USA > Kansas > Ford County > Dodge City > Dodge City, the cowboy capital, and the great Southwest in the days of the wild Indian, the buffalo, the cowboy, dance halls, gambling halls and bad men > Part 5
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Mr. A. J. Anthony and I bought out the Cimarron ranch, twenty-five miles west of Fort Dodge. The com- pany of which we purchased were heartily tired of the place, and eager to sell, for two of their number had been brutally murdered by the Indians while attempting to put up hay. Anthony was an old "Overland stage mes- senger," had seen lots of ups and downs with the Indians
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on the plains, and rather enjoyed them. So we got to- gether some of the old-timers and went to making hay. Right there our troubles commenced. We both had seen a great deal of the Indians and their methods before; but we didn't realize what they could and would do when they took the notion. If we didn't see some of the sav- ages every day it was a wonder; and once that summer they actually let us alone for four weeks. I remarked to my partner: "There is something wrong in this; they must be sick." So they were. When they came in that winter and made a treaty, they told us the cholera had broken out among them, and the reason for their remain- ing away for so long a time was on account of the scourge. The cholera was perfectly awful that summer on the plains; it killed soldiers, government employees, Santa Fe traders and emigrants. Many new graves dotted the road- sides and camping places, making fresh landmarks.
I remember two soldiers coming up with the mail escort one night, who were severely reprimanded by their sergeant for getting drunk, at which they took umhrage, stole two horses and deserted the next day. One of them returned on foot about noon, stating that the Indians had attacked them early in the morning, got their animals from the picket line, and shot his partner through the right breast; that he had left him on an island twelve miles up the river. Our cook had been complaining a little that morning, and when I went to his room to see him he said that he had dinner all ready, and would like to go along with us after the wounded soldier. I told him no; to stay at home, go to bed, keep quiet, and above all else to drink very little cold well-water. The sergeant took six men and the escort wagon with him, and I fol- lowed on horseback.
When we arrived opposite the island we hailed the soldier, and he came out of the brush. He walked up and down the river bank, and made signs to us that his right arm was useless and he seemed to be in great pain.
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The sergeant called for volunteers, but not a man respond- ed. The Arkansas was swimming full and the current was very swift in one place for about three hundred yards. It appeared that none of his comrades liked the fellow very well, one of them saying, when the sergeant asked for some one to go over, "If he don't swim, or at least make an effort, he can stay, and I hope the Indians will get him." I said, "Boys, this won't do; I will get him," and after him I went. When I reached the island I sat down and reasoned with him; told him exactly what I required him to do. He seemed very grateful, and knew that I was risking my own life on him. He was a power- fully built fellow, and his wound had almost paralyzed his right side. He said: "Mr. Wright, I appreciate what you have done for me, and what you are about to under- take; now, before God, I will let go my hold if I see you cannot make it." He stayed nobly by his promise. When we had gone under water several times, and the current was bearing us down, and it appeared that every minute would be our last, he said, in the despair of death: "I am going; let me go." I replied, "For God's sake, no; hold on." I then felt inspired. I said to myself, this man has a grand nature; I am going to save him or sink with him. Indeed, all these thoughts flashed through my mind, and, as God is my judge, I would have done it, as at that mom- ent I had no fear of death whatever. When I reached the bank I was completely exhausted and had to be helped out of the water. I was awfully sick; it seemed that my strength had left me absolutely. It was fully an hour before I was strong enough to ride.
