Last of the Great Scouts

H >> Helen Cody Wetmore >> Last of the Great Scouts


Indian signs there had been right along, but they were only signs until
one bleak day in November. He pulled out of Plum Creek with a sharp
warning ringing in his ears. Indians were on the war-path, and trouble
was more likely than not ahead. Lieutenant Flowers, assistant division
agent, was on the box with him, and within the coach were six well-armed
passengers.

Half the run had been covered, when Will's experienced eye detected
the promised red men. Before him lay a stream which must be forded. The
creek was densely fringed with underbrush, and along this the Indians
were skulking, expecting to cut the stage off at the only possible
crossing.

Perhaps this is a good place to say a word concerning the seemingly
extraordinary fortune that has stood by Will in his adventures. Not
only have his own many escapes been of the hairbreadth sort, but he has
arrived on the scene of danger at just the right moment to rescue others
from extinction. Of course, an element of luck has entered into these
affairs, but for the most part they simply proved the old saying that an
ounce of prevention is better than a pound of cure. Will had studied
the plains as an astronomer studies the heavens. The slightest
disarrangement of the natural order of things caught his eye. With the
astronomer, it is a comet or an asteroid appearing upon a field whose
every object has long since been placed and studied; with Will, it was
a feathered headdress where there should have been but tree, or rock, or
grass; a moving figure where nature should have been inanimate.

When seen, those things were calculated as the astronomer calculates the
motion of the objects that he studies. A planet will arrive at a given
place at a certain time; an Indian will reach a ford in a stream in
about so many minutes. If there be time to cross before him, it is a
matter of hard driving; if the odds are with the Indian, that is another
matter.

A less experienced observer than Will would not have seen the skulking
redskins; a less skilled frontiersman would not have apprehended their
design; a less expert driver would not have taken the running chance for
life; a less accurate marksman would not have picked off an Indian with
a rifle while shooting from the top of a swinging, jerking stagecoach.

Will did not hesitate. A warning shout to the passengers, and the whip
was laid on, and off went the horses full speed. Seeing that they had
been discovered, the Indians came out into the open, and ran their
ponies for the ford, but the stage was there full five hundred yards
before them. It was characteristic of their driver that the horses were
suffered to pause at the creek long enough to get a swallow of water;
then, refreshed, they were off at full speed again.

The coach, creaking in every joint, rocked like a captive balloon,
the unhappy passengers were hurled from one side of the vehicle to
the other, flung into one another's laps, and occasionally, when some
uncommon obstacle sought to check the flying coach, their heads collided
with its roof. The Indians menaced them without, cracked skulls seemed
their fate within.

Will plied the whip relentlessly, and so nobly did the powerful horses
respond that the Indians gained but slowly on them. There were some
fifty redskins in the band, but Will assumed that if he could reach the
relay station, the two stock-tenders there, with himself, Lieutenant
Flowers, and the passengers, would be more than a match for the
marauders.

When the pursuers drew within fair rifle range, Will handed the reins to
the lieutenant, swung round in his seat, and fired at the chief.

"There," shouted one of the passengers, "that fellow with the feathers
is shot!" and another fusillade from the coach interior drove holes in
the air.

The relay station was now hard by, and attracted by the firing, the
stock-tenders came forth to take a hand in the engagement. Disheartened
by the fall of their chief, the Indians weakened at the sign of
reinforcements, and gave up the pursuit.

Lieutenant Flowers and two of the passengers were wounded, but Will
could not repress a smile at the excited assurance of one of his fares
that they (the passengers) had "killed one Indian and driven the rest
back." The stock-tenders smiled also, but said nothing. It would have
been too bad to spoil such a good story.

The gravest fears for the safety of the coach had been expressed when
it was known that the reds were on the war-path; it was not thought
possible that it could get through unharmed, and troops were sent out
to scour the country. These, while too late to render service in the
adventure just related, did good work during the remainder of the
winter. The Indians were thoroughly subdued, and Will saw no more of
them.

