
 reached so that we may stand solid there 
 
 77 
 
on and say: "This is truly the present." 
 
 There comes a time when we cease to 
 care so much for the now or for the future. 
 Many there be who, as we look at them we 
 say: "He's rich, he's happy." 
 
 The same man we envy looks lovingly 
 back to the good, old times of the past. 
 Pleasant memories present to him, the 
 many pleasures he had, but which were not 
 appreciated in his struggle for the evasive 
 future. 
 
 Back in that humble cottage away back 
 there sits father, mother, brother, sister 
 around the evening lamp — a happy home. 
 
 Memory works. The roseate hue of the 
 first throes of love pass before his vision. 
 A sweet faced school girl' — his early love is 
 there — the pleasant walk to and from 
 school with steps slow — oh, so slow, and 
 with the parting of the ways all too close. 
 The future is discussed between you two — 
 you remember it. Castles of air and with 
 all the hues of the rainbow are builded. 
 
 Another movement of memory. Your 
 bride sits by your side. All is sweet, all is 
 heaven, and as hand in hand you sit in the 
 twilight, you build more castles, looking 
 forward, ever forward to — the future. 
 
A tiny hand, a golden curl, a sweet face, 
 a sunshine in your home. Oh, the joy of 
 motherhood — the pride of the young father, 
 as he strokes the silken hair of his first 
 born, the man of the future, your boy. 
 
 Do you recognize the picture on the 
 plate of memory? It is the castle you build- 
 ed for your boy, your little Carl. All is joy, 
 hope, faith in your son. Every energy shall 
 be bent every nerve strained to make that 
 boy — your boy — a man among men, a lead- 
 er respected, and honored of all men. 
 
 The picture of our memory still moves. 
 We do not see the record of the present. 
 The light fails, the picture dims. A little 
 white cot, a lovely child flushed with fever. 
 A— 
 
 Listen! a soft bell is tolling. 
 
 A little white hearse with its following 
 winds slowly up over the hill to the sil-nt 
 city of marble. 
 
 That is all. 
 
 The future, as Ave turn to it presents our 
 true friend Hope. Holding in her hand a 
 scroll, she with her fairy wand points to 
 tile words. 
 
 "Suffer little children to come unto 
 Me" — and, as we ponder the meaning, we 
 
locate tile lioiiK' of our little loved one. 
 
 Hope turns a page. 
 
 "I go to prepare a place for you" — 
 
 "Hope springs eternal in the human 
 breast" they say, and by her help we read 
 the guide board — the message our little 
 Carl left as the good angel bore him on- 
 ward. 
 
 "I am here; our home is waiting. Y^ait- 
 ing for papa and mamma." 
 
 It was the Christ child whose natal day 
 we celebrate made this possible. It was 
 His adA^ent on earth. His thirty years jour- 
 ney; his great sacrifice which called into 
 being the good angel Hope, always beckon- 
 ing us onward, always pointing forward to 
 the future — the bright future just beyond — 
 
 No, there is no present. 
 
 Then let us build for the future. The 
 past has gone. We have only the future. 
 
 Let us here and now build for the gener- 
 ations yet unborn. When our proud state 
 shall be known as a commonwealth of con- 
 tented homes. 
 
 This speech was made just before Christ- 
 mas, and the bill was passed, securing the 
 rights of settlers in Nebraska, and present- 
 ed to that state as a Christmas gift. 
 
 SO 
 
IRON TAIL. 
 
 The Last of a Disapearing Race. — A Noted 
 Chieftain, a Blood Thirsty Savage, Yet with- 
 al a True Friend.— "An Indian Never For- 
 gives a Wrong, ncr Forgets a Friend. — A 
 Red Skin Standpatter. — An Indian Lover. — 
 The Old Chief's Tribute to His White Friend. 
 — The Pipe of Peace. 
 
 The reader will naturally inquire, "Who 
 is Iron Tail?" Many have met the kindly 
 natured old cliief with the Wild Yv^est show 
 of later years. Iron Tail is not simply an 
 Injun, picked up to form a setting in the 
 historical play. 
 
 Iron Tail is a part of history — of the 
 history of the wild and wooly west. He 
 was one of the chiefs whose name brought 
 a thrill of fear to the people of the border. 
 He was a leader among the red men, and 
 one in whose breast rankled the serpent of 
 vengeance, for the loss of their lands. It 
 
 81 
 
was he who led many a fatal raid and with 
 the stolid glee of many an Indian quietly 
 lifted the scalps of his victims. Had Iron 
 Tail been born a white man, his name 
 would be known from coast to coast. He 
 is a born organizer and among his people 
 was a recognized leader, and to this day 
 his name is spoken with reverence at all 
 campfires of whatsoever tribe or nation. 
 Among his people he was a conquorer and 
 a general. 
 
 In early days long before the last great 
 uprising, Col. Cody, then still known as 
 ''Bill," did the young buck a favor. This 
 was before the blanket and war bonnet of 
 the far-famed chief his father had fallen 
 to his keeping. 
 
 It was during a temporary peace, en- 
 forced undoubtedly by the presence of 
 government soldiers plentifully scattered 
 on the plains, and at the time when young 
 "Pahaska" (the Indian name for Buffalo 
 Bill) was feared by the red men as one who 
 bore a charmed life, and was in touch with 
 the Spirit. 
 
 Young Iron Tail wooed and won the 
 daugliter of a chief of another tribe, but 
 the courtship met with no favor from her 
 
 82 
 
father. The young man who always had an 
 air of good camradrie, and was on good 
 terms with young Billy, called one night at 
 his home near Leavenworth, and without 
 knocking "appeared" in the room with 
 his gaze fixed on the young scout. There 
 was no beckoning, no nod of the head, but 
 simply "How," and he strode out of the 
 door, Cody following. The family though 
 somewhat used to these Indian moves, some- 
 how feared treachery. The Indian seemed 
 to sense it, and turning about, laid on the 
 the floor his gun and knife, and holding up 
 his hands, with a smile turned and joined 
 Cody outside the home. 
 
 Here he told his trouble and asked the 
 assistance of young "Pahaska." 
 
 The following day Cody visited the 
 tepee of the old chief, and after a long 
 talk, making many promises of help, as 
 against the Cherokees, a tribe more power- 
 ful than his own, succeeded in "showing 
 the old man." It was not, however, until 
 aftv^r many "smokes" that the old chief 
 fjiifily consented, but he did, and I may 
 add here in parenthesis that it was a good 
 move and one he never regretted, for with 
 the assistance and "palaver" of Cody the 
 
 83 
 
two tribes were united, together forming 
 one of tlie most formidable and close 
 Indian alliances on the plains. 
 
 Ihis was the kindness Cody did for Iron 
 Tail, and was the beginning of a life long 
 friendship, and to-day these ill assorted 
 men, white and red, are as firmly bound 
 in friendship as brothers — nay, more, for 
 Iron Tail is Buffalo Bill's shadow, both 
 wiih the show, and on the big hunt which 
 the two invariably take each year when 
 the show is in winter quarters. 
 
 But for Iron Tail's tribute: 
 
 The writer of this was with Cody and 
 with the Indians so much that he, like many 
 another "border boy" learned to speak 
 their language, and knowing Iron Tail for 
 years, and being known as "Billy's" friend, 
 the old chief paid a beautiful tribute to his 
 friend "Pahaska," and it has been ringing 
 in my ears till it seems to take the meas- 
 ured beat of rhyme, and so near as I may 
 I translate it as follows : 
 
 84 
 
IRON TAIL'S TRIBUTE. 
 
 I long for the plains of the boundless west, 
 
 The seas of waving green, 
 The buffalo bounding free and wild, 
 
 And the yelp of the coyotte lean. 
 
 I long for the days of long ago, 
 
 When the red man wooed the squaw, 
 
 And sailed his love, his redskin doe. 
 On the waves of the raging Kaw. 
 
 I long for the days when I was young, 
 "With my quiver and trusty bow, 
 
 AVhen *Pahaska, the long haired chief, 
 Was young, and good to know. 
 
 I'm growing old, my eye is dim, 
 My life has been long, and 'round 
 
 The mystic campfire my friends await 
 In the happy hunting ground. 
 
 Pahaska, my friend, is true to me, 
 ''We're pards," he says, "old boy," 
 
 And the firm clasp of the long haired chief, 
 To old Iron Tail brings joy. 
 
 *— Pahaska, "Long Hair," the Indian name 
 for Buffalo Bill. 
 
 85 
 
We're nearing the last long sleep, we two, | 
 
 Pahaska, my friend, and I, j 
 
 So what care I, with my brother white, 1 
 
 How swiftly time may fly. I 
 
 Tor soon the tom-tom will beat for me, I 
 
 And the red men gather round, j 
 
 And dance the dance of death, you see, j 
 'Ere I leave for the hunting ground. . ! 
 
 And Pahaska, long haired chief, will kneel ^ 
 
 And talk to the Spirit Great, \ 
 
 About old Iron Tail, the chief, : 
 
 His friend and Indian mate. • 
 
 And then I'll go to my horse and dogs, j 
 
 Who will bark and leap and bound, j 
 
 And, with my pipe, for my friend I'll Avait 1 
 
 In the happy hunting ground. j 
 
 Ajid Pahaska will come to greet me there, > 
 
 Far off through the boundless blue, ; 
 
 jTo the Spirit Great will take me, as i 
 
 A red man tried and true. ; 
 
 86 
 
ALONE WITH GOD. 
 
 The Boundless Prairie. — A Night and a Day. — 
 The Star Studded Sky.— The Lonesome Mule. 
 — A Sow Belly Supper. — A Smoke. — Asleep. — 
 Alone. — A Dangerous Journey. — The Perils of 
 of a Scout. 
 
 If you are a fairly old man you could 
 have seen what I have seen. But if you are 
 as old as the everlasting hills and have 
 never been west of the Missouri river, you 
 could not have seen it. 
 
 Have you ever been alone with God? 
 
 Go with me to the vast and seemingly 
 endless prairies of the west, ride alone all 
 day, far, far from any human habitation, 
 over the boundless sea of waving prairie 
 grass, the summer sun beating down upon 
 you, catching a drink now and then from a 
 buffalo wallow or a water hole, Avatching 
 the blazing sun transformed now into a big 
 red ball nestle quietly down into the same 
 sea of green which surrounds you on all. 
 sides. 
 
 87 
 
If you know your horse, or as in my 
 -case, your mule, you will take off saddle 
 and bridle and turn him loose to roll and 
 graze the night through or settle down for 
 a quiet snooze, well fitted for rest by his 
 tiresome journey. 
 
 You settle your saddle for a pillow, 
 spread your blanket, open your grub sack 
 and take out your hard tack and sow belly 
 and proceed to have supper. You light 
 your fire of dried grass, of last year's vin- 
 tage backed by dried buffalo chips and do 
 what cooking you can in the shape of fry- 
 ing the bacon in its own grease, making 
 coffee in your "horseback" camp kettle, 
 and with an appetite whetted by "the 
 plains" devour as a dainty morsel such 
 grub as would turn your stomach "in civ- 
 ilization. ' ' 
 
 But you are on the plains. Kestauraiits 
 and short order houses are not sending out 
 their enticing odors. Bacon has a mighty 
 fine flavor, and besides, the legs of that 
 Jack rabbit, broAvned to a turn in the 
 bacon grease makes good eating. Butter? 
 Nope, bacon';? good enough. 
 
 But supper's over. You fill your pipe 
 and settle down for a good smoke. You 
 
are all alone. It is dark. You can hear 
 your mule feeding just a few yards away. 
 As lie grazes, here and there, picking the 
 choice tufts of buffalo grass, you can hear 
 each time he cuts off a tuft and grinds it 
 up wilh a champ, chHinp. 
 
 You settle down on your back, look up^ 
 up, into the dark spangled distance. 
 A mammoth dark bowl covers you. It is 
 studded with stars. At all points the great 
 circle comes down and resting upon the 
 earth, shuts you in. You do not have a 
 feeling of being shut in, on the contrary, 
 you feel free, free, alone — it is all yours. 
 Yours to gaze upon; to breathe in the pure 
 air of the boundless west. 
 
 You are alone — with God. 
 
 You feel safe. 
 
 True it is, alone as you may feel there 
 are hundreds — nay thousands — to bear you 
 company. Listen to the noise of the silence 
 — a paradox. Hear the katydid, the grass- 
 hopper, and the thousands of other insect 
 hymns of praise to the Great Ruler of the 
 Universe. 
 
 This is God's country. 
 
 It may be that your sleep will be deep 
 and unbroken till the early dawn, or per- 
 
 89 
 
liaps your mule, waking up has missed you 
 or wandered away. Then he will tune up 
 as only a lonesome mule can, and call for 
 you. You will know it is a call, for it is 
 more plaintive and entirely different from 
 the bray of the animal under ordinary cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 I am judging your mule by my mule. 
 You rise up and call or answer your faith- 
 ful companion and he will come to you 
 whisking his tail as sporty as if he did not 
 know he had a long day's journey before 
 him. 
 
 The dew on the grass has given him 
 drink, or moisture as well as food, and he 
 is in good shape to make it to the first 
 watercourse. 
 
 This is a day and a night — but it was 
 of the night I sought to tell. 
 
 As you lie there looking up at the stars 
 there seems to be a holy hush, and I defy 
 any old plainsman to say that he has lain 
 down in the middle of that vast green uni- 
 verse under that big starry bowl that he 
 did not think of God, and of the great pow- 
 er and kindness, and protection of the ruler 
 whose name is God. 
 
 I care not how wicked he may be, an 
 
 90 
 
outlaw if you will, that spark of God in all 
 mankind recognizes its master and goes out 
 to Him in the lonely vastness of the broad 
 prairie. He feels — 
 
 Alone with God. 
 
 This prelude I write to show what Will 
 Cody experienced not once but many times 
 when on urgent trips through the heart of 
 the hostile Indian country, bearing dis- 
 patches from one army post to another, of- 
 ten through territory where he dared not 
 build a fire by day or night, for the light 
 is a guide for hostile Indians by night and 
 ;i pillar of smoke by day invites the red 
 man to lift your scalp. It is lonesome 
 enough in times of peace, when danger does 
 not threaten, but how much it draws upon 
 a lunn's bravery when he undertakes a trip 
 of days through a country where every rise 
 of a hill may disclose a horde of blood 
 thirsty red skins. Literally he took his 
 scalp in his hand, he who made those trips, 
 and more than once this fearless scout has 
 saved the soldiers' women and children of 
 the border army posts. What this govern- 
 ment owes to Buffalo Bill may never be 
 written, or paid. 
 
 And these "forlorn hope" trips were 
 
 91 
 
taken, not by a soldier, who acted under or- 
 ders, but by a man who volunteered. Med- 
 als he has been given, it is true, by congress. 
 Letters of commendation galore, he has had 
 from generals of the army, but I am free 
 to acknowledge, right here and now, I have 
 never seen the time when I valued my au- 
 burn locks so cheaply as to undertake any 
 one of the many trips made by Buffalo Bill 
 through hostile Indian country in the inter- 
 ests of civilization. 
 
 I have since seen him in his great show 
 surrounded by his army of people and ad- 
 mired him, but never has my heart welled 
 up into my throat as it did when I watched 
 him disappear over the rise on a mission 
 from which I felt he would never return. 
 
 Verily he was alone with God. 
 
 92 
 
JESSE JAMES. 
 
 Taking Dinner Witii tlie Noted Outlaw. — Mis- 
 souri Hospitality. — A Squirrel Hunt. — Eu- 
 gene Field and I Share the Hospitality of 
 Jesse James and His Mother. — Jesse as a 
 Plainsman. — One Brave Man's Opinion of 
 Another. — "Buffalo Bill is the Bravest Man 
 That Ever Crossed the Plains, and True as 
 Gold." 
 
 It was my good fortune or ill, as you 
 like, to meet the notorious Jesse James at 
 the home of his mother down in Missouri. 
 It was long before the humble home be- 
 came the mecea for curious visitors. it 
 was at a time when there was a price on 
 the head of the outlaw. 
 
 My companion was the late Eugene 
 Field, and we stopped there for a dinner. 
 It was the custom in those days to purchase 
 a meal at any farm house, and this was 
 
 93 
 
the hospitable door which opened to our 
 knock. 
 
 We told the lady that we were hungry; 
 that we had been hunting all day with no 
 luck, and would like to liave our dinner. 
 
 We were made welcome by the soft 
 voice of the lady and we sat in the sitting 
 room while waiting for the meal which was 
 being prepared. It was nearing noon time 
 and she said: "The men folks will be in 
 from the field pretty soon, so make your- 
 selves comfortable." 
 
 While we were waiting, a man stepped 
 in and greeted us with — ''Good day, gen- 
 tlemen; waiting for dinner?" We answer- 
 ed him in the affirmative, and as we look- 
 ed we both knew that it was the notorious 
 Jesse James, for we both had seen him at 
 the great robbery of the Kansas City fair- 
 grounds, and once seen his was a face and 
 carriage never to be forgotten. 
 
 But he was on his native heath, where 
 every farm house was a place of refuge, 
 and every person a loyal friend. As we 
 sat there the conversation turned to Buf- 
 falo Bill, for on the table lay a copy of the 
 New York Weekly with his story w^ritten 
 as a serial, by Ned Bimtline. 
 