Strange to say, I lay side by side with this poor man in the hospital at Fort Dodge, after his rescue. He was excessively kind and attentive, and when I began to con- valesce-for the same night I was stricken down with cholera-we exchanged drinks; he took my brandy, I his ale. He would insist in saying that the cause of my sick- ness was the terrible exertion I had made that day in his
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behalf; but it was not so. When I got back to the ranch, after our ride up the river, our poor cook was in a terribly bad fix. I knew that he was gone the moment I saw him, although he was still sitting up and appeared cheerful, except when the cramps would seize him. I asked him what he had been drinking. He replied that his thirst was so intolerable that he drank a whole bucketful of canned lemonade. I said to him, "My poor boy, make your peace with God; tell me the address of your parents or friends." He answered: "I have none; it makes no dif- ference; I think I will pull through all right." In an hour he was dead. We were laying him out in the shade on the east side of the house, and I was in the act of tying up his jaws, when a breeze from the south seemed to en- ter his mouth and wafted back into mine. I said then, "There, boys, I have tasted the cholera from this poor fellow," and at once set about making my preparations as to my business affairs and other matters. Before two o'clock in the morning I was down with the dreadful disease. Barlow, Sanderson, & Company, the proprietors of the "Overland Stage," to whom I had shown many favors, the moment they heard of my illness, sent an am- bulance and escort of soldiers, and I was conveyed to the hospital at Fort Dodge. There, under the kind and care- ful treatment of Doctors De Graw and Wilson, I re- covered.
I must go back to the haymaking at the ranch. Day after day the Indians would harass us in some manner, but they had not yet succeeded in killing any of our men, although they repeatedly ran off our stock, fired into and broke up our camp, until even old-timers, men in whom we had placed the utmost confidence and depended upon in case of emergency, began to grow tired. They said it was too monotonous for them. I don't think they really understood the true definition of the word. Still we per- sisted, were hopeful, and continued to hire new men at from seventy-five to a hundred dollars a month for com-
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mon hands; we had to have hay. We considered it no more than just to tell these new men, when we hired them, they would have to take desperate chances, and that was the reason we were paying such large wages. Well, the Indians finally exhausted us of our horse stock, and we had to resort to ponies; but they were too small and we got along very slowly. We were compelled to purchase a big span of mules of the United States mail company, for which we paid six hundred dollars. Mr. Anthony was very proud of them, as he often sat behind them when he was a messenger on the overland routes. They were named Puss and Jennie. The first morning they were sent to the haystack Anthony was in the corral stacking. After a while he came to the house, looking as proud as a peacock, and said to me: "Hear that machine? Ain't Puss and Jennie making it hum?" But the sound did not seem natural to me, so I grabbed a spy-glass and ascend- ed to the lookout on top of the building. Sure enough, just as I expected, I saw two Indians come up, one on each side of the mules, pounding them over the backs with their bows, and they were making it hum, while the boys in the camp were shooting as fast as they could load and fire, protecting the poor driver, who was running toward them for his life with about two dozen of the red devils after him, whooping, yelling, and shouting as they charged upon him. The two Indians who attacked the driver of the mowing-machine had watched their opportunity, rushed out of the brush on the bank of the river, and were upon him before he had the slightest idea of their presence, and running off with the mules. His two revolvers were strapped upon the machine, and he could do nothing but drop off behind from his seat, leave his weapons, and run for his life.
The government had ten men and a sergeant station- ed at the ranch, on escort duty with the United States mail. One day while the men were at dinner, and a soldier was on guard outside, whom I suspected was asleep at the
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time, two Indians, who had stolen a couple of old mules from the stage station forty miles above, rode by and fired at the sentinel, just for fun, I believe, or at least to wake him up, and then dashed down to the river, crossing close to a Mexican train. Quicker than thought they unsaddled their mules, threw them upon the back of two freight horses that were picketed near, mounted them, and jump- ed off a steep bank five feet deep into the Arkansas and were over on the other side before the astonished Mexi- cans really knew what was going on.