There was no other adventure of special note until February. Just before
Will started on his run, Trotter took him to one side and advised
him that a small fortune was going by the coach that day, and extra
vigilance was urged, as the existence of the treasure might have become
known.

"I'll do the best I can," said Will; and he had scarcely driven away
when he suspected the two ill-favored passengers he carried. The
sudden calling away of the conductor, whereby he was left alone, was a
suspicious circumstance. He properly decided that it would be wiser
for him to hold up his passengers than to let them hold up him, and he
proceeded to take time by the forelock. He stopped the coach, jumped
down, and examined the harness as if something was wrong; then he
stepped to the coach door and asked his passengers to hand him a rope
that was inside. As they complied, they looked into the barrels of two
cocked revolvers.

"Hands up!" said Will.

"What's the matter with you?" demanded one of the pair, as their arms
were raised.

"Thought I'd come in first--that's all," was the answer.

The other was not without appreciation of humor.

"You're a cute one, youngster," said he, "but you'll find more'n your
match down the road, or I miss my guess."

"I'll look after that when I get to it," said Will. "Will you oblige me
by tying your friend's hands? Thank you. Now throw out your guns. That
all? All right. Let me see your hands."

When both outlaws had been securely trussed up and proven to be
disarmed, the journey was resumed. The remark dropped by one of the pair
was evidence that they were part of the gang. He must reach the relay
station before the attack. If he could do that, he had a plan for
farther on.

The relay station was not far away, and was safely reached. The
prisoners were turned over to the stock-tenders, and then Will disposed
of the treasure against future molestation. He cut open one of the
cushions of the coach, taking out part of the filling, and in the
cavity thus made stored everything of value, including his own watch
and pocketbook; then the filling was replaced and the hole smoothed to a
natural appearance.

If there were more in the gang, he looked for them at the ford where the
Indians had sought to cut him off, and he was not disappointed. As he
drew near the growth of willows that bordered the road, half a dozen men
with menacing rifles stepped out.

"Halt, or you're a dead man!" was the conventional salutation, in this
case graciously received.

"Well, what do you want?" asked Will.

"The boodle you carry. Fork it over!"

"Gentlemen," said Will, smiling, "this is a case where it takes a thief
to catch a thief."

"What's that?" cried one of the outlaws, his feelings outraged by the
frank description.

"Not that I'm the thief," continued Will, "but your pals were one too
many for you this time."

"Did they rob you?" howled the gang in chorus, shocked by such depravity
on the part of their comrades.

"If there's anything left in the coach worth having, don't hesitate to
take it," offered Will, pleasantly.

"Where's your strong-box?" demanded the outlaws, loath to believe there
was no honor among thieves.

Will drew it forth and exposed its melancholy emptiness. The profanity
that ensued was positively shocking.

"Where did they hold you up?" demanded the leader of the gang.

"Eight or nine miles back. You'll find some straw in the road. You can
have that, too."

"Were there horses to meet them?"

"On foot the last I saw them."

"Then we can catch 'em, boys," shouted the leader, hope upspringing in
his breast. "Come, let's be off!"

They started for the willows on the jump, and presently returned,
spurring their horses.

"Give them my regards!" shouted Will. But only the thud! thud! of
horsehoofs answered him. Retribution was sweeping like a hawk upon its
prey.

Will pushed along to the end of his run, and handed over his trust
undisturbed. Fearing that his ruse might have been discovered, he put
the "extra vigilance" urged by Trotter into the return trip, but the
trail was deserted. He picked up the prisoners at the relay station and
carried them to Fort Kearny. If their companions were to discover the
sorry trick played upon them, they would have demanded his life as a
sacrifice.

At the end of this exciting trip he found a letter from Miss Frederici
awaiting him. She urged him to give up the wild life he was leading,
return East, and find another calling. This was precisely what Will
himself had in mind, and persuasion was not needed. In his reply he
asked that the wedding-day be set, and then he handed Trotter his
resignation from the lofty perch of a stage-driver.