 94 
 
"I would sooner shake hands with Buf- 
 falo Bill, man to man than any king that 
 ever walked the earth. I believe, from 
 what I know of him personally, that he is 
 the bravest single man that ever crossed 
 the plains, and though he would not re- 
 member me, I once crossed the plains with 
 him in a wagon train for which he was 
 guide and scout. A brave man, a dead 
 shot and true as gold," 
 
 We spent a pleasant hour with the noted 
 outlaw, and before dinner we were regaled 
 with the genuine old bourbon, which he 
 brought from the cellar in a tin dipper and 
 served in tea cups. He didn't seem a bit 
 afraid of us even though I boasted the 
 weight of 130 pounds, and Gene was but a 
 few pounds heavier. He knew every move 
 made for his capture, for word Avas got to 
 him by boy, man, girl or woman, as soon 
 as danger threatened. So he seemed per- 
 fectly care free. But this is not a Jesse 
 James story. I give it only to show what 
 one brave man thought of another. 
 
A DEAD SHOT. 
 
 We have all seen Buffalo Bill and his 
 fine marksmanship in the ring, A great 
 many people think he must have to keep 
 in good practice to do that fancy shooting. 
 
 He was always a good shot. Even as a 
 boy, his friends did not fear to hold an 
 apple between the thumb and finger for 
 him to pierce with a bullet. And the 
 strange part of it is that though he has 
 probably shot bushels of apples in this way, 
 he never harmed a hair of the holder. He 
 was a born shot, and though I knew him 
 at an early age, I do not recall the time 
 when he was not a prime shot, far above 
 the average man, and good shots were the 
 rule and not the exception on the border. 
 
 As I look at it now, I think he could 
 disable an automobile at long range by 
 puncturing its tires. He would make a 
 good officer to enforce the speed limit, but 
 as he is something of a speeder himself, I 
 don't believe he would harm a motor car 
 any more than he would abuse a horse. 
 
 96 
 
WHITE FAWN. 
 
 A Story of the Early West.— A Stolen Child 
 Returned to Her Parents After Years as an 
 Adopted Indian. — Buffalo Bill as Rescuer. — 
 "Cody's Deer." — The Waif in Her Happy Home. 
 
 This was the name borne by a white 
 girl who had been stolen while a baby by 
 the Indians. It was in the days of the big 
 plains, when Denver was but a handful 
 of houses, shacks and tents. It was long 
 before the bands of steel had united the 
 oceans, and dotted the western prairies 
 with farms, towns and cities. It was in 
 the days when a horde of red skins would 
 appear to a moving family or train of 
 movers, and steal live stock, and in many 
 instances murder the party outright. 
 
 Camped for the night on the banks of 
 a stream Avas a party of movers, seeking 
 homes in the new west. A band of Indians, 
 Cheyennes, came upon the party, and drove 
 off their live stock, shot two of the men, 
 mistreated the women, and carried away 
 
 97 
 
captive a little child ten years old. One 
 of the men was so badly wounded that he 
 died the second day after, but the others 
 were unhurt, A single team of horses es- 
 caped the stampede and were hitched to 
 one of the wagons, and moved on. The 
 mother of the little one was frantic, but 
 there was no trace of her child or of the 
 Indians, so there was nothing to do but to 
 move on with the party, leaving her little 
 one to her fate. This may souncl heartless, 
 but it would avail the mother nothing to 
 stay at the scene of her trouble. Her lit- 
 tle one was gone, and she fervently prayed 
 that the Good Lord in His mercy had tak- 
 en her to himself. Days -wore themselves 
 into weeks, weeks into months, and no 
 tidings of the child. The Avorcl had gone 
 out, and every plainsman knew of the stol- 
 en child and kept a look out for her. But 
 now it faded from their memory. 
 
 Years afterward when Cody was a pony 
 express rider he heard of a white girl with 
 a tribe of Indians. She was known as 
 "White Fawn," and Cody determined to 
 see if it were the lost girl He watched for 
 that migrating tribe, and his efforts were 
 rewarded after several months, searching 
 
 98 
 

 WHITE FAWN. 
 
 99 
 
at odd times, when he was not on a scout- 
 ing trip or guiding a train. 
 
 It was at a time when the red men were 
 at peace with the whites, a temporary lull 
 so that they could draw rations from the 
 government that Cody who was attached 
 to a supply train, came upon white Fawn, 
 as she, with the members of her tribe, 
 came into camp to draw their supplies. 
 There were no established trading or sup- 
 ply posts then. The Indians were in camp 
 a short distance from the supply camp, and 
 the young scout made a night visit to the 
 Indian camp. He waited his opportunity 
 to get a word with the girl, and it seemed 
 she was anxious to speak with him. But 
 the watchful eye of the old squaw, her 
 foster mother, prevented. There was, how- 
 ever, a friendly squaw, who met Cody and 
 voluntered her assistance to spirit the girl 
 beyond the limits of the camp, to a point 
 where the young scout could meet her. 
 The meeting was a success, and plans were 
 laid whereby "White Fawn" was to leave 
 her red people and go with him to "the 
 States," where she could be with the 
 whites. 
 
 It was a long story, as it was told me 
 
 100 
 
though he succeeded in getting her away. 
 The night was fixed, and the girl and her 
 Indian friend were at the spot appointed. 
 Cody was there with his own horse, and a 
 government horse, and the buckskin travel- 
 ing trunk of White Fawn, was strapped to 
 the saddle. Not a soul in camp knew of 
 the move save the officer in command, 
 and it was through him that Cody secured 
 the extra horse. It was midnight when the 
 pair started for the fort and it was late 
 the next night before they reached it. 
 
 For some time the two rode over the 
 prairies, along the wagon trail. Each mo- 
 ment taking them farther away from dan- 
 ger of discovery or capture, for the Indians 
 were very jealous of White Fawn and dis- 
 covery of her absence would be quickly 
 followed by pursuit. 
 
 Slowing down their horses as they as- 
 cended a rise, they felt rather secure. The 
 night was a perfect one, bright with stars, 
 and the moon had not yet risen. 
 
 Listen! Far to the rear came faintly 
 the sound of hoof beats muffled by the 
 turf road of the prairies. Not one but 
 many, it seemed, and the sensitive hearing 
 of the horses seemed to take on the im- 
 
 101 
 
portance of liurry, and without spur or 
 whip they went to their work. The short 
 respite had rested the well broken thor- 
 oughbreds, and they easily took the long 
 swinging gallop of a trained prairie horse. 
 It was their native heath. And both horses 
 were of superior wind and range. Not an 
 ounce of fat. All muscle and bone and 
 wind which would far out-strip the most 
 highly prized thoroughbreds of the east. 
 
 A word to his horse, and the animals 
 with one accord let out another link of 
 speed, but still nearer, nearer and more 
 distinct came the pursuers. It was a ride 
 to the finish. It was the chase of death, 
 for well Cody knew that a capture by that 
 Indian horde meant death for him and 
 vorse for his girl companion. 
 
 White Fawn set her lips and urged her 
 ga'lant steed forward. Not a sound of fear 
 did she utter. Only an encouraging word 
 and a tap of her moccasined feet in the 
 ar.imal's flank. The moon coming up threw 
 a flood of light over the prairie and shed a 
 radiance on the race. 
 
 On came the savages, half a dozen in 
 number, mounted on fresh horses. On they 
 came, until finding they were discovered. 
 
 102 
 
they raised that curdling yell so well known 
 to the plainsmen. It was the cry of de- 
 mons. It was the wild chant of ^.leath. 
 Would the noble horses hold out lialf an 
 hour longer? Could they? 
 
 Already their sides thumped and their 
 breath came in labored puffs, but still the 
 metal of the warhorse never slackened 
 speed. Now the course Avas a gentle slope 
 down the hill, and the advantage they gain- 
 ed would put them pretty close to the fort, 
 at least within gunshot sound. 
 
 The mad race continued, and the Indians 
 well knowing they must capture them quick 
 or give up the chase, put their horses to 
 their best. 
 
 They were gaining. 
 
 Cody saw that the race was over, and 
 something must be done, for their horses 
 showed signs of giving out. The noble an- 
 imals Avere almost at the end of their en- 
 durance. 
 
 . The fort was in sight, but still a good 
 long distance away. 
 
 ''Ride your best, but spare your horse," 
 said Cody. "Don't wait for me, but ride, 
 ride." 
 
 White Fawn kept up the pace while 
 
 103 
 
Cody turned in the saddle and saw the In- 
 dians just over the brow of the hill. Like 
 a statue he and his horse stood," he ready 
 with his rifle, and the horse, breathing 
 hard but gaining its lost wind. 
 
 As soon as the formost came within 
 range, Cody sent a well directed shot and 
 dropped the on coming horse. This gave 
 him time, for the Indians stopped for a mo- 
 ment, but soon they were a-gain on the 
 chase. Another shot from Cody, and still 
 another had a tendency to slaken their 
 speed to keep them out of his range. This 
 was continued until one young buck, more 
 reckless than the rest, rode far in advance 
 of the others and opened fire on Cody. He 
 was not a good shot, but Cody turned in 
 the saddle and this itme shot the rider not 
 the horse. 
 
 This ended the pursuit, and just as the 
 gray of dawn was dimming the moonlight, 
 Cody and White Fawn rode into the fort. 
 
 The horses were worn out, but thanks 
 to the love of every plainsman for horses. 
 They were at once taken in hand and cared 
 for as tenderly and kindly as though they 
 were the winning favorites of a king. 
 "White Fawn" was taken charge of by 
 
 104 
 
the wife of one of the officers, and through 
 the good big heart of Gen. Carr, she was 
 taken to. the East, to be educated, and 
 fitted to take her place as a white woman. 
 The news of her capture got into the papers 
 and it was not long before her parents came 
 from Denver to claim their long lost child. 
 The good natured General Carr suggested 
 that the waif of the prairies be given the 
 name of "White Fawn Cody," or as he 
 put it in a joking manner "Cody's Deer." 
 
 "White Fawn," is not a person of the 
 past. True, she is not the bounding lassie 
 she was when she was ' ' an Indian, ' ' but she 
 is a well preserved Denver lady with little 
 white fawns of her own, who in turn have 
 their families about them. The world has 
 been kind to White Fawn, and I think she 
 will read this little sketch of herself in 
 her own beautiful Denver home. 
 
 White Fawn spends much of her sum- 
 mer outing with C^jI. Cody's sister — Mrs. 
 Decker, in the healthful climate of Cody 
 City, Wyoming, up in the mountains where 
 the air is pure and the Avaving pines give 
 out their health laden aroma, where the 
 mountain trout are plentiful, and big game 
 lures the adventurous hunter. 
 
 105 
 
FLIRTING WITH DEATH. 
 
 "Sometime Bill Cody will be missing, 
 and we'll run across him filled full of ar- 
 rows and lead, and without his scalp," said 
 Walt Sinclair, one of the bravest scouts of 
 the plains. "He takes chances no other 
 man would take, for love or money. He 
 simply courts death, but if the red devils 
 get hold of him, they'll torture him. 
 They've got a whole lot laid up against 
 him, and he knows it. I tell you the In- 
 dian that kills Cody will be a chief as soon 
 as it is done," and Walt proceeded to fill 
 his pipe. 
 
 "I tell yez," said Mike Sullivan, as 
 long as Bill has ammunition they'll not get 
 his scalp. Why he'd sooner have a gun 
 duel wid an Injun than kiss a gurrel." 
 said Walt. 
 
 "But suppose his bullets gave out?" 
 
 "Well, ye darn fool, don't ye s'pose he 
 has his dirk knife ? ' ' and Mike turned away 
 as. if that settled it. 
 
 From what I have seen of Buffalo Bill, 
 boy and man, and from what I have heard 
 from others who have been on the plains 
 
 106 
 
with him, I believe that more than any 
 man living he has flirted and coquetted 
 with death. Its a born trait with him, and 
 he enjoys it. 
 
 THOSE WATERMELONS. 
 
 If you look back in your life you can 
 remember some old grouch that you'd like 
 to get even with. One of this kind crossed 
 the path of "the Clan." He made it un- 
 comfortable for us when ever we went near 
 his farm in melon time. In fact several of 
 the boys know how a dose of bird shot 
 feels, and more than one took his meals 
 standing because of John Duke and his 
 bird shot. 
 
 This old grouch was in town one day 
 with a big load of watermelons, taking 
 them to Fort Leavenworth, three miles 
 above, to sell to the soldiers. 
 
 Of course, as boys will, we gathered 
 around the wagon when he stopped in front 
 of Hastings' store, and one of the boys felt 
 the sting of his whip as he climbed on the 
 wagon wheel. 
 
 107 
 
Billy noticed tliat the end gate was se- 
 cured by a piece of clothesline, and not the 
 customary iron rod. He also knew that 
 Duke would have to drive up a steep hill 
 to get to Fort Leavenworth. Using his 
 Barlow knife for a bow, a'hd the rope for a 
 fiddle string, Billy stood there innocently 
 watching the old grouch sell melons. When 
 he was ready, to go Billy's tune was ended, 
 and but a few strains or strands remained 
 of the improvised fiddle string. Not a 
 word was said among the boys, but intui- 
 tively we following at a safe distance the 
 load of melons. The hill was reached and 
 the splendid team lay to their collars as 
 they started up the incline. The rope held 
 well, but when half way up the hill it be- 
 came divorced and such an avalanche of 
 melons I never saw before or since. It 
 was not a land slide it was a melon roll, a 
 squash a splash a crack, and the juicy cores 
 lay temptingly red on the road. We were 
 not in sight, but if John Duke had taken 
 a skirmish in the deep hazel brush on either 
 side of the road there would have been 
 some tall running. As it was he only look- 
 ed at the raveled rope and said things. 
 There were about twenty or thirty melons 
 
 108 
 
left in the big wagon bed so lie patched up 
 his end gate and went on to the fort. And 
 then those harpies ! How like birds of prey- 
 over the carcass of a buffalo they did de- 
 scend on that fruit! We ate till we could 
 eat no more, and though there was enough 
 and to spTire, we could only look with 
 longing eyes and leave it. But that is just 
 the boy of it. Boys of to-day will do the 
 same thing, just so long as there are surly 
 grouchy men to get even with. 
 
 And honest, I think Buffalo Bill hates 
 an over-bearing grouch to-day as bad as 
 Billy did then. 
 
 DIFFERENT DAMS. 
 
 Buffalo Bill straightens up and throws 
 
 out his chest when he points with pride 
 
 to the dam in the mountains on the line 
 
 of the Cody trail as the highest dam in 
 
 the world. 
 
 There are dams and damns. 
 
 I can recall a time when he had but 
 six shots in his gun, and we thought the 
 lives of three of us depended upon his 
 marksmanship. 
 
 One of them missed fire. 
 
 109 
 
A bunch of redskins were coming our 
 way and their scalping knives were ready 
 to unhair us. They were coming swift, too, 
 and for one I am free to confess that when 
 I tried to pray, I forget all but "Now I 
 lay me," and that darn fool Cody, as we 
 thought him, actually set his rifle down on 
 end to say 
 
 "Damn." 
 
 I think as I look back that was the high- 
 est, lowest, longest, widest damn I ever 
 saw or heard. 
 
 Then he took up his rifle, and winged 
 the foremost causing him to drop his gun, 
 and whirl, followed by the rest of his party 
 of five. 
 
 "Big dam?" 
 
 There's a whole lot of difference wheth- 
 er it is dam or damn. 
 
 "Stick to history," says Cody, so I'll 
 just add that this same Indian still bear- 
 ing Cody's bullet mark on his arm is with 
 the show, or was in August, 1911, and is 
 now a good Indian, and one of the historical 
 features in the pictures of the Wild West. 
 
 110 
 
A LOVING CUP. 
 
 Buffalo Bill is Attacked Before an Audience of 
 Nearlj^ 20,000 People and Presented with a 
 Loving Cup by the Citizens of Clinton, Iowa. 
 — The State of His Birth. — Auditor Hayes' 
 Tribute and Buffalo Bill's Reply, 
 
 I take the following from the Cliuton, 
 Iowa Herald, to show how Buffalo Bill's 
 native state appreciates her illustrious son: 
 
 "For the past two weeks, the Booster 
 Club of this city has been sending out per- 
 gonal invitations to our sister cities to join 
 with us in giving Buffalo Bill, the ovation 
 of his life. 
 
 Two reasons there were for this : First, 
 b«^('ause he is an Iowa boy, born within a 
 few miles of this city, near LeClaire, and 
 second, because it is his last appearance in 
 the arena at Clinton. Acting on this his 
 friends in Clinton conceived the idea of 
 fiesenting him with a souvenir of The 
 J^right Spot, and a remembrance of his 
 
 111 
 
idrewell tour. Accordiugij^ Avord was pass- 
 ed down the line and the result was a mam- 
 moth sterling silver loving cup for Cody. 
 The plan was laid before Brumer Bros., 
 an elegant cup secured, and by these gen- 
 tlemen properly engraved, not only with 
 the inscription on the front, but with the 
 names of the donors on the reverse side. 
 A handsome plush lined case to fit the 
 cup was also a special order, and as it was 
 displayed in the window of Brumer Bros., 
 was the finest ever seen in Clinton. 
 
 In the afternoon an immense crowd 
 thronged the grounds and when the doors 
 were opened that vast concourse; quickly 
 transferred itself to seats in the mammoth 
 colliseum. Catchy music by the famous Cow 
 Band band opened the program. Shortly 
 after came the opening or introductory act. 
 The various nationalities represented by 
 their rough riders were called and took 
 their places in the grand arena. Then their 
 national flag and its standard bearer. Thus 
 the various tribes of Indians each followed 
 by its chief came in on their sturdy Amer- 
 ican ponies. The cow boys from the vast 
 plains of America, and last the Old Scout 
 and maker of history, Buffalo Bill, accom- 
 
 112 
 
1 
 
 
 
 
 4 
 
 
panied by Old Glory, greeted Avith cheers 
 from thousands of patriotic throats, for Old 
 Glory and the Iowa boy who bore it into 
 the western wilds — the entering wedge for 
 civilization. 
 