The day before the same train had left a lame steer out in the sand hills, and the wagon boss sent one of the hands back after it that morning. As soon as the two Indians crossed the river they spied the Mexican with the lame ox and immediately took after him. From the top of my building, with an excellent glass, I could plainly see their whole maneuverings. The savages circled around the poor "greaser" again and again; charged him from the front and rear and on both sides, until I actually thought they had ridden over him a dozen times, empty- ing their revolvers whenever they made a charge. They would only halt long enough to re-load and then were after him again. During all these tactics of the Indians the Mexican never made any attempt to return their fire; that saved his life and scalp. They wanted to compel him to empty his revolvers, and then they could run up and kill him. Of course, from the distance, nearly two miles, I could not hear the report of the Indians' weapons, but I could see the smoke distinctly, and I knew that the Mexican had not fired a shot. Presently the poor fellow's horse went down, and he lay behind it for awhile. Then he cut the girth, took off the saddle, and started for the river, running at every possible chance, using the saddle as a shield, stopping to show fight only when the savages pressed him too closely; then he would make another stand, with the saddle set up in front of him. After a few more unsuccessful charges, the Indians
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left him. When he had arrived safely at the train, they asked him why he had not fired a shot when the In- dians rode so close to him. He stated if he had a thou- sand shots he would have fired them all, but in crossing the river that morning his horse had to swim and his revolver got wet (the cartridges were the old-fashioned kind, made of paper, and percussion caps the means of priming. It was fortunate, perhaps; for if the Indians had surmised that his revolver would not go off, they would have had his scalp dangling at their belts in short order.
The Indians had given us a respite at the ranch for awhile (I refer to the time I have mentioned when they were attacked by the cholera). We had recruited up con- siderably, were in high hopes, and had started in fresh, as it were, when one morning they swooped down upon us again to the number of two thousand, it appeared to me; but there was not that many, of course; still they were thick enough. It looked as if both of the banks of the Arkansas were alive with them, as well as every hill and hollow. There were Indians everywhere. Our men were all in th hay field, with the exception of two, and my part- ner, Mr. Anthony, was with them. Anthony was a cool, brave man; knew exactly what to do and when to act. I think that his presence saved the party. I could see the whole affair from the lookout. As soon as the firing be- gan we could see our watchman, who was stationed on a bluff, and his horse ran away and threw him, but he man- aged to get to the boys in the field. We were using two wagons with four yoke of cattle to each. The wagons were about half loaded, and the boys had to fly and leave them standing. The Indians set the hay on fire, then open- ed with a shower of arrows upon the steers, and started them on a run, scared out of their senses. We found them after the thing was over, all dead in a string, chained to- gether as they had been at work. The savages had lots of fun out of their running the poor brutes around the bottoms while the hay on the wagons was burning. At
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OLD COURT HOUSE
the first attack the men all got together as quickly as pos- sible and made for the camp, which was on the bank of the river. A hundred or more Indians charged them so close that it appeared they would ride over them, but whenever our boys made a stand and dropped on their knees and began to deliberately shoot, they would shy off like a herd of frightened antelope. This, they kept up until they reached the river, over half a mile from where they started in the field, then they made for a big island covered with a dense growth of willows; there they hid, remaining until after dark .. We at the ranch formed little parties repeatedly and tried to go to their relief by hugging the river bank, but at every attempt were driven back by an overwhelming number of savages.
The Indians charged upon our men in the willows many times during the day, in their efforts to dislodge them, and so close did some of them come on their ponies that any of the boys by a single spring could have grabbed their bridle-reins. Although they might have killed sev- eral of the savages, the latter would have eventually over- powered them, and cruelly butchered the last one of them. To show how cool and brave a man old Anthony was, and what stuff the men were made of, he passed many a joke around among the boys. There was a stern reticent veteran in the group, whose pipe was seldom out of his mouth ex- cepting when he was asleep. Anthony would repeatedly hand him his pipe and tobacco, and say: "Brother Tubbs, take a smoke; I am afraid there is something wrong with you; have you given up the weed?" Tubbs would reply: "If we don't be getting out of here, we won't be making those ten leads of hay today, and you will lose your bet.' Anthony had wagered with some one that they would haul ten loads of hay that day. These and similar jokes passed between them all the while, while they were sur- rounded by hundreds of savages, many of them within five or six steps very frequently; the least false move on the part of the besieged, and none of them would have
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lived as long as it takes me to write this. About three o'clock that afternoon we heard firing both above and below us. The Indians had attacked the United States pay- master coming up the river, and several companies of soldiers coming down, and gave them a hot fight, too, compelling them to go into corral, and holding them for several hours.