"I don't like to let you go," objected Trotter.

"But," said Will, "I took the job only in order to save enough money to
get married on."

"In that case," said Trotter, "I have nothing to do but wish you joy."



CHAPTER XV. -- WILL AS A BENEDICT.

WHEN Will reached home, he found another letter from Miss Frederici,
who, agreeably to his request, had fixed the wedding-day, March 6, 1866.

The wedding ceremony was quietly performed at the home of the bride, and
the large number of friends that witnessed it united in declaring that
no handsomer couple ever bowed for Hymen's benediction.

The bridal journey was a trip to Leavenworth on a Missouri steamer. At
that time there was much travel by these boats, and their equipment was
first-class. They were sumptuously fitted out, the table was excellent,
and except when sectional animosities disturbed the serenity of their
decks, a trip on one of them was a very pleasant excursion.

The young benedict soon discovered, however, that in war times the
"trail of the serpent" is liable to be over all things; even a wedding
journey is not exempt from the baneful influence of sectional animosity.
A party of excursionists on board the steamer manifested so extreme
an interest in the bridal couple that Louise retired to a stateroom
to escape their rudeness. After her withdrawal, Will entered into
conversation with a gentleman from Indiana, who had been very polite
to him, and asked him if he knew the reason for the insolence of the
excursion party. The gentleman hesitated a moment, and then answered:

"To tell the truth, Mr. Cody, these men are Missourians, and say they
recognize you as one of Jennison's Jayhawkers; that you were an enemy of
the South, and are, therefore, an enemy of theirs."

Will answered, steadily: "I was a soldier during the war, and a scout
in the Union army, but I had some experience of Southern chivalry before
that time." And he related to the Indianian some of the incidents of the
early Kansas border warfare, in which he and his father had played so
prominent a part.

The next day the insolent behavior was continued. Will was much inclined
to resent it, but his wife pleaded so earnestly with him to take no
notice of it that he ignored it.

In the afternoon, when the boat landed at a lonely spot to wood up, the
Missourians seemed greatly excited, and all gathered on the guards and
anxiously scanned the riverbank.

The roustabouts were just about to make the boat fast, when a party of
armed horsemen dashed out of the woods and galloped toward the landing.
The captain thought the boat was to be attacked, and hastily gave orders
to back out, calling the crew on board at the same time. These orders
the negroes lost no time in obeying, as they often suffered severely at
the hands of these reckless marauders. The leader of the horsemen rode
rapidly up, firing at random. As he neared the steamer he called out,
"Where is that Kansas Jayhawker? We have come for him." The other men
caught sight of Will, and one of them cried, "We know you, Bill Cody."
But they were too late. Already the steamer was backing away from the
shore, dragging her gang-plank through the water; the negro roustabouts
were too much terrified to pull it in. When the attacking party saw
their plans were frustrated, and that they were balked of their prey,
they gave vent to their disappointment in yells of rage. A random volley
was fired at the retreating steamer, but it soon got out of range, and
continued on its way up the river.

Will had prepared himself for the worst; he stood, revolver in hand, at
the head of the steps, ready to dispute the way with his foes.

There was also a party of old soldiers on board, six or eight in number;
they were dressed in civilians' garb, and Will knew nothing of them; but
when they heard of their comrade's predicament, they hastily prepared
to back up the young scout. Happily the danger was averted, and their
services were not called into requisition. The remainder of the trip was
made without unpleasant incident.

It was afterward learned that as soon as the Missourians became aware of
the presence of the Union scout on board, they telegraphed ahead to the
James and Younger brothers that Will was aboard the boat, and asked to
have a party meet it at this secluded landing, and capture and carry
off the young soldier. Will feared that Louise might be somewhat
disheartened by such an occurrence on the bridal trip, but the welcome
accorded the young couple on their arrival at Leavenworth was flattering
enough to make amends for all unpleasant incidents. The young wife found
that her husband numbered his friends by the score in his own home; and
in the grand reception tendered them he was the lion of the hour.