 At the close of the intial act of the 
 big show, this afternoon, and just as the 
 Colonel had finished his introduction of the 
 Congress of National Rough Kiders, two 
 little daughters of Attorney C. H, George 
 approached him in the arena from the grand 
 stand, one bearing a silk flag, and the other 
 the cup. They were followed by Mr. Wil- 
 liam E. Hayes, city auditor, who had been 
 selected to make a brief address. It was 
 a case of an Iowa boy of this generation 
 addressing an Iowa born bo}^ of two gen- 
 eration ago. It was a tribute of a youth 
 of this century to a veteran of the history 
 making epoch of our country. Mr. Hayes' 
 address was in substance as follows: 
 "Hon. W. F. Cody— Buffalo Bill: 
 
 It has been delegated to me, a represen- 
 tative of your friends in the City of Clinton, 
 as City Auditor, to present to you this Lov- 
 ing Cup. . 
 
 It is with feelings of pride that I acceed 
 to their wishes. It is a privilege accorded 
 
 113 
 
to but one of our generation, to address 
 the man who made history; the man who 
 as pioneer and border scout, opened the 
 way through the wilds of the west, and 
 made it possible for the flag of empire to 
 move westward, and later for the steel 
 bands of our great commercial highway to 
 unite the east and west. This is known. 
 Col. Cody, wherever English is spoken, but 
 we feel that more is due to a son of Iowa, 
 than empty words. And now in the name 
 of your friends, and the City of Clinton, I 
 as an Iowa born boy, tender to Iowa's il- 
 lustrious son, this token of our good will 
 and friendship. 
 
 It may not be studded with gems of 
 priceless value. It is not. It may not bear 
 the crest of royalty or the insigna of a mon- 
 arch. It does not. It comes from true free 
 Americans — every man a king. It brings 
 to you the loyal heart throbs of Iowa — 
 your Iowa. It is not for me to rehearse 
 your days of danger, your deeds of valor 
 on the border or in the war. It is not for 
 me to tell what the people of Iowa recog- 
 nize in an Iowa boy. It's all in the cup. 
 Take this memento from the State of your 
 birth, from those who know you well. 
 
 114 
 
It is tendered you with earnest God 
 speeds as you step from the arena and 
 take your place with America's other kings, 
 a simple American Citizen, but to remain 
 till time shall be no more, the only Buffalo 
 Bill." 
 
 The loving cup is of Sterling silver lined 
 with Etruscan gold and stands 12 inches 
 high and is of the Grecian urn pattern, hav- 
 ing handfes on either side with a modeling 
 of vine effect around the top and bottom, 
 a beaded circle just above the base, while 
 the base of the cup proper is beautifully 
 molded in Egyptian scroll pattern, in un- 
 i'-on with the handles. 
 
 The front of the cup bears the follow- 
 ing inscription : 
 
 To 
 
 Col. W. F. Cody 
 
 Buffalo Bill 
 
 A Maker of History 
 
 An Iowa Boy 
 
 Who Honors His State 
 
 From 
 
 The Citizens of 
 
 Clinton, Iowa, 
 
 August 4, 
 
 1911. 
 
 115 
 
'''he reverse of the cup bears the names 
 of Clinton citizens who made the presenta- 
 ti'^i a possibility, as follows: 
 
 H. U. Crockett, G. A. Smith, G. W. For- 
 rest, C. E. McMahon, W. E. Hayes, J. D. 
 Van Allen, C. H. George, J. A. Lubbers, 
 
 E. G. Brumer, G. C. Smith, G. A. Brumer, 
 Otto Korn, B. :SL Jacobsen, A. G. Smith, 
 A C. Smith, Wm. Oakes, G. M. Curtis, L. 
 Lamb, C. C. Coan, T. W. Hall, H. S. Towle, 
 
 F. Ellis, R. AV. Bye, T. E. Hauke, F. Leed- 
 ham, J. G. McGrath, L. C. Eastman, Jack 
 Hayes, J. Baer, E. Carstensen, H. Ray, H. 
 Pahl, D. Shiebley, F. Leffingwell, C. Clancy 
 
 G. McGrath, Clark J. McLane, D. H. Win- 
 get, L. F. Weston, 0. E. Greene. 
 
 The ease, made especially for the cup, • 
 is a handsome cabinet of cushioned leather 
 de lux, and is lined with royal purple 
 plush, fitted ui3 to snugly hold the silver 
 and protect it in transportation, or, open 
 to set it off for exhibition, when it rests 
 in its ultimate home in Col. Cody's cabinet 
 of prized souvenirs in his mountain bung- 
 alow "Pahaska." 
 
 We had figured that we would get Col. 
 Cody, Avhere language would fail him, but 
 nothing doing ; nothing short of chloro- 
 
 116 
 
form will do it. In response to the presen- 
 tation address though a little taken off his 
 feet, he grasped the horse's name, and 
 made a very graceful talk complimenting 
 the "Bright Spot,'" her people and voicing 
 the pleasure it always gave him to visit 
 Clinton and the state of his birth. 
 
 As the old scout doffed his sombrero, 
 and took a last look over a Clinton audi- 
 ence, we feel sure that a photograph of 
 "The Bright Spot" was indellibly etched 
 in his memory." 
 
 117 
 
BUFFALO BILL AS SANTA GLAUS. 
 
 118 
 
BUFFALO BILL AS SANTA CLAUS. 
 
 A True Sory Told in Verse. 
 [By D. H. Winget.] 
 
 *'Twas Christmas on the border, 
 
 When the West was wild and young, 
 Before the days of railroads. 
 
 When many a horse-thief swung; 
 When men, to seek their fortunes, 
 
 Took their lives into their hands, 
 And dug and washed for gold dust 
 
 In those far-off golden sands. 
 
 It was rough, I tell you, pardner, 
 
 Out in those mining camps, 
 With only rough, big bearded men 
 
 Whose memory on me stamps 
 The fact, that 'neath the woolen shirt, 
 
 There beat big hearts and true. 
 And tender as a woman's. 
 
 And honest through and through. 
 
 119 
 
The games were not as gentle 
 
 As tennis or croquet, 
 'Twas fashion to play poker there 
 
 And bags of dust the pay. 
 A mile or so from our gulch, 
 
 A washerwoman lived. 
 Whose little children ate and wore 
 
 From what she earned and saved. 
 
 This Christmas eve I speak of 
 
 One of the boys was out; 
 He saw the washerwoman's light, 
 
 And turned, this Western scout, 
 Straight for the lighted cabin — 
 
 For he was looking 'round 
 For a gang of thieves and outlaws: 
 
 The cabin's light he found. 
 
 With eager tread he hastened, 
 
 "I've found them in their den, 
 Thought he, "and now I'll listen, 
 
 I think I've got my men." 
 With hand upon his pistol 
 
 He neared the cabin door, 
 And listened to the voices — 
 
 Then could not wait for more. 
 
 120 
 
To this the have scout listened 
 
 Out on the border wilds: 
 "Oh, ma! tomorrow's Christmas!" 
 
 The sweet voice was a child's, 
 "And will the good old Santa come 
 
 And bring us toys and slates, 
 And pretty dolls and candies, too. 
 
 Like he used to in the States?" 
 
 "God grant he may," she answered, 
 
 "But I am not so sure 
 That Santa Glaus will be so kind 
 
 Now that we are so poor. 
 But go to bed, my darlings. 
 
 And say your evening prayer; 
 Eemember God is in the West 
 
 As well as "way back there." 
 
 The scout went to the window 
 
 Through which a bright light shone; 
 He saw her kiss the children, 
 
 "God bless you both, my own!" 
 "Gol darned if I can stand it"; 
 
 He wiped away a tear. 
 To which his eyes a stranger 
 
 Had been for many a year. 
 
 121 
 
The little children went to bed — 
 
 They left the mother there, 
 And overcome with bitter grief 
 
 She knelt in earnest prayer; 
 ^'Oh, God!" she said, and weeping, 
 
 "Kemove this bitter cup; 
 How can I disappoint them. 
 
 They've hung their stockings up. 
 
 *'I've not a slice of bacon 
 
 Or crust of bread to eat, 
 When they awake for breakfast, 
 
 Nor nothing good or sweet; 
 Thy will be done. Oh Father, 
 
 But if it be Thy will, 
 Oh, let me get some clothes and wood 
 
 To ward off cold and chill." 
 
 'Twas too much for the hardy scout — 
 
 He turned to move away, 
 But caught the children's voices. 
 
 And, to hear what they would say, 
 He neared their bedroom window, 
 
 And while he waited there 
 He listened to the lisping. 
 
 As they raised their voice in prayer. 
 
 122 
 
"0, Dod bless our dear mamma, 
 
 Who works so hard all day, 
 And buys good things for us to eat, 
 
 When the miners come and pay; 
 An' Dod, you know she loves you, 
 
 And don't like folks what swears, 
 And makes her little children 
 
 Kneel down and say dere prayers. 
 
 And, Dod, if 'taint much trouble, 
 I'll ask some more, because, 
 
 You see tomorrow's Christmas, 
 And please send Santa Claus 
 
 To put fings in our stockings — 
 We hung 'em up out dere — 
 Susie's by the chimney. 
 And mine is on the chair. 
 
 Now, Dod, please don't dis 'point us, 
 
 Just send whatever suits; 
 Send sis a pair of nice warm shoes 
 
 And me a pair of boots. 
 And, Dod, please send a blanket — 
 
 This cover's awful thin. 
 And great big holes all through the house. 
 
 They let the cold come in. 
 
 123 
 
Now, Dod, I'll say dood night to you, 
 
 Because I'se awful cold. 
 And if I ask for too much things 
 
 You'll think I'se getting bold; 
 But if you please, before you go, 
 
 I'll ask you — this is all — 
 If it ain't too expensive, 
 
 Please send my ma a shawl." 
 
 "You bet your life He will, my boy,' 
 
 The scout said, soft and low, 
 And turning then with silent tread — 
 
 Back to the camp did go. 
 "Wake up, you fellers, one and all, 
 
 And ante up with me — 
 I'll show you how to gamble 
 
 In a way you'll like to see." 
 
 "Now what's excited Buffalo Bill, 
 
 I wonder?" shouted one. 
 "Just listen," said the border scout, 
 
 "While through my talk I run." 
 And then he told the story through- 
 
 The facts set plain and clear; 
 And many a rough old miner's hand 
 
 Brushed from his eye a tear. 
 
 124 
 
"Now, here's a tAventy-dollar piece, 
 
 Who'll ante up with me. 
 To make the little children 
 
 Go wild and dance with giee?" 
 The poker tables bore rich fruit — 
 
 The stacks of gold heaped high; 
 "I'll go you one and raise you two, 
 
 "I'll stay with you or die." 
 
 Bill took his hat and passed it 'round, 
 
 "Be lively, boys, because 
 Before the sun is up, you know, 
 
 We'll all be Santa Claus." 
 The boys all chipped in coin and dust 
 
 Like men who business meant. 
 And then from out that gambling den 
 
 To another one they went. 
 
 And told the story o'er again — 
 
 The same results all round — 
 And others joined the merry throng, 
 
 And "chink" the gold did sound. 
 They went the 'rounds of all saloons 
 
 And gambling dens in camp. 
 With big, rough, honest, manly hearts 
 
 And torches for a lamp. 
 
 125 
 
It warn't no scrimping crowd, you bet, 
 
 The money poured like rain; 
 The rough old miners stood not back. 
 
 Nor were their efforts vain. 
 The money came, the men increased, 
 
 Then went they to the store. 
 Too buy the things the children wished. 
 
 Warm clothes and food and more 
 
 Than had been thought or asked for 
 
 By the children while at prayer, 
 Or the mother in her fondest wish 
 
 For her little darlings there; 
 And many a miner rough choked up, 
 
 At the thought of cruel fates, 
 For some had wives and loved ones 
 
 Away back in the States. 
 
 They heaped a pile of everything 
 
 The border store contained, 
 For the widow and her children. 
 
 Until nothing else remained 
 For them to do, but get it there 
 
 To the widow's lowly home — 
 Then was their night's work finished. 
 
 And then abroad they'd roam. 
 
 126 
 
There were lots of us rough fellows 
 
 (For I was in the crowd), 
 And each man gathered up a load, 
 
 Though no one spoke aloud. 
 And then led on by Cody 
 
 To the widow's lonely hut, 
 Across the gulch, beyond the hill, 
 
 "We took the shortest cut. 
 
 Then quiet every miner 
 
 Deposited his. load 
 Before the little cabin door, 
 
 Then gathered in the road; 
 And in that pile was everything 
 
 The widow could desire; 
 And of pure virgin gold a sack 
 
 Still made the pile raise higher. 
 
 And to the sack they tied a note 
 
 Which bade the widow cheer, 
 And said: "Accept this Christmas gift 
 
 From One who's always near, 
 For God has heard your children. 
 
 And this is here because 
 It was your darlings' earnest prayer 
 
 And God sent Santa Claus." 
 
 127 
 
"Who'll stand guard till daybreak?' 
 
 "Buffalo Bill," said Cy., 
 "And Avitli his trusty rifle 
 
 He'll guard the gift or die." 
 A man all clad in buckskin 
 
 Stepped out and said "I will!" 
 The miners knew the gift was safe- 
 
 The man was Buffalo Bill. 
 
 On the bright Christmas morning 
 
 She opened wide the door, 
 And an avalanche of Christmas 
 
 Came tumbling on the floor. 
 The children heard the rumble 
 
 Of the gift, and without pause 
 They came in from their bedroom 
 
 And shouted "Santa Claus!" 
 
 The widow knelt beside them, 
 
 Despite their childish pranks; 
 "With streaming eyes and fuller heart 
 
 Returned to God her thanks. 
 And stealthy through the bushes 
 
 There moved off one so still, 
 "God bless you little cubs," said he, 
 
 Then vanished Buffalo Bill. 
 
 128 
 
DOWN TO BRASS TACKS. 
 
 Gathering Up the Threads, Counting on My 
 Fingers and Finding Errors in Figures, Dates 
 and Ages. 
 
 I said at the beginning of these sketch- 
 es that I would pay no attention to dates 
 or figures. That, I thought, was a safe 
 proposition for I am so poor with figures 
 that I actually don't know a good figure 
 when I see one, be it man, woman, or fig- 
 ure of speech. To acknowledge to you on 
 the quiet, I juggle figures so badly that 
 Mr. Smith, my banker, has to telephone to 
 me for red ink to balance my account, and 
 I guess its blushing for me even as I pen 
 these lines. 
 
 But to get down to figures, just a few 
 facts in paragraphs to even up the errors 
 in age and date of several of the foregoing 
 
 129 
 
sketches, which were printed, as fast as 
 written : 
 
 In his 11th year, Billy Cocl}^ was on the 
 plains scouting and herding for Russell, 
 Majors and Waddell, and the train was cap- 
 tured, and the wagons burned by the no- 
 torious Lot Smith, the Mormon Danite 
 chief, one hundred miles east of Salt Lake, 
 and Billy with others who escaped the 
 massacre footed it back to Leavenworth, 
 making a trip of over lOOO miles. "This 
 hike," says the Colonel, "broke me of 
 walking." But of this more further on. 
 
 And again. Before he was 19, he was 
 riding pony express, that great opening of 
 mail communication across the vast plains, 
 and still before that whto but 16 years old 
 he was wagon master in charge of one of 
 those long trains of prairie scooners. 
 
 In his 19th year, he was made Chief of 
 Scouts of the U. S, and guide by General 
 Sherman, who recognized in the boy the 
 metal and courage of a western plainsman. 
 
 Had I kept on at this rate, I would have 
 had Col. Cody in the JMethusela class, or 
 helping George Washington cut down the 
 cherry tree. Confound these figures any- 
 how. But at that, in those days a whole 
 
 130 
 
lot of excitement could be crowded into a 
 ^short space of time. As I look back upon 
 it through the haze of half a century, things 
 merge one into another, and while I recall 
 names and places long forgotten, I cannot 
 always confine events to their proper time. 
 It is just as I told you in the beginning, I 
 shall not be accurate as to dates, but the 
 various sketches are true to the letter. 
 
 Right here before I forget it, I want to 
 say that the worst massacres of the plains 
 were incited by out law white men, far 
 loAver in the scale of human degradation 
 than the Indians whom they used as tools. 
 Cody one time made the remark that civil- 
 ization would have been greatly facilitated 
 had the white outlaws been captured and 
 shot wherever found. Cody knew the In- 
 dian, and with all his trying experience 
 with the red man, I do not believe there is 
 a white man who walks the earth to-day 
 who has a greater respect for our red 
 brother than Buffalo Bill, and on the other 
 hand, I don't believe there ever rode the 
 plains a single man whom the Indians fear- 
 ed and respected as they did this long hair- 
 ed avenger of blood or dispenser of mercy. 
 His word was good with the red man. He 
 
 131 
 
never lied to them or deceived them. They 
 well knew that if he swung his rifle to the 
 shoulder an Indian was going to bite the 
 dust. He was a dead shot, and never pulled 
 his gun until he was within range. He 
 knew his gun and knew his sight. 
 
 Buffalo Bill was a constant menace to 
 the white outlaws, and they were constant- 
 ly looking for an opporutnity to kill him. 
 He was in their way. 
 