These constant skirmishes kept up till late in the fall; in November and December, 1868, the Indians made a treaty. I then sent for my family, who were in Missouri. A short time after their arrival, one Sunday morning, during a terrible snowstorm, and no help at the ranch but two stage drivers and a Mexican boy, I threw open the large double doors of the storeroom, and, before I could even think, in popped forty Indians, all fully armed, equipped, and hideous with their war paint on. I thought to myself, "Great God, what have I done; murdered my wife and little ones!" We had to use strategem; resistance would have been useless. The stack of guns was in the corner behind the counter, in a passageway leading to the dwelling-house, or in the part of the building in which I lived. I called to the Mexican boy, in an adjoining apart- ment, to get his revolver and hold the door at all hazards; to put the guns one at a time inside of the sitting room, and to shoot the first Indian who attempted to get over the counter; to tell the savages what I had ordered, in Spanish, and that I would remain with them and take my chances. Everything worked to a charm, except that the Indians commenced beating the snow off of them and laying aside their accouterments. I said to the boy: "Tell them, in Spanish, this won't do; they could not stay in here; this is the soldiers' room; but they must follow me out into a larger, warmer room where we would cook them some chuck." This he accomplished by signs and in Spanish, as rapidly as God would let him. I said: "When the last one is out, jump quickly and double-bar the door; it is our only chance." I thought the reason
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why the Indians acted so coolly was that they believed they had a "dead cinch" on us, and were in no hurry to commence action.
As soon as the boy had finished talking to them they turned and followed me out. One of them took hold of me with many a sign and gesture, but as I could only understand the sign language a little, barely enough to trade with the Indians, I was at this moment so excited that I hardly understood English. The savage then led me back to the door and signed for me to open it. I shook my head and said: "Oh, no, old fellow; not for all the gold in the Rocky Mountains would I open that door again; my dearest treasures on earth are in there, and as long as these doors are closed that long they are safe; but God only knows how long they will remain so." At my refusal he immediately began to abuse me most out- rageously; spat in my face, and went on like a madman; more than once he reached for his revolver, and, of course, I thought my time had surely come. The Mexican boy, having heard the rumpus, slipped out of the back door and came around the house to see what was up. I said to him: "Placido, what does he mean?" Placido commenced to smile (the first beam of sunshine I had seen since the entrance of the savages), and he replied: "Oh, that is all right; he left his bow in there, and because you won't open the door thinks you want to steal it." "Tell him I will get it; and, now you have got him in good humor, ask him what they all want and what they are after, and tell me." When I returned Placido and the savages were talking like old chums. The boy said "No danger, we are all right; this is a party of young bucks going to the mountains to steal horses from the Utes." This intelli- gence was a burden lifted, and I felt as if I could fall down and worship the great God who created me. I said: "Bring out the fatted calf; feed them to their hearts' con- tent, and until their bellies pop out like pizened pups; until their vary in'ards are made to cry, 'Enough!' and
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want no more." Instead of the fatted calf we cooked them several camp kettles full of bacon and beans, many of the same full of coffee, two gallons of black molasses, plenty of sugar, and a box of hardtack. They feasted, and went on their way rejoicing.
The ultimate fate of the old ranch was, that the In- dians burnt it, together with several tons of hay, the day after Mr. Anthony abandoned it, by order of Major Douglas, commanding Fort Dodge.