Entreated by Louise to abandon the plains and pursue a vocation along
more peaceful paths, Will conceived the idea of taking up the business
in which mother had won financial success--that of landlord. The house
she had built was purchased after her death by Dr. Crook, a surgeon in
the Seventh Kansas Regiment. It was now for rent, which fact no doubt
decided Will in his choice of an occupation. It was good to live again
under the roof that had sheltered his mother in her last days; it was
good to see the young wife amid the old scenes. So Will turned boniface,
and invited May and me to make our home with him.

There was a baby in Julia's home, and it had so wound itself around
May's heartstrings that she could not be enticed away; but there was
never anybody who could supplant Will in my heart; so I gladly accepted
his invitation.

Thoreau has somewhere drawn a sympathetic portrait of the Landlord, who
is supposed to radiate hospitality as the sun throws off heat--as its
own reward--and who feeds and lodges men purely from a love of the
creatures. Yet even such a landlord, if he is to continue long in
business, must have an eye to profit, and make up in one corner what
he parts with in another. Now, Will radiated hospitality, and his
reputation as a lover of his fellowman got so widely abroad that
travelers without money and without price would go miles out of
their way to put up at his tavern. Socially, he was an irreproachable
landlord; financially, his shortcomings were deplorable.

And then the life of an innkeeper, while not without its joys and
opportunities to love one's fellowman, is somewhat prosaic, and our
guests oftentimes remarked an absent, far-away expression in the eyes of
Landlord Cody. He was thinking of the plains. Louise also remarked that
expression, and the sympathy she felt for his yearnings was accentuated
by an examination of the books of the hostelry at the close of the first
six months' business. Half smiling, half tearful, she consented to his
return to his Western life.

Will disposed of the house and settled his affairs, and when all the
bills were paid, and Sister Lou and I cozily ensconced in a little home
at Leavenworth, we found that Will's generous thought for our comfort
through the winter had left him on the beach financially. He had planned
a freighting trip on his own account, but the acquiring of a team,
wagon, and the rest of the outfit presented a knotty problem when he
counted over the few dollars left on hand.

For the first time I saw disappointment and discouragement written on
his face, and I was sorely distressed, for he had never denied me a
desire that he could gratify, and it was partly on my account that he
was not in better financial condition. I was not yet sixteen; it would
be two years more before I could have a say as to the disposition of my
own money, yet something must be done at once.

I decided to lay the matter before Lawyer Douglass. Surely he
could suggest some plan whereby I might assist my brother. I had a
half-matured plan of my own, but I was assured that Will would not
listen to it.

Mr. Douglass had been the legal adviser of the family since he won our
first lawsuit, years before. We considered the problem from every side,
and the lawyer suggested that Mr. Buckley, an old friend of the family,
had a team and wagon for sale; they were strong and serviceable, and
just the thing that Will would likely want. I was a minor, but if Mr.
Buckley was willing to accept me as security for the property, there
would be no difficulty in making the transfer.

Mr. Buckley proved entirely agreeable to the proposition. Will could
have the outfit in return for his note with my indorsement.

That disposed of, the question of freight to put into the wagon arose. I
thought of another old friend of the family, M. E. Albright, a wholesale
grocer in Leavenworth. Would he trust Will for a load of supplies? He
would.

Thus everything was arranged satisfactorily, and I hastened home to not
the easiest task--to prevail upon Will to accept assistance at the hands
of the little sister who, not so long ago, had employed his aid in the
matter of a pair of shoes.

But Will could really do nothing save accept, and proud and happy, he
sallied forth one day as an individual freighter, though not a very
formidable rival of Russell, Majors & Waddell.