 But I started this chapter to talk about 
 figures, and I have done so, and have ram- 
 bled away, touching lightly on several sub- 
 jects each of which would make a book. 
 
 !So I'll start again in my rambling way 
 regardless of dates until mayhap I get my- 
 self into another tangle 
 
 132 
 
AT ELEVEN YEARS. 
 
 Billy Cody as Herd Boy, Has a Thrilling Exper- 
 ience. — A Wagon Train Captured by Danites, 
 the Mormon Terrors of the Plains. — A Nervy 
 Wagon Master. — A Supply Train Burned and 
 Its Crew Captured. — A Long Hike For the 
 East. — This Broke Young Cody of Walking. 
 
 Billy Cody at the age of 11, got a job 
 with Wagon Master Simpson, as night herd, 
 and his duties were to ride watch on the 
 grazing cattle, for it was a "bull outfit." 
 Mr. Simpson was one of those rough big 
 hearted men of the plains, and had taken 
 quite a notion to Billy, and it was on his 
 promise to take good care of the boy that 
 Mrs. Cody gave her consent to his going. 
 
 One night when his train was coralled 
 and all were peacefully sleeping in camp 
 about 100 miles east of Salt Lake, the no- 
 torious Lot Smith, the Danite, with a hun- 
 dred of his white outlaws (Mormons) came 
 
 133 
 
riding by, but were taken for returning 
 travelers, and no notice take of them until 
 they came closer. Cattle were stampeded, 
 horses were stolen, and the entire train 
 crew forced to surrender. 
 
 Simpson Avas wagon master, and he and 
 a few of his men had ridden quite a dis- 
 tance from the camp. The Danites quite a 
 body of white men approached the camp, 
 and those who were still awake, supposing 
 them to be returning travelers, of which 
 many were encountered, suspected no 
 treachery, but extended them the western 
 hospitality of the camp. This gave the 
 Danites the opportunity they desired and 
 drawing their guns disarmed the few, bound 
 them, and in the same manner secured the 
 sleeping drivers. 
 
 Mr. Simpson and his men were also de- 
 ceived and captured. But Mr. Simpson, a 
 man of iron nerve, proceeded to tell the 
 Danite leader what he thought of him, and 
 this course, instead of meaning murder, 
 rather awakened the admiration of Lot 
 Smith, who gave them their arms, and one 
 wagon of supplies for food, and allowed 
 them to depart for the east, leaving the 
 
 134 
 
remainder of the train and cattle to the 
 Danites, 
 
 The defeated and disappointed men, 
 knowing they were over-powered by num- 
 bers, took up their journey eastward, and 
 later as they climbed a hill they could see 
 the flames and smoke of their burning 
 wagons and supplies, Billy was a boy — a 
 child, but this was his record long distance 
 walk. He footed it a thousand miles which 
 as he told me, just last May, (1912), ef- 
 fectually broke him of walking. 
 
 Now, you Boy Scouts, when you are 
 weary of a long "hike" think of the Orig- 
 inal Boy Scout and his little "hike" of 
 1000 miles. Are you game? 
 
 135 
 
A BOY WAGON MASTER. 
 
 How Supplies Were Transported Across the 
 Plains to the Frontier Army Posts. — The 
 Bull Outfit. — A Dead Shot and a 17-year Old 
 Boy with Nerve. — A Trusted Wagon Boss. 
 
 A boundless prairie, a long train of 
 white covered wagons, a liimdred in number 
 and to each liitclied eight yoke of oxen — 
 sixteen cattle and walking beside each wag- "■ 
 on, armed with a long lash bull whip was 
 a driver, or bull whacker as they were call- 
 ed. This was the style of crossing the 
 plains in those good old primitive days. 
 Quite a difference to the mile-a-minute 
 trains of elegant coaches which now flash 
 over the same route. 
 
 Each train was in charge of a wagon 
 master whose word was law, whose law 
 was supreme. These trains were laden with 
 provisions and ammunition for the soldiers 
 far out on the western frontier stationed at 
 
 136 
 
crude camps called posts or forts, and it 
 was up to the wagon master to deliver the 
 goods. On him more than any other one 
 man depended the sustenance of these 
 western soldiers. 
 
 The bull whackers as a rule were a 
 rough and ready lawless set, and it requir- 
 ed a man of iron nerve and tact to handle 
 them. 
 
 The man in charge of this train -^-^ as a 
 mere boy — not yet 20, and yet he handled 
 that crowd of men perfectly. They recog- 
 nized in that boy a born leader, and though 
 he was but the age of many of our boy 
 scouts of to-day, he bore an air of com- 
 mand far beyond his years. 
 
 One move of mutiny, according- to the 
 laws of the plains, meant death. No time 
 for courts, no time for juries, no imprison- 
 ment, for there were no prisons. With the 
 first mutinous move a crack of a rifle, and 
 the leader was tried, convicted and sen- 
 tenced. A single moment settled the case 
 beyond recall, and all was over. As I said 
 before, it required a man of iron nerve in 
 the wagon master. 
 
 This boy had the nerve. 
 
 His word was law. 
 
 137 
 
His commands were obeyed. 
 
 His name was Cody — Billy Cody. 
 
 He was a dead shot. 
 
 It was these attributes and accomplish- 
 ments which made him the most trusted 
 and successful wagon master of the plains, 
 and another thing which won for him the 
 respect of that great firm of freighters, was 
 that he was true. He could be trusted. 
 Many thousands of dollars worth of goods 
 were placed in his charge, and they were 
 always delivered intact to their destination. 
 
 138 
 
WESTERN GIRLS. 
 
 The Metal Our Western Girls Were Made of.— 
 Their Loyalty to the Boy Scouts. — Games 
 of Danger. — Lives of Nerve — Young Protec- 
 tors.— Billy's "Clan."— Nellie's Wild Ride.— 
 "The Raiders Are Coming." — Billy's Rifle. — 
 Long Bow's Arrov.'. — Two Scalps. 
 
 To write this little sketch, I have taken 
 to the woods. Memory here, aided by the 
 sighing of the wind in the trees, carries me 
 back to the heavily timbered banks of the 
 Missouri river, in the days when the west 
 was a trackless wilderness, when the forests 
 were a dense network of trees, bushes jind 
 uTiCiergrowth and the prairies one grand 
 Atlantic ocean of green billowing waviny- 
 grass. 
 
 This is the setting for our play gro.und 
 as boys. But in those wild western days, 
 danger lurked on every hand. The Indians 
 were not the subdued people they now are, 
 
 139 
 
the white man was counted his game, the 
 same as the buffalo, or other wild animals, 
 but more — he was counted their enemy, and 
 the basis of an Indian's worth and promi- 
 nence with his tribe was gauged by the num- 
 ber of white people's scalps which dangled 
 from his belt. So you can see that the 
 playground of the western boy was full of 
 danger. The boys of the west were trained 
 to these dangers, and were always prepar- 
 ed. They had their fire arms and, what is 
 more, the^ could use them. Where the 
 boys of today, go a few blocks to a park 
 or ball ground for their pleasure, miles and 
 sometimes many of them were compassed 
 in our wild western games. Our ponies 
 were our true tried friends, our rifles our 
 constant companions. 
 
 As I sit writing here, the wind sings a 
 song, and lulls me to sleep. I am carried 
 back, on the enchanted rug, the jiiagic car- 
 pet of memory. Billy and Long Bow, our 
 Indian friend, are with me. Our ponies 
 graze quietly near by; we look up through 
 the leafy branches of the maiinuotli oak 
 and build our air castles. 
 
 It is nearing evening, the sun sun shines 
 through the trees, making patches of shift- 
 
 140 
 
ing light on the grass, as the soughing wind 
 rustles through the branches. 
 
 Long Bow with his acute sense hears 
 something which brings him to his i'eet. 
 We all rise. 
 
 Nearer and nearer came the hoof beats 
 — a horse on a dead run. Nearer and near- 
 er it came, and in the opening with her 
 black hair flying in the wind, urging her 
 pony to its best, came 'Nellie Cody, Billy's 
 sister. 
 
 "Quick boys — the raiders,'* she said, 
 and at once we were on the way back to 
 town. Our ponies seemed to know that 
 their best was expected, and buckled down 
 to the race. Others of the "girl scouts" 
 had given the alarm and the raiders were 
 cpiickly turned away, but not before two of 
 their number were fixed for a funeral. 
 
 Billy's rifle cracked, and an arrow from 
 Long Bow did good service. Others of the 
 "boy clan" were on hand, and the raiders 
 who swooped down when the men folks of 
 the little settlement were away, were taken 
 care of by Billy and his boy scouts. The 
 raiders rode rapidly away to the south, 
 and no more was heard of them at that 
 time. 
 
 141 
 
It is but fair to say that Long Bow, with 
 the Indian in his nature, scalped his man, 
 and after completing the job, raised the 
 hair of Billy's victim and presented the 
 scalp to Cody, who told him to keep it. 
 Thus at least one Indian had an extra 
 scalp to his credit. 
 
 At a meeting the evening of the citizens 
 much praise was awarded Billy and his boys 
 and one of the speakers said "We can al- 
 ways feel safe if Billy Cody is at home." 
 And you can just bet all the boys and girls 
 were proud of their brave young leader. 
 
 Times are tame, now. The West is con- 
 quored. The vast prairies are seas of gold- 
 en grain. The trail of the "bull outfit" 
 has given way to the steel rails and the 
 comet like train of luxurious coaches. The 
 buffalo, with the Indian, are rapidly disap- 
 pearing from the face of the earth, and 
 soon, yes, before this little book has worn 
 out, the only evidences we shall have of 
 the wild west and its red men, its wolves, 
 its buffalo, its catamonfs, its broad wild 
 prairie will be but the printed page of the 
 historian, and even then many will call it 
 an overdrawn picture. 
 
 142 
 
HANDS UP! 
 
 A Short Chapter About What the Boy Scout 
 Did to an Outlaw. — A Timely v/arning, and 
 a Bad Man Captured. — The Border Rufiians 
 Fail To Get Their Man.— Billy Gets His, 
 and the Vigilantes Do the Rest. 
 
 For a long time the little city of Leaven- 
 worth, Kansas, had been infected by mau- 
 rauding gangs of outlaws from Missouri. 
 They were known as Border Euffians. They 
 were of the lower class and were men wh/ose 
 mission was not pro-slavery, but robbery. 
 These were men who would kill a man for 
 money, and it was generally believed that 
 they were hired to put out of the way some 
 of the leading Free State citizens. 
 
 One night just after Billy had got huire 
 from a scouting expedition, a tap was heard 
 at his bed room window, and Billy arose 
 to find his Indian friend Long Bov\- await- 
 
 143 
 
ing him. He hastily dressed and armed 
 himself, for no person went out without 
 arms in those days. The young Indian 
 told him that a party had crossed the river 
 in skiffs and were at the foot of Pottawa- 
 toma street on the river's edge. It took 
 but a short time for Billy to size up the 
 crowd of three — all desperate fellows. The 
 white boy and the Indian watched their ev- 
 ery move, and Billy crept so close on the 
 overhanging bank that he could hear their 
 conversation. It seems that Jim Lane, one 
 of the Free State men, most hated, was in 
 town, and it was the mission of these men 
 to call him out and capture or kill him. It 
 was late when one of their number started 
 out on the mission, the others to follow 
 shortly after, when Lane should be away 
 from his house, the pretence being that Col. 
 Weibling had sent for him. Billy dispatch- 
 ed the Indian boy to wake up the boys of 
 our set, while he trailed the outlaw. The 
 ruse was fairly successful, and Mr. Lane 
 hastened to comply with the request, to 
 come at once to Col. Weibling. 
 
 But they had not counted on "Billy," 
 the boy scout. Just as Mr. Lane closed 
 the window after receiving the message, 
 
 144 
 
and telling the messenger to wait and he 
 would accompany him. 
 
 ' ' Hands up ! " 
 
 And the outlaw turned and looked into 
 the muzzles of two navy revolvers. Billy 
 was behind them. Plis hands went up, and 
 Mr. Lane hearing the altercation, came out 
 at once. 
 
 "Take his pistols, Mr. Lane," said Billy 
 "He is here to kill you." 
 
 Mr. Lane took the pistols from the 
 belt of the outlaw, and Billy marched him 
 down to the jail on Delaware street. 
 
 The rest of the gang got uneasy and 
 took to their boat leaving their companion 
 to the "court of the Vigilantes." 
 
 145 
 
A ROYAL HUNT. 
 
 Grand Duke Alexis of Rus.sia, Guest of the 
 Government. — Buffalo Bill in Charge of the 
 Hunt. — The Luxuries of the Season on the 
 Big Plains.— The Grand Duke Kills a Buffalo. 
 — "Old Brigham" and "Lucretia" Prime Fac- 
 tors. — A Buffalo Pony's Education. — The Grauci 
 Duke Almost Unhorsed. 
 
 Ah jou will note in the first pages of 
 this book, Buffalo Bill has told me to stick 
 to history. I am going to obey him in this 
 little sketch. 
 
 This is in regard to the grand buffalo 
 h'li t which was gotten up by the govern- 
 ment for the benefit of the Grand Duke 
 Alexis of Russia. 
 
 Probably if I were of the stripe of men 
 who cringe and tody to those of royal blood, 
 I would say that this scion of Russian no- 
 bility rode nobly into the herd and selected 
 the prize bull of tlie herd or the leader of 
 
 146 
 
the grand run of buffalo, numbering many 
 thousands, and with a well directed shot 
 between the eyes made the monarch of the 
 prairies "bite the dust." 
 
 But that would be a lie, and who ever 
 heard of either George AVashington or I, 
 telling a lie? 
 
 The Grand Duke Alexis, the Crown 
 Prince of all the Russias, was the guest of 
 the government, and as a feature of his en- 
 tertainment turned him loose upon our 
 boundless prairies, selecting for his guide 
 and (shall we say chaperone) Buffalo Bill, 
 the king of buffalo hunters. All the luxur- 
 ies which could be provided for this scion 
 of royalty was provided for this migkty 
 hunter of European extraction. He v/as 
 the cream a la creme of royalty — the world 
 was his — except the wild portion of the 
 United States, and to this by the courtesy 
 of the government he was introduced. 
 
 As the plains go, he was provided with 
 a royal escort. His traveling outfit em- 
 braced the best the wild west could afford. 
 With this royal hunter went enough packs 
 of soldiers' supplies to take care of a regi- 
 ment of plainsmen. Where the ordinary 
 hunter had a pack saddle, he had an eight 
 
 147 
 
mule team laden with all the delicacies of 
 the market; where the average plainsman 
 had hard taek and sow belly, he had all the 
 delicacies of the season and a French chef; 
 where good old red whiskey was good 
 enough for the plainsman, wines of every 
 brand, and artistic mixeoligists were in evi- 
 dence, and that Imping scintillating, bub- 
 bling champagne was on hand to make his 
 royal nibbs feel at home. Just think of it! 
 Away out on the plains where luke warm 
 water out of a water hole or buffalo wal- 
 low was a godsend to the plainsman, iced 
 champagne was there for your request, 
 where hard tack was the rule, angel food 
 was forth coming. The government was 
 entertaining a royal guest. 
 
 But there is a time and place where all 
 men meet on the level. One of them, the 
 present king of England knows, as he rap 
 the gavel or places the setting maul, and 
 the other was on the boundless prairies of 
 the west in the buffalo hunt. The best the 
 country provided was placed at the com- 
 mand of the Grand Duke. A faultless rifle 
 was handed him, a pair of buffalo spurs 
 were buckled on his boots, and the finest 
 horse that ever chased a buffalo was his 
 
 148 
 
mount. It was Buffalo Bill's horse "Brig- 
 ham," the finest and best buffalo ponj^ that 
 ever covered the range. 
 
 Buffaloes know no royalty but them- 
 selves, they were kings of the plains. 
 
 "Brigham" needed not the coaching or 
 rein of king, prince or potentate to show 
 him how to hunt buffalo. He was the com- 
 panion of that buffalo king, "Buff a^ Bill." 
 
 The Crown Prince of all the Russias 
 bestrode the king of the prairies, and went 
 forth conquoring and to conquor. The 
 trained buffalo horse brought him along 
 side a buffalo and gave him a chance to 
 put two shots into the animal, which he did, 
 but the sense of the horse went royalty one 
 better, and, as any trained buffalo horse 
 will do, he turned at an abrupt angle to 
 escape the angered beast. This was not 
 reckoned on by the royal scion, and he was 
 ncfirly unhorsed by the quick move. How- 
 ever, he came into camp with one leg hang- 
 ing over the saddle, and the rifle somewhere 
 on the broad prairie. But to give the 
 Grand Duke all the credit, he killed his buf- 
 falo, and it was singled out and the head 
 and horns preserved, and I feel sure that 
 
 149 
 
it is in evidence somewhere in the royal 
 museum of Russia today. 
 
 A confession: — 
 
 Right here, and now, I will cianfess that 
 I wanted a souvenir of that hunt. I have 
 it. From the boots I stole the spurs which 
 he wore when he killed the buffalo, and I 
 have them yet. 
 
 The rifle was Buffalo Bill's "Lucretia," 
 and we found it. Buffalo Bill has it to- 
 day, if he has not given it away. The horse, 
 Old Brigham, of that further on, a chapter. 
 
 150 
 
A PERILOUS TRIP. 
 
 Buffalo Bill as a Volunteer Scout — Carrying 
 Dispatches.— A Forlorn Hope.— A Noble Horse 
 and An Intrepid Horseman. — The Dangers of 
 the Indian Country. — Signs and Trails. — An 
 Army Post Saved. 
 