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CHAPTER IV. The Greatest Game Country on Earth
OF course, it was not always fight and run, run and fight; we had our fun, too. One day a stage driver, Frank Harris, and myself started out after buffalo. They were very scarce, for a wonder, and we were very hungry for fresh meat. The day was fine, and we rode a long way, expecting sooner or later to rouse up a bunch. Late in the afternoon we gave it up, and started for home. Of course, we did not care to save our ammunition; so we shot away at everything in sight-skunks, rattlesnakes, prairie dogs, and so on-until we had only a few cart- ridges left. Suddenly up jumped an old bull that had been lying down in one of those sugar-loaf shaped sand hills, with the top hollowed out by the action of the wind. Harris emptied his revolver into him, and so did I but the old fellow stood suddenly still on top of the sand hill bleeding profusely at the nose, but persistently refusing to die, although he would repeatedly stagger and nearly topple over. It was getting late, and we could not wait for him, so Harris said: "I will dismount, creep up be- hind him, and cut his hamstrings with my butcher knife," the bull by this time having laid down. Harris commenced his forward movement, but it seemed to in- fuse new life into the old fellow; he jumped to his feet, and, with his head down, away he went around the out- side of the top of the sand hill. It was a perfect circus ring, and Harris, who had gotten him by the tail, never let go his hold; he did not dare; it was his only show. Harris was a tall, lank fellow, and his legs were flying higher than his head, as round and round he and the bull went. I could not help him in the least, but had to sit and hold his horse and judge the fight. I really thought that the old bull would never weaken. Harris said to me,
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after it was over, that the only thing he feared was that he would pull the bull's tail out by the roots, and if he did he was a goner. Finally the ring performance began to grow slower and slower, and Harris at last succeeded in cutting his hamstrings, when down went the bull. We brought in his tongue, hump, and hindquarters, and, at a glorious feast that night, had a big laugh with the boys over Harris' comical adventure.
I wish here to assert a few facts concerning game, and animal life in general, in early days, in the vicinity of Fort Dodge and Dodge City. There were wonderful herds of buffalo, antelope, deer, elk, and wild horses. There were big gray wolves and coyotes by the thousand, hundreds of the latter frequently being seen in bands, and often from ten to fifty grays in a bunch. There were also black and cinnamon bears, wild cats and mountain lions, though these latter were scarce and seldom seen so far from the mountains. Then there was the cunning little prairie dog-millions of them; and next in number to them was the little swift, similar to a fox in shape and color, but much prettier, and it could run like a streak, which gave it the name of swift. They were very suscept- ible to poison, and soon vanished from the face of the earth, as did the black croaking raven. I have seen the ground literally covered with dead ravens, for the space of an acre, around the carcasses of dead wolves that had been poisoned; having eaten of the flesh of the poisoned wolves, it affected the ravens the same as if they had eaten the poison direct.
One terror of the plains was mad wolves. Several times were the different forts visited by them, and they not only did great damage to stock, but frequently to human beings. One ran into Fort Larned one night, bit the officer of the day, Lieutenant Thompson, and two soldiers, and I think two or three employees of the gov- ernment. Thompson went east and put himself under treatment, but he never was the same man afterward. It
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is doubtful whether it was the treatment he underwent that affected him, or the continual dread. The others all died.
Now I wish to give an idea of the great number of water-fowl and amphibious animals, such as the otter, beaver, muskrat, weasel, and mink, that were found on the southwestern plains. Up to about 1870 the beavers were plentiful, and there was also quite a number of otter; but neither of these animals could stand civilization, and both were soon wiped out of existence, on account of the high price of their fur, and too many trappers.
For some years after Dodge was established, our rivers, streams, ponds and lakes were covered with wild fowl-ducks, geese, swans, brants, pelicans, cranes and every species of water-fowl known to this continent. It was a poor day or a poor hunter who could not kill a hundred ducks and geese in a day, and sometimes several hundred were killed in a day, so one can judge by this how plentiful they were. Then turkeys and quails- there was no end to them. Their number were countless; one could not estimate them. Indeed, I am almost asham- ed to state how many I have seen, but what I am going to say about their number is no exaggeration. I have seen thousands of turkeys in a flock, coming into roost on the North Fork and the main Canadian and its timbered branches. Several times, at a distance, we mistook them for large herds of buffalo. They literally covered the prairie for miles, with their immense flocks, and, more than once, we saddled our horses to make a run for them, thinking they were buffalo. If my recollection serves me right, about ninety miles down the North Fork of the Canadian from Fort Supply, is what is called, Sheridan's Roost, named for the large number of wild turkeys, killed in a single night, by Major-General Sheridan's escort, who made camp there one night. I had passed by the place before, and several times after the big killing, and I should think it was rightly named, for, in my trips
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through that country, I thought I saw, with my own eyes, more wild turkeys than there were tame ones in the whole United States put together; and there were just as many quails in the sand hills, bordering on these streams.
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