 I wonder if tliere yet lives some of the 
 party of settlers of that frontier post, who 
 were so near an Indian massacre. I mean 
 those who were doomed by the hordes of 
 Indians to torture and death, to rapine and 
 robbery. 
 
 Word of the uprising was given by a 
 friendly Indian to Buffalo Bill, who had 
 just came to the post after a long and tire- 
 some ride. He told it to the commanding 
 officer, who at once sought means of relief, 
 and called for volunteers to carry dis- 
 patches to another post with orders to 
 move at once and save the little camp of 
 settlers. Though there were soldiers and 
 
 151 
 
scouts in the fort, not one cared to en- 
 counter what all knew would be certain 
 death, 
 
 Cody had been in the saddle twenty- 
 four hours, and his horse was dead beat out. 
 and Buffalo Bill himself did not look as if 
 he could travel another mile. 
 
 "General," said he, "if you can't find 
 anyone else, I will go if you will furnish me 
 a good fresh horse." 
 
 "Billy," said the officer, "I think 
 you've done your share, and 1 don't be- 
 lieve you could stand the ride, but if you 
 feel equal to it and are willing to under- 
 take the task, the best horse in the stables 
 is at your command." 
 
 Food and coffee were provided, and Billy 
 fell to and ate with an appetite sharpened 
 by fasting and the sharp invigorating air 
 of the western prairies. 
 
 He went to the stables and looking over 
 the horses selected one which he felt he 
 could trust. Equipped with an extra 
 amount of ammunition and fire arms, and 
 light but substantal food, dried buffalo 
 meat and a slice or two of bacon, he start- 
 ed on his errand of life saving. 
 
 The way led him over the trackless 
 
 152 
 
prairies, and as a bird flics he took his ride 
 across the billowy sea o"f waving grass, to 
 the south-west, his only guide the stars, 
 and his native instinct, if it can so be 
 termed. 
 
 Miles away he could see the signal fires 
 of lii.' various camps of Indians, and he 
 well knew that if his ride should be suc- 
 cessful he must be far away before the 
 daylight gave the Indians a sight of him. 
 
 His horse was well chosen. He v\'as all 
 that Cody counted he would be. His gait 
 was a long swinging lope, changing now 
 and then to a rangy canter, but losing no 
 time, as he widened the gap between the 
 Indians and him, and drew closer to the 
 soldiers whom he sought. 
 
 Not once in the whole night did h.- en- 
 counter a person, red or white, and it was 
 not until early dawn as he took the rise of 
 a hill that he was seen by the Indians. 
 Just before him and in the direct line of 
 his trail, a mile aAvay, stood an Indian 
 lookout mounted on a splendid specimen 
 of horseflesh, and as the two stood thus 
 and from hill to hill surveyed each other 
 they might have been taken for equestrian 
 statues, so still were they, and motionless. 
 
 153 
 
"Like An Equestrian Statue." 
 
 Just a look. His rilie was unslung, the 
 cinch of his saddle made more secure, his 
 pack load thrown to the ground and all 
 made as light for his noble animal as possi- 
 ble. Slowly he rode down the hill until out 
 of sight of the sentinel, and then giving 
 rein to his well trained prairie horse, skirt- 
 
 154 
 
"An Indian Look-out." 
 
 ed the hill, and at a mad gallop far faster 
 than had been asked of the horse, he took 
 up his race with death. On sped the noble 
 animal. Not a sound of broken wind; not 
 a single miss step ; not a sign of grief. The 
 horse was a thorough western animal. He 
 
 153 
 
knew what was expected of liim, and as he 
 spurned the turf of the prairie, the rein 
 loose on the saddle, he picked his own way. 
 No rein needed he, no spur, no urging. He 
 was really Buffalo Bill in horseflesh. His 
 rider sat with ease in the saddle, and from 
 time to time, half turned, looking for the 
 red devils which he knew must be in pur- 
 suit. He did not look in vain, for close with- 
 in range a party of swift riding braves 
 were crossing the now rolling prairie to 
 intercept him. He watched closely till he 
 had a good sight on the foremost, who was 
 fully a hundred yards ahead of the others, 
 and pulled the trigger, killing the horse 
 and throwing the redskin to the ground. 
 Not a step did the faithful horse lose nor 
 once did he falter. Raising himself in the 
 stirrup, Cody loaded and sent another ball 
 from his old "Lucretia" as he called his 
 rifle. This disconcerted his followers as 
 another horse dropped, and Cody gained 
 time. He rode in to the post just at day 
 break, and gave the alarm. 
 
 The cavalry were out in a twinkling for 
 those border soldiers slept ready for in- 
 stant fight. The companies rode to the lit- 
 tle settlement, and after a short but de- 
 
 156 
 
cisive battle, put the Indians to flight, 
 leaving several dead and wounded on the 
 field, evidence of the marksmanship of 
 those western fighters. Tlins Buffalo Bill 
 had been in the saddle on this occasion, 
 a day and two nights, had taken part in 
 the fight, and had pretty w^ell earned a 
 square meal and a good sound sleep. 
 
 This feat of horsemanship and endur- 
 ance was the wonder of the plains and was 
 talked of by all plainsmen, and finally got 
 to the ears of the authorities at Washing- 
 ton. As a result, Buffalo Bill was present- 
 ed by an elegant medal voted by congress 
 for his heroici deed. 
 
 The little post was saved. Men, women 
 and children of that border post owe their 
 lives to a scout who was backed by brav- 
 ery, endurance, and determination. 
 
 At this post, too, were a couple of Eng- 
 lish gentlemen who were over here to view 
 the boundless west, and years afterwards, 
 when Buffalo Bill was in England with his 
 great show, one of these men, the late Lord 
 Harcourt, came to him and in the gather- 
 ing of the nobility personally thanked him 
 for his brave work, and told the story to 
 
 157 
 
his friends as they were gathered around 
 him. 
 
 It was this recognition which led Eng- 
 land's beloved Queen Victoria to personal- 
 ly express her thanks to Buffalo Bill, for 
 saving a member of the royal family. 
 
 A friend of mine who witnessed tliis 
 episode wrote me : 
 
 "I felt proud to see my own country- 
 man a king among kings, and towering head 
 and shoulders above royalty — a man and 
 an American," 
 
 158 
 
BUFFALO BILL IL 
 The Colonel's Grandson. 
 
 159 
 
BUFFALO BILL IL 
 
 A Chip of the Old Block.— The Grandson of 
 Buffalo Bill FolloM's in the Footsteps of His 
 Illustrious Grandsire. — A Boy of Nerve. — A 
 Terrific Fight with a Wild Boar.— The Hunt- 
 ing Knife. — A Faithful Dog. — A Mountain 
 Guide. 
 
 Cody Boal, the son of Col. Cody's eldest 
 daughter Arta, has born in him the spirit 
 of adventure. He would rather take his 
 rifle and dog and trail big game than own 
 a store or a bank. The call of the wild is 
 in his veins, and as I write this the young 
 westerner is one of the most reliable Eocky 
 mountain guides. He has a string of hunt- 
 ing horses and pack mules, and is eagerly 
 engaged by hunting parties from the east. 
 
 Like his grand sire, he is a crack shot, 
 and seldom fails to bring down the game 
 he goes after. At one time, hoAvever, a 
 short time ago, he had a terrific knife com- 
 bat with a wild boar in the Catalina moun- 
 tains. With his favorite hunting dog he 
 
 160 
 
was out in quest of game, when the dog 
 saw and attacked a wild boar. To look at 
 a pig, an ordinary pig, you would not ac- 
 cuse it of being a game animal or a fighter, 
 but take a boar in the wild state, he is ag- 
 gressive and dangerous. His jaws are as 
 powerful as a vise, and his sharp tusks are 
 points of danger. 
 
 The dog a specimen of fine hunting dog, 
 nervy and aggressive as a trained bull dog, 
 but without the strength of a boar hound 
 or bulldog. He tackled the boar, however, 
 and so mixed up were they and so swift 
 their movements, that the boy feared to 
 trust to his rifle for fear of killing his fav- 
 orite. Throwing aside his gun he drew his 
 hunting knife and after a short but inter- 
 esting struggle succeeded in cutting the an- 
 imal's throat, though not before he had re- 
 ceived some pretty bad gashes himself. 
 
 Taking his dog, the pair of wounded 
 partners hobbled into camp, a sorry but 
 victorious pair. 
 
 To those of our boy scouts who love a 
 faithful dog, I will say that the dog was 
 given the best of care and is now as I write 
 this, the constant companion of his young 
 master. 
 
 161 
 
A TRAPPER. 
 
 Billj' Stai-ts Out as a Trapper and Hunter of 
 Big Game. — An Accident. — A Broken Leg. — 
 Falls into the Hands of Indians. — Saved by- 
 Chief Rain-in-the-Face. — Starvation in a Dug- 
 out. 
 
 Though still what we would call a kid, 
 Billy started with a companion, Dan Har- 
 rington, went out on a hunting and trap- 
 ping expedition along the Eepublican river 
 in Kansas, taking a yoke of oxen and 
 wagon of supplies. They had excellent 
 luck with beavers, and were getting along 
 fine, until one of their oxen broke its leg, 
 and had to be shot. This left them crippled 
 Added to this Billy broke his leg while 
 stalking elk, slipping on an icy ledge, and 
 falling to the creek below. This rather 
 took the tuck out of little Bilty, and he 
 begged Harrington to shoot him, and put 
 him out of his misery. Harrington, how- 
 ever, bandaged up the broken leg, as best 
 
 162 
 
he could, and fixing Billy up as comfortable 
 as possible started for the nearest settle- 
 ment about 125 miles away, to get a yoke 
 of cattle and return for Billy. With the 
 best of luck it would take at least 20 days. 
 That was a long time to leave a boy alone 
 in a dug-out with broken leg. But there 
 was no other way out of it. Before leav- 
 ing he gathered plenty of wood, and pro- 
 visions were there. So he bade Billy good- 
 bye and started on his long walk. As 
 Billy told of it afterward, it was a long, 
 tiresome wait. On the twelfth day after 
 Harrington left, Billy was awakened by 
 some one touching him on the shoulder. 
 He looked up and saw an Indian in full 
 war paint standing by his side. He spoke 
 in broken English and Sioux, and asked 
 Billy what he was doing there, and how 
 many were with him. 
 
 "I told them," said Billy, for by this 
 time the dugout was filled with Indians. 
 
 Says Billy, telling about it, and I use 
 his language as follows : 
 
 "Then an old Indian came up to me, 
 and I recognized Chief Rain-in-the-Face, " 
 of the Sioux, whom I had visited at his 
 lodge near Ft. Larmie. I showed him my 
 
 163 
 
broken leg, and asked him if they were go- 
 ing to kill me." 
 
 "That is what they intend to do," said 
 the chief, "but I will see what they say 
 about it." 
 
 "The old chief had a talk with his 
 braves, and they concluded to spare the 
 life of the 'papoose' but they took my gun 
 and revolver, and most of my food, but 
 they were good enough to give me some 
 after it was cooked." 
 
 However, to make a long story short, 
 they went away leaving Billy alone again, 
 and it was a long tedious painful wait. 
 Snow had fallen and wolves howled and 
 scratched at the door of the dug-out, and 
 Billy was alone there and without arms of 
 any kind to protect him should they enter. 
 
 On the twenty-ninth day, Billy was made 
 glad by the voice of Harrington as he yell- 
 ed whoa-haw, to his oxen. Billy says he 
 simply put his arms around Dave's neck 
 and hugged him, so glad was he to see his 
 faithful friend. In a few days the furs 
 were loaded into the wagon, and the com- 
 rades took their slow way to the settlement, 
 Billy riding on a bed of 'fur which to-day 
 would be worth several thousand dollars. 
 
 164 
 
They sold tlieir wagon and furs at Junction 
 City, and went with a government mule 
 train to Leavenworth, where at Cody's 
 home, Dave was made a welcome guest. 
 
 Now, you boy Scouts, this is just a chap- 
 ter in the life of a boy like yourself, who 
 had nerve and endurance. How many of 
 you would relish a similar experience? 
 
 165 
 
PONY EXPRESS. 
 
 The First "Fast Mail" Across the Plains. — 
 Fleet Horses and Brave Riders. — Billy a Rider 
 of the First Attempt. 
 
 In the early days there was no way to 
 get letters across the plains. No telegraph 
 lines, nothing but stage coaches. A pony 
 express was conceived. "With stations so 
 many miles apart, and changes of horses 
 for the riders. The express riders were 
 selected for their light weight, and their 
 reliability. Billy Cody was one of the first, 
 and mounted on fleet horses he traveled in 
 this service many thousands of miles dur- 
 ing his career as pony express rider, and 
 most of the time through the hostile Indian 
 country. The driver of the slow going stage 
 would sight the rider, and call out to his 
 passengers: ''Here comes the pony ex- 
 press — there he goes," as the intrepid rider 
 dashed past the stage at full run. Many 
 
 166 
 
times Billy was attacked by Indians, but 
 his fleet horse, and now and then a well di- 
 rected shot, baffled his pursuers. 
 
 Once, however, he came to the end of 
 his ride with two Indian arrows sticking 
 in him, one of which had pierced his flesh, 
 but as luck would have it, the wound was 
 not serious, and he made his return trip 
 the next day. 
 
 I cannot give in detail the many escapes 
 and combats the boy rider had, but, the 
 company speak of him as their finest, swift- 
 est and most reliable rider — one who never 
 missed his time or lost a mail bag, and 
 that means a great deal. 
 
 Pony Bob, another express rider, was 
 on the line with Billy, and the two were 
 warm friends. Years after, when Billy was 
 Col. Cody, he secured a good position in the 
 east for his frend Pony Bob, and when the 
 old veteran of the plains crossed the great 
 divide, the Colonel, with his big heart, pro- 
 vided for his widow and she in her old age 
 is being taken care of to-day in her little 
 home in Chicago by the Old Scout. 
 
 167 
 
WILD BILL. 
 
 A Friend of "The Boy Scout."— He Takes 
 Billy's Part When Billy Was Assaulted by a 
 Big Bully.— The Starting of a Life Long 
 Friendship. 
 
 Wild Bill, or James B. Hickok, his real 
 name, was an ideal plainsman. He stood 
 about six feet one inch, carrying not an 
 ounce of superfluous flesh. He was athlet- 
 ic, sinewy and as brave a man as ever be- 
 strode a horse. He was not a quarrelsome 
 man. He was a dead shot, though never 
 presumed on this accomplishment. He has 
 killed men, but never in any other spirit 
 than the laws of the plains would justify. 
 He never bluffed. If he pulled his gun, a 
 man was killed. They all knew it, and so 
 a word from him settled many a quarrel 
 among teamsters. 
 
 One day, a burly teamster in Simpson's 
 train slapped Billy Cody, a mere boy, in the 
 face. Though but a child about 11 or 12 
 
 168 
 
years old, Billy jumped to his feet and 
 dashed a camp kettle of boiling coffee over 
 him. The burly ruffian started for Billy 
 in a rage, but Wild Bill promptly knocked 
 him down. As soon as he recovered he 
 asked Wild Bill what business it was of his. 
 ''Its my business to protect that boy, or 
 anybody else who is beng abused by an 
 over-sized brute like you, and I'll lick any 
 man who lays a hand on little Billy." 
 
 From this. trip the two became fast 
 friends, and in years afterward it came 
 Billy's way to pay back the favor in vari- 
 '^us ways. Wild Bill was always a wel- 
 cf.me visitor at the Cody homestead, and 
 the friendship then formed was fast and 
 true till the death of Wild Bill, many years 
 after the civil war, when he was shot in 
 the back by a cowardly cur named McCall, 
 who, it pleases me to state, died at the end 
 of a rope. 
 
 169 
 
THE NAME "BUFFALO BILL." 
 
 He Wears the Spurs Who Wins Them.— The 
 Name "Buffalo Bill" Contested.— It is Settled 
 in the Open Field. — It Lay Between Two 
 Warm Friends, Billy Cody and Billy Comstock. 
 —Cody Wins in the Buffalo Hunt, and the 
 Friends Shake Hands and Were Friends to 
 the Last, Till Billy Comstock Crossed the 
 Great Divide. 
 
 There are many people who wonder why 
 Col. Cody bears the name Buffalo Bill. He 
 was recognized as one of the best buffalo 
 hunters on the great plains, and for a sea- 
 son supplied meat for a large camp of lab- 
 orers on the western bound railroad. He 
 took the contract and made good, though 
 often at the risk of his scalp. The board- 
 ing contractors were the Goddard Brothers, 
 and it was while in their employ that he 
 was first called Buffalo Bill. 
 
 Billy Comstock also a great buffalo 
 hunter, contested the name with Cody, and 
 although both men were fast friends and 
 
 170 
 
brave scouts, but one could wear the name, 
 &nd be hailed the champion. 
 
 To settle the question of who should be 
 the champion buffalo hunter, a match was 
 arranged betAveen the two Bills, at a point 
 about twenty miles east of Sheridan. It 
 was noised abroad and quite a large num- 
 ber of spectators were on hand to witness 
 the match. An excursion party from St. 
 Louis, included many people of prominence 
 in both army and civic circles, and among 
 them, Codj^'s young wife and baby girl, 
 Artsi, who for the first time beheld her hus- 
 band in action. 
 
 A referee was appointed for each hunter 
 to keep tally on the buffalos killed, and 
 these followed the hunters. 
 
 The first run was on good ground with 
 a fair bunch of buffalo, and Cody, mount- 
 ed on his favorite horse Brigham, rode into 
 the herd, and with his rifle, "Lucretia," 
 did splendid work, coming out with a rec- 
 ord of 38 buffalo to Comstock's 23. On 
 the next run, which occurred shortly after, 
 the contestants again dashed into the herd 
 with the following result : Cody, 18 ; Corn- 
 stock, 14. This was the place for a rest, 
 
 171 
 
and a lunch was spread at which sat all 
 the lady and gentlemen spectators. 
 
 , On the next run which took place a 
 short time after dinner, Cody told them he 
 would ride his horse without saddle or 
 bridle. He knew his faithful old Brigham, 
 as the prince of buffalo horses, and despite 
 the warning and protestations of the spec- 
 tators, leaped on his ''naked" horse and 
 rode for an approaching herd, this record 
 for Cody was 13, the last one of which he 
 brought close to the group of spectators 
 and dropped the prairie king almost at 
 their feet. 
 
 The day's run footed up 69 for Cody 
 and 46 for Comstock. 
 
 Billy Comstock approached Cody, and, 
 shaking his hand, he said, "Gentlemen and 
 ladies, my friend Billy Cody is "Buffalo 
 Bill." 
 
 He earned the title he bears. 
 
 # ****** 
 
 Just a word about Billy Comstock : 
 Billy Comstock was afterwards murder- 
 ed by a treacherous band of Indians. With 
 a companion. Sharp Grover, he visited a 
 village of Indians who were supposed to be 
 peaceable near Big Spring station in west- 
 
 172 
 
en Kansas, and after spending some time 
 with them in friendly conversation, took 
 their departure. Before they had gone half 
 a mile they were overtaken by the Indians 
 and Comstoek was killed and scalped. 
 Grover escaped, however, though seriously 
 wounded. Billy had a white handled re- 
 volver which took the eye of the Indians, 
 81)6. it is believed this is what they wanted. 
 
 "When Cody heard of the death of his 
 iiiend, he said, "Billy was as good a scout 
 as ever crossed the plains, and he was big 
 hearted and true. I shall cut many a 
 rotch in my rifle to avenge his death." 
 
 And he did. 
 
 173 
 
"BRIGHAM." 
 
 Buffalo Bill's Favorite Horse. — An Animal With 
 the Instincts of the Horse, the Affections of 
 a Lover and the Reasoning Powers of a Phil- 
 osopher. — Level Headed, Fleet of Foot, and 
 True as Steel. 
 
 Sometimes I wonder if horses do not 
 have souls. To the plainsman a faithful 
 horse is a rare jewel. He will part with his 
 coat, his property, his valuables, all save 
 his equine partner. 
 
 Between the plainsman and his horses 
 there springs up a friendship and fidelity 
 to be compared only with the affection of 
 a faithful dog. 
 
 Such a horse was the faithful Brigham. 
 He was a rare specimen of horseflesh. He 
 combined all the traits most sought for in 
 a saddle horse. His gait was perfect, his 
 muscles firm, his wind good, and more than 
 any horse I ever knew, he was equal to 
 long distance journeys. Added to this, he 
 
 174 
 
had brains, and a keen scent, a perfect 
 "long distance sight," like his rider. Many 
 people have commented on Buffalo Bill's 
 "telescopic eyes." "Well, his horse had the 
 same. 
 
 Brigham would not be selected for a 
 winner at a beauty show. He was not one 
 of those curved neck beauties who travel 
 with an up and down gait, all day in a 
 peck measure. He was a rangy animal, and 
 his well shaped head was carried on a level 
 with the saddle, But lord, how that horse 
 could go ! How his horse instinct told his 
 master the presence of the enemy ! How 
 he displayed his power of reason and good 
 sound judgment by keeping still when in 
 the neighborhood of other horses, when 
 their first impulse is to whinny ! 
 
 There are a whole lot of human beings 
 who don't know when to keep still. 
 
 Brigham was not beautiful. 
 
 Neither was Abraham Lincoln. 
 
 But both had the wisdom of their race. 
 
 Brigham made more long journeys in 
 the enemy's country than any other known 
 horse. He more than once saved his rider 
 by his "horse sense," and his rider had 
 the "horse sense" to be governed by the 
 
 175 
 
opinion of his "four-footed friend and part- 
 ner. ' ' 
 
 Brigham was the best buffalo horse on 
 the plains. It was "Old Brigham" who 
 carried the "Grand Duke Alexis of Russia 
 to victory when he killed his first buffalo. 
 
 It was Brigham who, among a bunch of 
 high priced thoroughbreds, won the five 
 mile race from the race track to Wyan- 
 dotte, 
 
 Brigham was not much to look at, but 
 with his easy long stride he passed the 
 track horses, and made their pedigrees look 
 small indeed, compared with this king of 
 the western wilds. 
 
 When Brigham got too old for active 
 services, he was transferred by Col. Cody 
 to his friend, Mr, Wilcox of Memphis, Ten- 
 nessee, where he had a good easy time until 
 he crossed the great divide, and now rests 
 beneath a stone marked 
 
 ' ' Brigham. ' ' 
 
 176 
 
jceand Walter Beardsly, Two Live Wire Scouts, "The Old Scout' 
 and the Writer. 
 
A COUPLE OF BOY SCOUTS. 
 
 Boys of Elkhart, Indiana, Who at Tender Ages 
 Are Great Travelers, and were Buffalo Bill's 
 Companions on Train. 
 
 Accompanying this we give a snap sliot 
 taken at the Clinton, Iowa, depot of the C. 
 & N. W. Railway. The Pullman shuts out 
 the view of the magnificent structure — the 
 Northwestern depot at Clinton, Iowa, of 
 which so much has been written and sung. 
 
 The parties in the picture are Col. W. F. 
 Cody, D. H. Winget, the writer of this, and 
 the boy scouts, Bruce and Walter Beardsley. 
 of Elkhart, Indiana, who had captured the 
 Colonel on the train and had been pleasant 
 traveling companions en route from a west- 
 ern trip to their home in Indiana, 
 
 The Colonel is a great lover of boys, and 
 took a great interest in this pair of live 
 wires. We are indebted to Major Beardsley 
 their father, for the picture from which 
 the cut was made. 
 
 177 
 
CODY IN CIVIC ACTION. 
 
 How He Handles Commercial Clubs. — The Way 
 To Do Things.— Do them and Don't Talk About 
 Them. 
 
 A short time ago, (year 1912), Col. Cody 
 was in a town where he had real estate 
 interests. The commercial club, composed 
 of the leading citizens, had been meeting 
 from time to time discussing the problem 
 of waterworks. Eesolutions were passed, 
 committees appointed to raise the money, 
 and other business drawn on paper. That 
 was all. All talk. All resolutions. 
 
 While the Colonel was on his vacation, 
 he was in this city. A meeting of the club 
 was held, and the same routine of talk and 
 resolutions, was the order of the evening. 
 The committees reported progress, etc. 
 
 How much money have you raised," ask- 
 ed the Colonel. 
 
 "None, so far," was the reply, "We 
 
 178 
 
hoped you would show us the way out of 
 it," said one member. 
 
 This particular meeting was held in Col. 
 Cody's rooms at his hotel. 
 
 ''Now, gentlemen," said the Colonel, 
 "you are all property owners in this little 
 city. So am I. You all want your proper- 
 ty to increase in value. So do I. Now, 
 I'll show you how it can be done." And 
 he stepped to the door and locked it. 
 
 "Now gentlemen," said he, as he seat- 
 ed himself at the table. "Here's my check 
 for a thousand dollars, and I shall expect 
 every man here to turn over to the secre- 
 tary his check for a like amount before he 
 leaves the room, for you can all afford it. 
 Your property interests are as large or 
 larger than mine. So gentlemen go to it, 
 and we'll have the waterworks. Its the 
 only way to do things. Do them first and 
 then pass resolutions. You can't raise any- 
 thing until you first dig. Now, gentlemen, 
 dig, and plant your money and give it a 
 chance to grow." 
 
 The men laughed at the novel talk of the 
 Colonel, but, as he backed his opinion with 
 money, they fell in line and did the same, 
 and as I write, work— real work — is being 
 
 179 
 
done on an up-to-date waterworks system 
 
 for this thriving little city of the North- 
 west. 
 
 ****** * 
 
 Another town in which Col. Cody has 
 interests wanted a beet sugar factory. The 
 towns people could not land it. While the 
 Colonel was there on a visit the proposition 
 was put before him. He at once got in cor- 
 respondence with a large manufacturing 
 firm in the beet sugar industry. They 
 promised him if he would guarantee the 
 output of 5000 acres of sugar beets, they 
 would put in a factory. The day after re- 
 ceiving this letter, he in company with an- 
 other citizen of the town mounted their 
 horses and went on a tour among the farm- 
 ing people of the district, and in two days 
 returned with signed contracts for 12,000 
 acres. 
 
 The factory is being built, and as the 
 town is on the line of the Burlington route, 
 it means ready market and good shipping 
 facilities. 
 
 These two sketches only show what one 
 man can do if he starts something and leads 
 it. The world is full of followers, but lead- 
 ers are few. 
 
 180 
 
LE CLAIRE. 
 
 Eirth Place of Buffalo Bill, and of President 
 Brown of the Vanderbilt System, and the 
 Home of the Celebrated "Le Claire Elm," 
 Said to be the Most Perfect and symmetric- 
 al Tree in the United States. 
 
 If the modest little town of LeClaire^ 
 Iowa, on the banks of the Mississippi never 
 takes on a boom and gets into the limelight 
 in the commercial world, she still has her 
 place on the map, as the birth place of 
 Buffalo Bill, and is the town where Hon. 
 W. C. Brown, president of the New York 
 Central Kailroad was born. Both these 
 boys have grown to manhood, and preserv- 
 ed the same hardy undaunted spirit of their 
 pioneer ancestors. 
 
 They were both born poor boys and 
 started in life without a pull, and by their 
 own unaided efforts have carved out their 
 own way to fortune and to fame. 
 
 Mr. Brown taught the efete east how to 
 
 181 
 
do things. He pioneered or pushed into 
 the maizes of big business, and became a 
 great Captain of industry. With him it 
 was not a leap to the top of the ladder. He 
 did not bound to the driver's seat and take 
 the reins of that mighty business. It was 
 his motto to work. There was no job too 
 small for him to start on, and with every 
 job he got he learned a higher lesson in 
 the school of life. 
 
 Mr. Brown was not born with a silver 
 spoon in his mouth, but what is far better, 
 he had the good red bounding blood of the 
 west — the blood of pioneers, of a father and 
 mother who looked the setting sun in the 
 face and dared to follow its call to the new 
 country beyond the Mississippi. 
 
 Here they settled and here they reared 
 their humble western shack, and with other 
 pioneers, did their share towards the re- 
 clamation of the west from its savage na- 
 ture. 
 
 Here on the banks of the Mississippi, a 
 future captain of industry first saw the 
 light. Right in the little settlement of Le 
 Claire, washed on the east by the swift 
 running Father of Waters, and backed by 
 the rounding timbered hills which line its 
 
 182 
 
banks, he was a boy, who from childhood 
 up, lived with a purpose. Step by step he 
 accomplished things, at first the work or 
 play of childhood, and as he surmounted 
 one obstacle, reached out for the next to 
 conquor. His school days were passed in 
 the primative western school. A slab of 
 lumber for a seat, and the simplest sur- 
 roundings, withstanding the lure of the fish- 
 ing rod, or the seductive call of Bob White, 
 till after school hours. 
 
 Like Billy Cody, he was a born leader, 
 and while Cody in his conquoring went to 
 the further western wilds, Billy Brown 
 found that the east needed a conquorer in 
 certain lines, and true to his native born, 
 principles went after it. 
 
 If the great president of railroads reads 
 this, sketched in primitive style, just 16 
 miles from his birth place, he may smile 
 and poof-poof. Then, he will light another 
 of those big cigars and as he lies back in 
 the easy chair in his sumptuous apart- 
 ments in New York City, the smoke in its 
 convolutions will form memory pictures. 
 It will take him back to LeClaire, it will 
 paint for him pictures possible to no other 
 artist, faces long forgotten will appear, he 
 
 183 
 
will call names he has not spoken for years. 
 
 See that barefoot boy going past with 
 the fishing rod, the cows coming home, the 
 tinkle of the cow bell just up on the hill. 
 The boys gathering place under the spread- 
 ing elm. Billy, the elm is all that is left of 
 the old crowd, save one or two people who 
 liave grown gray as the elm has grown 
 green, but many of our old friends are 
 there still. Yes, still. Their voices have 
 long been hushed and a stone marks tht;ir 
 j-e.stxng place. 
 
 Little old LeClaire still holds out a wel- 
 come for her two Billys — one who wander- 
 ed west and one who wandered east. 
 
 Ain't ye comin' home, boys?" 
 
 184 
 
THE PIPE OP PEACE. 
 
 How It is Made. — What is Necessary For Its 
 Component Parts. — Who Shall Make it, and 
 Why. — As War and Death Precedes Peace, so 
 Must These both Be Embodied in the Pipe of 
 Peace. — It Must be Wrought by a Loyal Maid- 
 en of the Tribe. — When It Passes From the 
 Chief, It is a Pledge of Life Long Friendship. 
 — A Symbol of "You Are My Brother." — Buffa- 
 lo Bill Says, "Let's Be Indians." — What It 
 Means to the Writer. 
 
 Few and far between are the genuine 
 Peace Pipes, Many to-day are sold as 
 souvenirs by unscrupulous Indian traders, 
 but they are the handiwork of the white 
 man. If all the alleged Peace Pipes in the 
 curio market to-day, or bought by ignorant 
 souvenir collectors were genuine, they 
 would represent the death of many a hu- 
 man being red or white. 
 
 A genuine Peace Pipe. 
 
 A genuine Peace Pipe must have a his- 
 tory — a pre-natal history. Before it was 
 
 185 
 
fashioned into a Pipe of Peace, 
 it must have been in part an 
 instrument of war — of death. 
 The long, harmless looking 
 hickory stem must have at 
 one time been a bow in the 
 hands of an Indian brave, and 
 of the tribe for which the Peace 
 Pipe is designed. It must have 
 sent a death dealing arrow to 
 the heart of an enemy. The 
 bow thus honored is placed in- 
 to the hands of an Indian girl 
 — unmarried, and preferably the 
 daughter of a chief. To her is 
 instrusted the honor, (for it is 
 so regarded) of making the 
 tribal Peace Pipe. The hickory 
 is burned through from end to 
 end for the stem. This is a 
 delicate and slow process. The 
 bow is cut to the proper length 
 and polished — not with sand 
 paper, but by scraping and 
 buffing with buffalo hide un- 
 til it is smooth as agate. The 
 bowl is deftly moulded and 
 hewn from pipe clay, found 
 
 186 
 
in the hills and water 
 courses of the mountains. 
 It is brought to a high 
 polish by constant rubbing 
 with buffalo skin. All is 
 hand work, and the work 
 only of the chieftain's 
 unmarried daughter. 
 
 The tobacco pouch is a 
 bag made of buffalo skin 
 tanned by the Indian 
 maiden, the buffalo hav- 
 ing been killed by a young 
 buck of tlie tribe. 
 
 It is profusely decor- 
 ated with beads fashioned 
 in the pattern best known 
 to that particular tribe. 
 The tribal Peace Pipe is 
 one of the most valuable 
 treasures of the Indian. 
 It represents , the honor 
 and esteem of his trib',' 
 and woven into its manu- 
 facture it tells the love 
 of his daughter or the 
 loyalty and esteem of an 
 
 Indian maiden. 
 
 187 
 
It is the type of friendship. Its language 
 is the death of enemies and the survival of 
 friends. The bestowal of a Peace Pipe 
 means a pledge of friendship, and rarely 
 during the life of a chief does the Peace 
 Pipe change hands. It means much. 
 
 Many years ago, a Peace Pipe changed 
 hands, and perhaps this is the only time in 
 history where an Indian has given it to a 
 white man. 
 
 As I write these lines I am smoking that 
 historical pipe. I am all alone, but as I 
 follow the convolutions of smoke, I see 
 fashioned faces of long ago. I see the wig- 
 wams of the red men, as they dot the 
 prairie, I see herds of their ponies, grazing 
 here and there in bunches, far far beyond 
 where prairie and sky meet, I see a bound- 
 ing herd of buffalo, bound for a water 
 course, around me the soft wind billows 
 the tall prairie grass, and chants the vesper 
 song to the Great Spirit. Here again is the 
 face of Mi-lo-Ka-ha, the daughter of the 
 chief, her long raven locks reaching far be- 
 low her beaded belt , caught back by a 
 thong or band of deer skin beaded and col- 
 ored with the crimson juice of the red 
 plant known to us as Indian paint. The 
 
 188 
 
smoke wreath forms other shapes and out of 
 the cloud looks down on me the face of my 
 friend ''Pahaska." Yes in these wreaths 
 of smoke — dream smoke, I find my friend 
 Buffalo Bill. 
 
 It is the spirit of the gift. It is the pro- 
 cession" of those who have had to do with 
 this Pipe of Peace. Now the smoke wreaths 
 are joined; they form another face — a body 
 — a stalwart chief, though aged as we count 
 years, lithe straight, sinewy, but with a 
 kindly face. I note the smile of the great 
 Red -Cloud. The friend of Buffalo Bill. 
 
 I have told before what the transfer of 
 a Peace Pipe means. It is to his best 
 friend, the great chieftain gave this pipe, 
 and to "Pahaska," Buffalo Bill, it was 
 given — a lasting treaty of peace between 
 the two. The grand old chief did not live 
 long after, but it was his satisfaction to 
 have remembered his white friend and ally 
 before he passed to the happy hunting 
 ground and the death song was chanted by 
 his tribe. 
 
 How did I get it? 
 
 Listen. 
 
 At 10 o'clock August 4, 1911, when Buf- 
 falo Bill was in our city with his great show 
 
 189 
 
on his farewell tour, he came to my office 
 and sat at my desk just where I am sitting 
 as I write this. 
 
 His eye was as clear and piercing as 
 in the halcyon days of yore when we were 
 boy pards. His hand as steady, as when he 
 pulled the trigger for a shot which told. 
 
 "Pard," said he, ''We're getting pretty 
 well along in years. "We have lived in 
 times when history was made. Where the 
 boys of the west rode at will on their 
 ponies, big farms and wire fences have 
 found place, and the long dreary cattle 
 trails to the setting sun have given way 
 to the bands of steel and the iron horses. 
 Well pard, we have the satisfaction that we 
 were there first. But we're getting old — we 
 must soon cross the great divide. 
 
 ''You know the meaning of the Peace 
 Pipe. You know how much it indicates 
 when given to a friend. You realize its 
 full meaning? Of course you do. 
 
 "We have been 'pards' for over half 
 a century, we have never lessened our 
 friendship. It is as warm to-day as then. 
 Time or distance has not dimmed it. And . 
 now pard," said he as he unrolled a paper. 
 "Lets be Indians." 
 
 190 
 
And he handed me the Peace Pipe, and 
 tobacco pouch. 
 
 ******* 
 
 Time may use me rough, I may even 
 be hungry, but so long as I live I will re- 
 tain that memento of my friend, which in 
 the language and legend of our red brother 
 means so much. 
 
 At my death it shall pass with all its 
 aboriginal meaning to a friend whom I 
 shall call here, Al, who selected from the 
 world at large is the one to receive it from 
 me. 
 
 191 
 
"AND A PROTESTANT, TOO!" 
 
 Billy Helps Little Matt Malone Out of a Scrape 
 And Rescues His Rosary From the Tough 
 Gang. 
 
 Little Matt. Malone, one of our neighbor 
 boys of Irish extraction was set upon by a 
 gang of levee roughs, who not only abused 
 the little fellow, but took from him his 
 "beads" as they called it, but it was his 
 rosary and highly prized by him. 
 
 Billy went in and licked the bully, and 
 rescued little Matt. 
 
 "The dirty divil has me rosary," said 
 Matt. 
 
 "What's a rosary?" said Billy. 
 
 We told Billy what it was and he went 
 to the bully and made him hand over "that 
 string of beads, and do it quick, too." The 
 bully, now recovered from the last punch 
 Billy gave him, showed signs of fight, and 
 Billy recognizing the sign, went at him and 
 
 192 
 
gave him such a licking as he remembers 
 to-day, if he still lives. He got the "beads" 
 and though they were broken in the strug- 
 gle, and the crucifix separated from the 
 rest, he returned them to poor little JMatt. 
 
 His mother telling of the affray to the 
 neighbors and Sisters of Charity, spoke 
 very highly of Billy, and at the end of each 
 sentence she said: "And a Protestant Bye, 
 ioo! Think of that." 
 
 As I look back at it, I have to laugh as 
 I recall Billy's words as he punched the 
 bully. 
 
 "Gimme that picture of Jesus, gimme 
 that picture of Jesus." 
 
 This he repeated as he punched the 
 bully, until it was finally handed him, and 
 Billy returned the little metal image of the 
 Saviour to little Matt. 
 
 Billy was not ciuarrelsome, and I never 
 knew him to get into a mixup on his own 
 account. He was at all times ready to take 
 up the wrong of somebody else, and as a 
 rule all his litle fracases were ready made 
 for him, and he jumped into it and clean- 
 ed it up. 
 
 Bravery is not confined alone to killing 
 Indians, to taking up the fights of other 
 
 193 
 
boys, or to fighting in general, but it 
 reaches farther and deeper than all these. 
 
 It means to defend the right as God 
 gives you to see the right. It means for 
 boy scouts or men scouts who profess to be 
 brave, to ally their forces with the right, to 
 take the part of the poor and weak in all 
 cases, as for instance the nature of the 
 ''Old Scout" in private life. Let us see 
 how this figures out : 
 
 The deadly bow and poisoned arrow are 
 of the past. The bow string is broken; the 
 arrows repose in their quiver as they hang 
 on the wall of the lodge. The rifle no long- 
 er responds to the deadly aim and unerring 
 trigger of the Indian fighter. The buffalo 
 no longer roams the prairie. The trackless 
 plains have been grid ironed by the steel 
 pathway of the avenues of commerce. Our 
 country has been captured from savagery 
 and has succumbed to civilization. 
 
 But still there's room for bravery, chiv- 
 alry and scouting. Has the "Old Scout" 
 lost his nature? Has he ceased to take up 
 the fights and right the wrongs of tlie op- 
 pressed? 
 
 In his everyday life he sees oportuni- 
 
 194 
 
ties to help the poor and take up the cause 
 of the under dog in the battle of life. 
 
 See him in the arena, placing history be- 
 fore you. See him in action in the mimic 
 warfare of the Wild West. See him as he 
 proudly rides at the head of the rough rid- 
 ers of the world and introduces to you the 
 Congress of Rough Riders. 
 
 But behind the scenes. He is a busy 
 man. In his tent while the big show is go- 
 ing on, he is answering telegrams, letters, 
 etc., and keeping in touch with his private 
 work all over the country. Here is a let- 
 ter authorizing his bank in this or that city 
 
 to see that old ]\Ir. a veteran of the 
 
 plains has the comforts of life. Here goes 
 his draft out to the widow of Pony Bob 
 in Chicago, to ease her declining years. 
 Here a letter of good cheer to this or that 
 friend in an isolated village away in the 
 west, the south or east. Here a donation 
 for charity to be handled by friends whom 
 he knows he can trust. Here a letter to a 
 Commercial Club, in this or that city where 
 he has interests, and all, yes all, are writ- 
 ten in a spirit of chivalry in many instances 
 backed by the weapon of cash, to drive the 
 wolf from the door, or bolster up an un- 
 
 195 
 
fortunate friend who's "pulling hard 
 against the stream." 
 
 If Buffalo Bill dies a poor man, it will 
 not be for the reason that he has not made 
 money, but because of the open hand of 
 generous charity which has characterized 
 his life from boyhood. 
 
 Many times in our boyhood has Billy led 
 the "clan" around with saws and axes to 
 the home of this or that poor old couple or 
 widow, to get in their winter wood. Many 
 a time have we made war on the timber 
 and hauled to the homes of these unfortun- 
 ate, cords of wood. And all this suggested 
 by Billy, who as our recognized leader nev- 
 er said "go and do" this or that, but 
 "Let us go and do it." 
 
 An old lady lay sick. She was poor. 
 Billy took up her case, and in school told 
 all about her misfortune. He grew inter- 
 ested in his talk and, while I've heard him 
 try to speak "The Boy Stood on the Burn- 
 ing Deck," he never spoke so well, nor so 
 eloquently as when he was telling the story 
 of that poor old Irish lady. 
 
 "Mr. Quantrell," said he, for it was 
 the Quantrell who afterwards became the 
 notorious outlaw who led the massacre at 
 
 196 
 
Lawrence, Kansas, who was our teacher. 
 ''Mr. Quantrell, may I pass the hat?" 
 
 "Certainly Billy," said he, "and here's 
 a dollar to start yon off." 
 
 Billy took his hat, went down into his 
 own pocket first, and when our teacher put 
 in his dollar it struck another piece of coin. 
 The hat was passed, and the dimes and 
 quarters showed a goodly spirit in the 
 school children (there were no pennies 
 there) . 
 
 Again the same spirit of eJnvalry came 
 to the front when he started a contribution 
 for a poor woman and her children out in 
 a mining camp, a reference to which is 
 made in the little verse on pages 119 to 128 
 in this book. 
 
 But these are only a few of many cases. 
 As I say, if Buffalo Bill dies a poor man, 
 it is because he delighted in the game of 
 "Help your neighbor" and I am not so sure 
 but that he will even in this life realize the 
 full meaning of the verse in our Saviour's 
 teaching, "He that giveth unto the poor 
 lendeth unto the Lord." 
 
 Boys, can you be the same kind of true 
 blue "Cody Scouts"? 
 
 197 
 
ANOTHER "BILLY." 
 
 William C. Brown, President of the New York 
 Central Lines An Iowa Boy, From the Vil- 
 lage of Buffalo Bill's Nativity and the Home 
 of the "Green Tree." — A Story of What An 
 Iowa Boy Did and What Our Boys Should 
 Should Strive For. 
 
 A few pages back we have alluded brief- 
 ly to another LeClaire, Iowa, boy, from the 
 town of iiilly Cody. This man, too, was at 
 that time "Billy." Since the pages I speak 
 of were printed, I have fortunately been 
 able to gather facts bout this Iowa boy, 
 captain of industry. Feeling it too good a 
 lesson to lose, I present it to our boy scout 
 readers. 
 
 It is a long, hard climb from section 
 hand on a railroad to the most responsible 
 positions on one of the greatest railroad 
 systems in this or any other country, but 
 
 198 
 
an Iowa boy lias nioiinted every rung in 
 the ladder. 
 
 Mr. William C. Brown is a living ex- 
 ample of the eternal fact that there is no 
 boy anywhere who is so poor and so lacking 
 in ready-made opportunity that he cannot 
 climb to the top. It was a hard fight and 
 a long one, but he stuck to it unswervingly 
 and finally achieved success. The story of 
 his rise reads like a romance, and should 
 be a lesson and an inspiration to every boy 
 scout today. 
 
 Born in Herliimer County, New York, 
 on July 29tli, 1853, he came to Iowa at the 
 age of three years, when his father, a Bap- 
 tist minister, sent out by the Home Mission- 
 ary Society, continued a noble, self-sacrific- 
 ing service of more than forty years among 
 struggling churches of that state. 
 
 In 1869, when sixteen years of age, he 
 entered the service of the Chicago, Mil- 
 waukee & St. Paul as a section hand; and 
 the work recpiired of a section hand at that 
 time was a good deal harder than it is to- 
 day, especially the work of heaving cord- 
 wood onto a locomotive tender, euphonis- 
 tically called "wooding engines," to which 
 he was at first assigned. 
 
 199 
 
During his spare time and in the eve- 
 ning, young Brown helped the station agent 
 with odd jobs, practiced on the telegraph 
 instrument, making himself generally use- 
 ful and picking up every scrap of informa- 
 tion concerning the business upon which he 
 had entered, so that in another year he had 
 become a proficient telegraph operator. 
 Within half-a-dozen years he had risen to 
 the position of Train Despatcher on the 
 Chicago, Burlington & Quincy Kailroad. 
 
 An occurance, while he occupied this posi- 
 tion at Burlington, Iowa, throws a strong 
 side-light on his character; and the story, 
 as told many years afterward, by Mr. T. 
 J. Potter, when he was Vice-President of 
 the Union Pacific, in a way condenses Mr. 
 Brown's entire railroad history and re- 
 veals the underlying reason foi* his success- 
 ful career. 
 
 Before going to the Union Pacific, Mr. 
 Potter was for many years General Man- 
 ager of the Burlington System, in which 
 Mr. Brown was working his way to the top. 
 
 "I'll bet," said Mr. Potter, one day in 
 Chicago, ''Brown doesn't know what first 
 attracted my attention to him, and gave 
 his real start to preferment in the Burling- 
 
 200 
 
W. C. BROWN 
 
 President of the New York Central R. R. 
 
ton company. It was a very little thing 
 in a way. "Along in the winter of 1877-78, 
 we had a succession of fierce snowstorms, 
 blockades, and all sorts of trouble. One 
 Sunday night there was a i)artieular]y 
 heavy storm, and as the wind Avhistied 
 about the house and the snow beat against 
 the windows it wakened me, and I slept 
 very little from that time until it was time 
 to get up in the morning, thinking of the 
 probable conditions of things on the road. 
 I went to the office unusually early, and 
 just as I reached the office; door I saw 
 Jerry Hosford, then superintendent of 
 stock yards, wading thrpug^h the snow, com- 
 ing up from the direction of the river. He 
 had evidently come across the ice from the 
 stock yards at East Burling-tdii. 
 
 "I noticed a young fellow trudging in 
 the snow beside Hosford, who bade him 
 'good morning' just before he reached the 
 office door, and started up the street. 
 
 "After inquiring of Hosford in regard 
 to conditions during the night, and being 
 informed that three or four hundred car- 
 loads of stock were comfortably housed in 
 the pens and sheds at East Burlington, 1 
 
 201 
 
said to liim, 'Who was that young fellow 
 who came over with you?' 
 
 " 'His name is Brown,' said Hosford, 
 'he's one of the train despatchers. His 
 trick is from four o'clock in the afternoon 
 until midnight; but when he was relieved 
 last nig 'it the storm was at its worst, and 
 it seemed doubtful if we were going to be 
 able to get the stock through and unload- 
 ed at the yards; so instead of going home 
 and going to bed when his regular work 
 ended, he volunteered to help me abou't my 
 work, and I don't know how I'd have got 
 along without him.' 
 
 "I made a note of Brown, right then 
 and there," said Mr. Potter, "for that, I 
 thought, was the kind of man it was to the 
 company's interest to push along. But he 
 didn't want pushing. All Brown ever 
 wanted was a chance. He furnished the 
 motive power himself." 
 
 In 1880 Mr. Brown was a chief despateh- 
 er; another year and he was train-master 
 and three years later he was superintendent. 
 
 During the famous strike of '88, as su- 
 perintendent of the Iowa Lines, Mr. Brown 
 was in the thick of the fight ; and near the 
 close of that eventful struggle, when a 
 
 202 
 
mail train was abaudoned at Burlington, 
 Iowa, he was on the ground ready to solve- 
 the problem. Another train, running in 
 the opposite direction had been abandoned 
 at Galesburg, Illinois. The predicament 
 was puzzling and staring him in the face 
 were the mails, with the consequent for- 
 feits for delay, to say nothing of the pas- 
 sengers and an acknowledged victory for 
 the strikers. 
 
 "I'll take her through if you'll go with 
 me. Jack," said superintendent Brown to 
 his trainmaster. 
 
 No sooner had the words l)een spoken 
 than he was in the right side of the cab. 
 That run has gone dov/n in the history of 
 the road as a "Corker." 
 
 Arriving at Galesburg, Brown took the 
 engineer's seat in the other mail train and 
 brought the second one to Burlington. 
 Where were the strikers? They were.every- 
 where in evidence; but the superintendent 
 was not interfered with, — the strikers 
 liked him, for he was always a square man. 
 
 In 1890, Mr. Brown became General 
 IManager of the Burlington lines in Miss- 
 ouri with headquarters in St. Joseph, Miss- 
 ouri. It was here that he had the exper- 
 
 203 
 
ience which gives him the unique distinc- 
 tion of being the only railroad official in 
 the east who ever trapped a band of train 
 robbers in the west. 
 
 In the autumn of 1892, in addition to 
 his duties as General Manager of the Miss- 
 ouri lines, Mr. Brown was also vice- presi- 
 dent of the Missouri Valley Fair Associa- 
 tion which annually drew large crowds fron 
 the adjacent counties of three states to see 
 its exhibits. 
 
 The "big day" of the fair in that year 
 was the greatest in the history of the Asso- 
 ciation and the receipts exceeded all others. 
 
 At that time scattered bands of mount- 
 ed robbers still infested the Missouri and 
 Kansas borders, made up of remnants of 
 the "bush-whackers" and "jayhawkers" 
 which were the outgrowth of the Civil War. 
 
 A plan by one of these organizations, to 
 ride down upon the "gate money" of the 
 fair, came to the knowledge of Mr. Brown 
 who Avith the treasurer had the treasury 
 box hurriedly- removed to the bank in the 
 city, so that the scheme was neatly foiled. 
 Defeated in this, the band entered upon a 
 campaign of waylaying and plundering rail- 
 road trains in that section. 
 
 204 
 
A short time afterward, while the Sun- 
 day evening church bells were ringing over 
 the city, two rough looking strangers 
 knocked on the side door of the Brown res- 
 idence. Mr. Brown, answering the knock 
 himself, was met with the unusual ques- 
 tion of whether he was alone, but neverthe- 
 less invited the visitors to come in. The 
 suspicious circumstances of the visit were 
 further heightened by the leader asking 
 Mr. Brown to lower the curtains of the 
 window as they might have been followed 
 and they did not wish to be seen there. 
 
 The spokesman then informed Mr. 
 Brown that his most important express 
 train, known as ''No. 3," would be held up 
 that very night at a lonely and heavily 
 wooded point, known locally by railroad 
 men as "-Roy/s Branch," only a short dis- 
 tance from the city. He added that a few 
 nights before the gang had intended to hold 
 up the same train and loot the express car 
 at that identical spot, but were frustrated. 
 This was because No. 17, which usual'y 
 left St. Joseph ahead of No. 3, being late 
 that evening was preceeded by No. 3, and 
 they did not discover this until No. 3 had 
 passed the spot. 
 
 205 
 
Mr. Brown tried to persuade them to 
 give up their part in the enterprise ; but 
 they refused, stating they were so far com- 
 mitted to it that their lives would be for- 
 feited if the band suspected them of hav- 
 ing 'Sveakened," and they then departed. 
 
 While the circumstances connected with 
 this visit and the story as related were of 
 a highly suspicious nature, there remained 
 but one hour until No. 3 was due to de- 
 part from the Union Station. Mr. Brown, 
 with the quix3k decision and energy which 
 has always been his chief characteristic, 
 marking him as a leader in any emergency, 
 immediately called up Sheriff "Charlie" 
 Carsson, Chief of Police John Broder, who 
 was an ex-Confederate soldier with a war 
 record and Superintendent "Mike" Hohl, 
 and asked them to meet in his office. 
 
 While thus telephoning, the wires be- 
 came crossed and he heard a strange voice 
 calling the dispatcher and ask: "Will No. 
 17 be ahead of No. 3 tonight"; and, as he 
 ascertained from the operator that the call 
 was made from a drug store in a remote 
 part of the city, the occurrence strongly 
 emphasized the story which he had heard 
 only a few minutes before of the failure of 
 
 206 
 
a previous attempt to hold up this train. 
 
 To have sent No. 3 out on its regular 
 schedule would have imperiled the lives of 
 many passengers, for a fight was surely in 
 prospect. For this reason General Manager 
 Brown issued the following order: "Hold 
 No. 3 at the Union Station until further or- 
 ders. Make up 'dummy' to go out on No. 
 3's time." 
 
 This order was quickly and quietly exe- 
 cuted. The dummy train consisting of an' 
 engine, an express car, a smoking car and 
 two Pullman cars, was assembled, two em- 
 pty piano boxes were placed in the express 
 ear and in them a number of deputy 
 sheriffs were concealed. The dummy train, 
 with General Manager Brown in personal 
 charge, departed from the Union Station 
 on schedule time, while No. 3 was held un- 
 til the fate of the expedition iiad been de- 
 termined. 
 
 Up along the river, past Dug Hill, 
 around Black Snake Bluffs, sped the train; 
 and, as the head light illuminated the thick- 
 ets of Eoy's Branch, a red lantern swung 
 across the track. The train stopped, band- 
 its "covered" the engineer and fireman 
 and ordered the opening of the express car 
 
 207 
 
under threat of blowing it open with dyn- 
 mite. But instead of finding the plunder 
 which they had expected, they were given 
 a surprise in the form of a short but decis- 
 ive fight by the officers of the law conceal- 
 ed within the piano boxes and scattered at 
 vantage points about the train. The action 
 was conclusive. Two robbers were kill- 
 ed, two were caputred and a fifth was so 
 badly wounded that he was captured the 
 next day. 
 
 The "haul" w^as so large and important 
 that the news traveled the world over. By 
 that night's work, Mr. Brown eliminated 
 a dangerous gang of train robbers and 
 bold highwaymen which had infested that 
 section of the country, thereby rendering 
 railway travel, not only in Missouri but 
 throughout the west, safer for all future 
 time. 
 
 , In January, 1896, Mr. Brown became 
 General Manager of hte Chicago, Burling- 
 ton & Quincy Railroad with headquarters at 
 Chicago; and left that company in Febru- 
 ary, 1902, to become Vice-President and 
 General Manager of the Lake Shore & 
 Michigan Southern Kailway. Following 
 that he was successively Vice-President, 
 
 208 
 
and in February, 1909, became President of 
 the New York Central Lines, so that now 
 he occupies that most responsible position 
 at the head of a system of railroads extend- 
 ing 12,270 miles in length through nine 
 states and with an army of employes num- 
 bering 160,000. 
 
 This brief outline indicates the succes- 
 sive steps in ]\Ir. Brown's remarkable rise 
 and furnishes an object lesson to every 
 aspiring youth, no matter how humble his 
 beginning may be or hard his path appears 
 to be beset by adverse circumstances. But 
 to benefit from his exmaple, sight must not 
 be lost of the principles which made his 
 success possible. 
 
 Mr. Brown can hardlj- be called an ideal- 
 ist, especially in the sense of being a 
 dreamer, and least of all a visionary. He 
 believes in working until one's opportunity 
 arrives and then promptly and vigorously 
 seizing hold of it, as opposed to selecting 
 a high ideal— a distant vision — and con- 
 tinually striving after it to the neglect of 
 the work at hand. 
 
 This practice marked him as the man to 
 be depended upon under all circumstances 
 and on innumerable occasions character- 
 
 209 
 
ized him as the man "on the spot." 
 
 When recently asked what he consider- 
 ed the most important factor in his ad- 
 vancement, Mr. Brown made the following 
 characteristic reply : 
 
 "Just sticking' at it,'"' he said, "and 
 making a business of my business, filling 
 every job I got as well as I knew 
 how. I think that under present con- 
 ditions, and perhaps under any con- 
 ditions, it is more or less of a mistake to 
 preach to young men that they should fix 
 for themselves a specific goal, and strive 
 toward it, keep it eternally in sight, and 
 never let anything distract their attention 
 from it. If a fellow sets out with that 
 idea he is apt to become an office politic- 
 ian, and he wastes more time figuring how 
 he is going to get the step over somebody 
 else than he expends in attending to the 
 business in hand. 
 
 "The thing is to bend every energy in 
 him to doing today, as well as it can be 
 done, what he has to do. The man who does 
 that needn't worry about promotion. He 
 doesn't have to look or scheme for promo- 
 tion. Promotion will look for him. There is 
 too much to be done for any man to be 
 
 210 
 
overlooked who is able to turn to and do it, 
 and who is willing to do it. Willingness is 
 a big item. It is positively essential that 
 a man be on good terms with his job, even 
 if it isn't all he "would like it to be, and 
 that he should make every day's work the 
 very best day's work he can do. The 
 switchman who is forever thinking how 
 much better yardmaster he would make 
 than the man who has the job over him is 
 hurting his chance of being a yardmaster, 
 if he only knew it, because he is diminish- 
 ing his efficiency, and it's efficiency that 
 counts. 
 
 "A man does better simply to apply 
 himself to every day's duty as it comes 
 along. In that way he misses nothing, he 
 masters his position, and fits himself for 
 a bigger one quicker than he could by any 
 other means; and as for advancement, it 
 will come looking for him, because, as I 
 said before, there is a vast demand for 
 competent men in the high positions. 
 
 "Just look over the field; the fact is 
 that there is more wealth in the country 
 today than ever before, and the opportuni- 
 ties are correspondingly greater. Why, as 
 railroading is done nowadays, there are 
 
 211 
 
more superintendents than there were con- 
 ductors when I started, and more general 
 managers now than there were superinten- 
 dents then. Now if you take a correspond- 
 ing increase in all the other grades you 
 will get some idea of the magnitude of the 
 business and the chance it offers. Do you 
 realize that out of the 90,000,000 popula- 
 tion that the United States are credited 
 with, pproximately one-fortieth part to- 
 day is composed of men employed by rail- 
 roads; and that the wages to each man, are 
 double, those paid thirty years ago for the 
 same hours of work? That means a great 
 deal to the boys who are starting out to- 
 day. 
 
 "Another factor that makes for rapid 
 promotion for young men nowadays, is that 
 the conditions wear men out quicker. The 
 tension is greater, necessarily, as the media 
 ism grows bigger and more complicated. 
 Men used to stay in a job until they were 
 simply played out, and in some cases act- 
 ually died of old age while still in the ser- 
 vice. They cannot do that now, because 
 the older men have to make way for the 
 younger men at a very much earlier age 
 than formerly." 
 
 212 
 
LITTLE KIT. 
 
 Buaffalo Bill's Son, Kit Carson Cody, a Welcome 
 Heir, and a Splendid Boy. 
 
 I have often been asked: "Has Coi. 
 Cody a son?" 
 
 No. the Colonel has not a son. A boy 
 was born to him and his wife years ago. 
 The little one came to his home in the fall 
 of 1870 I think it was, the idol of a happy 
 home. 
 
 The happy father was far out in the 
 west, scouting for the government when 
 the news reached him. Many names were 
 suggested for the little stranger, but the 
 one suggested by Major Brown, that he be 
 named after the old scout and frontiers- 
 man "Kit Carson," was chosen, and the 
 young man was christened "'Kit Carson 
 Cody." 
 
 He had the many loveable traits of his 
 charming mother, the clear truthful eye of 
 his father, and bade fair to follow early in 
 
 213 
 
the footsteps of his illustrious sire. Such 
 was not to be, however, for a telegram 
 reached Col. Cody in a distant city, that 
 Kit, his Kit, his six year old boy, lay clan- 
 gerouly ill at Rochester, New York. 
 
 The Colonel who was at that time (1876) 
 with his dramatic troupe at Springfield, 
 Mass., left the stage and made all possible 
 haste to the bedside of his son. The play 
 was just starting for the evening, and Col. 
 Cody sent for his business manager, Major 
 John Burke, and showed him the telegram, 
 and told him he would finish the first act 
 but the Major must finish the play, and 
 make excuse to the audience 
 
 He took the first train for Kochester 
 and arrived there to find his beautiful boy 
 in the throes of scarlet fever. However he 
 seemed to recognize his father, and putting 
 liis little arms lovingly around his neck 
 tried to kiss him. 
 
 All that medical science and faithful 
 work could do was in vain, and his beloved 
 little Kit died in his arms at 6 o'clock that 
 evening. 
 
 But I'll not tear open the wound in my 
 friend's big loving heart. We will leave 
 him alone with his boy, Little Kit. 
 
 214 
 
In Mount Hope, the beautiful city of the 
 dead, the body of Little Kit was laid ten- 
 derly away, but through the long vista of 
 years a childish voice comes to the Old 
 Scout, "I'm waiting for you, Father." 
 
 215 
 
A MILLIONAIRE. 
 
 Buffalo Bill Starts the City of Rome, Kansas.— 
 A Railroad Company Tries To Get in the 
 Game, But is Refused, So They Start a Town 
 Further on, and Rome Melts Away. — Nero Fid- 
 dled While Rome Was Burning. — Cody Couldn't 
 Play the Fiddle, But He Lost Rome, the Same 
 as Nero Did, and Hayes City, Kansas, is the 
 Result.— But His Next Attempt Was Success- 
 ful, and the Beautiful City of Cody, Wyoming, 
 is the Result. 
 
 AYhen Buffalo Bill comes with his great 
 shoAv to the city, he owns the town. All 
 people turn out to greet the celebrated 
 scout. 
 
 Cody once owned a real town put west. 
 It was in the days when the Kansas Pacific 
 Eailroad was pushing forward, and he, a 
 buffalo hunter, was furnishing the meat 
 for the workmen. One of his companions 
 and he conceived the idea of starting a 
 town. They staked out lots, built a gener- 
 al store in crude primitive style and put in 
 
 216 
 
a stock of goods such as would be used by 
 the people of the border. Quite a number 
 of buildings were erected and their scheme 
 promised to make them rich. 
 
 In a short time a man named Webb 
 came along, and wanted to get in on the 
 deal, but Cody and his partner thought 
 they had too good a thing to divide up. 
 They declined his offer. It developed that 
 he was the land agent of the Kansas Paci- 
 fic Railroad, and he had the road locate 
 another town a few miles beyond, at w^hieh 
 the trains would stop. 
 
 This settled the town of Rome, as the 
 new town was named, for those who had 
 settled there moved their buildings a few 
 miles further along to the new town, which 
 is to-day known as Hayes City. That is one 
 time that Cody was a millionaire for a 
 short time. He stood pat, however, even 
 if he did lose Rome. Nero didn't have any- 
 thing over Buffalo Bill, for ancient history 
 tells us that he lost Rome, too. 
 
 He made another attempt in later days 
 to start a town, and the result is the beau- 
 tiful and flourishing city of Cody, Wyoming, 
 the eastern gateway of the National Park, 
 and one of the most progressive and boom- 
 
 217 
 
ing towns of the great northwest. It is 
 beautifully situated in the Rockies, and has 
 water as pure as dew, and a climate which 
 with its pine and ozone is nature's labora- 
 tory for health. It is a great resort for 
 those who wish a delightful summer out- 
 ing where fish and big game abound. With 
 his grand hotel, "The Irma," and his string 
 of Mountain trail houses, "Pahaska" and 
 other camping places, his automobile stage 
 line, his herds of saddle and hunting horses, 
 his expert mountain guides, Buffalo Bill 
 has pierced the Rockies with the Cody Trail 
 and extends a royal welcome to pleasure 
 seekers. Here again, the boy scout proves 
 himself a pioneer, for he has placed a road 
 through the mountains, and automobiles 
 are humming merily where many people 
 said only a bird could fly. This time the 
 railroad came to Cody's town. 
 
 The Burlington Route with its splendid 
 trains lands the pleasure seeker right at 
 the gate way of this western paradise, Cody 
 City. 
 
 218 
 
AN AMERICAN NOBLEMAN. 
 
 Buffalo Bill Feels That He Wears the Proud- 
 est Title Man Can Bestow. — He declines with 
 Thanks Complimentary Orders of Knighthood 
 and Other Orders Tendered Him by Royalty, 
 and in His Return of Thanks For Same Says 
 He Has All the Honor He Can Stagger Under. 
 
 When Col. Cody was abroad with his 
 great Wild West show, he was several 
 times tendered orders of various kinds at 
 the hands of rulers of the various kingdoms, 
 in the shape of "knight" of this or that, 
 but always declined. 
 
 In one instance when he passed up Avitli 
 thanks the sword and spurs, the meaning 
 medal and the badge of ribbon, the insigna 
 of royal favor, he said: 
 
 ''You cannot tell how much this means 
 to me, or how deeply I feel your royal ap- 
 preciation of my efforts to amuse and in- 
 struct you and your people in the history o ' 
 our own glorious west, and believe me when 
 
 219 
 
I say that the proffer carries with it to my 
 heart your good will and friendship, a tes- 
 timonial in itself of which I shall ever be 
 proud, and I hope I will not be misunder- 
 stood when I decline the official badge. In 
 the first place, I am an American, pure and 
 simple, which I consider all the honor due 
 to a true American. My allegiance is to 
 my own country and her flag, and to ac- 
 cept the official or royal insigna of your 
 noble orders would make me not a strong 
 subject implied or otherAvise of your great 
 country, but it would, by the fact of my 
 accepting it make me less an American, or 
 I should be a man with a divided allegianci 
 Your country and mine are friends. Tlv 
 bonds of commerce unite them. On the 
 high seas we salute each other's flag. Your 
 nobility is staunch and true to their sover- 
 eign, so I, as an American beg to remain 
 true to my sovereign flag, and at the same 
 time remain your friend, as our glorious 
 banner is your friend. 
 
 "So, your highness, permit me with 
 thanks to decline your kind offer." 
 
 Do you think that royalty went off in a 
 huff and felt chagrined? 
 
 Not on your life. They admired the 
 
 220 
 
American, and to this day there has never 
 been accorded to a private citizen, Amer- 
 ican or native, the courtesies shoAvered up- 
 on Buffalo Bill, and he is probablj^ the only 
 American who ever dined enfamlie with 
 royalty. 
 
 That is the true blood of an "American 
 Scout." In this country every man is a 
 king, and the stars and stripes is his most 
 noble emblem of orders. 
 
 Now, you "Boy Scouts," in j^our every 
 day life, keep ever before you the fact 
 that you are an American — a king — and so 
 live that your actions shall reflect credit 
 upon our beautiful banner, and see to it 
 that no act of yours shall contribute to its 
 disgrace. 
 
 Be Americans. 
 
 221 
 
WE LAY DOWN THE PEN. 
 
 In This Little Book Our Message is Finished. — 
 We Are No Longer Boy Scouts. — We Have 
 Crossed the Rise, and Now the Beacon Lights 
 on the Great Divide Beckon To Us. — If, How- 
 ever, We are Spared a Few More Moons, If 
 the Great Chief Deems It Well To Prolong 
 Our Life, We May Have More of the History 
 of the West, For You. 
 
 Boys, I reluctantly lay down the pen on 
 this brief history, this hashed history. I 
 feel that if all our Boy Scouts read it thor- 
 oughly and between the lines they will be 
 the better for its perusal. I have stuck 
 close to facts, and though figures and 
 dates may be in a measure jumbled up, I 
 have printed the facts in the life of the 
 original Boy Scout commencing at the age 
 of 9, up to and including the years of his 
 manhood, I have told without the gloss 
 of varnish the boyhood life of one of the 
 greatest pioneers in our country's history. 
 
 222 
 
I have covered nothing and nothing- lias 
 been uncovered which the Last of the 
 Great Scouts will not say "It is all right." 
 
 "We were boys, just boys, the same as 
 you are. Our tastes were the same. Our 
 games were in keeping with the red blood 
 of youth, but our environments were dif- 
 ferent. Where you are surrounded with 
 walls of brick and stone, the boundless 
 prairies were our play grounds. Where 
 you are barred by the sections of streets 
 and wards, our only menace were the red 
 men of the plains. 
 
 And yet, looking back, those red men 
 were susceptible to kindness, and we had 
 warm friends among, the various tribes. 
 True, it is, that our government took by 
 force their homes, their hunting grounds, 
 and just as true they felt agrieved, the 
 same as you and I would feel should some 
 strong party seek to deprive us of our 
 homes. We would fight — so did they. 
 
 I am not about to write a labored es- 
 say upon the wrongs of the Indian, but 
 simply seeking for a proper close of this 
 sketch. 
 
 Buffalo Bill, mj^ friend, I have known 
 and loved for half a hundred years. He 
 
 223 
 
SEP 11 1912 
 
 has proven true. He has been the enter- 
 ing wedge for the civilization of America's 
 Great West. He has made his mark, and 
 I shall, as I raise my hat in greeting, say 
 Hail and Farewell, America's, Greatest 
 American, 
 
 224