Alas for enterprises started on borrowed capital! How many of them end
in disaster, leaving their projectors not only penniless, but in debt.
Our young frontiersman, whose life had been spent in protecting the
property of others, was powerless to save his own. Wagon, horses, and
freight were all captured by Indians, and their owner barely escaped
with his life. From a safe covert he watched the redskins plunge him
into bankruptcy. It took him several years to recover, and he has
often remarked that the responsibility of his first business venture on
borrowed capital aged him prematurely.

The nearest station to the scene of this disaster was Junction City, and
thither he tramped, in the hope of retrieving his fortunes. There he met
Colonel Hickok, and in the pleasure of the greeting forgot his business
ruin for a space. The story of his marriage and his stirring adventures
as a landlord and lover of his fellowman were first to be related, and
when these were commented upon, and his old friend had learned, too, of
the wreck of the freighting enterprise, there came the usual inquiry:

"And now, do you know of a job with some money in it?"

"There isn't exactly a fortune in it," said Wild Bill, "but I'm scouting
for Uncle Sam at Fort Ellsworth. The commandant needs more scouts, and I
can vouch for you as a good one."

"All right," said Will, always quick in decision; "I'll go along with
you, and apply for a job at once."

He was pleased to have Colonel Hickok's recommendation, but it turned
out that he did not need it, as his own reputation had preceded him. The
commandant of the fort was glad to add him to the force. The territory
he had to scout over lay between Forts Ellsworth and Fletcher, and he
alternated between those points throughout the winter.

It was at Fort Fletcher, in the spring of 1867, that he fell in with the
dashing General Custer, and the friendship established between them was
ended only by the death of the general at the head of his gallant three
hundred.

This spring was an exceedingly wet one, and the fort, which lay upon the
bank of Big Creek, was so damaged by floods that it was abandoned. A new
fort was erected, some distance to the westward, on the south fork of
the creek, and was named Fort Hayes.

Returning one day from an extended scouting trip, Will discovered signs
indicating that Indians in considerable force were in the neighborhood.
He at once pushed forward at all speed to report the news, when a second
discovery took the wind out of his sails; the hostiles were between him
and the fort.

At that moment a party of horsemen broke into view, and seeing they
were white men, Will waited their approach. The little band proved to
be General Custer and an escort of ten, en route from Fort Ellsworth to
Fort Hayes.

Informed by Will that they were cut off by Indians, and that the only
hope of escape lay in a rapid flank movement, Custer's reply was a
terse:

"Lead on, scout, and we'll follow."

Will wheeled, clapped spurs to his horse, and dashed away, with the
others close behind. All hands were sufficiently versed in Indian
warfare to appreciate the seriousness of their position. They pursued
a roundabout trail, and reached the fort without seeing a hostile, but
learned from the reports of others that their escape had been a narrow
one.

Custer was on his way to Larned, sixty miles distant, and he needed a
guide. He requested that Will be assigned to the position, so pleased
was he by the service already rendered.

"The very man I proposed to send with you, General," said the
commandant, who knew well the keen desire of the Indians to get at
"Yellow Hair," as they called Custer. "Cody knows this part of the
country like a book; he is up to all the Indian games, and he is as full
of resources as a nut is of meat."

At daybreak the start was made, and it was planned to cover the sixty
miles before nightfall. Will was mounted on a mouse-colored mule,
to which he was much attached, and in which he had every confidence.
Custer, however, was disposed to regard the lowly steed in some disdain.

"Do you think, Cody, that mule can set the pace to reach Larned in a
day?" he asked.

"When you get to Larned, General," smiled Will, "the mule and I will be
with you."

Custer said no more for a while, but the pace he set was eloquent, and
the mouse-colored mule had to run under "forced draught" to keep up with
the procession. It was a killing pace, too, for the horses, which did
not possess the staying power of the mule. Will was half regretting
that he had ridden the animal, and was wondering how he could crowd on
another pound or two of steam, when, suddenly glancing at Custer, he
caught a gleam of mischief in the general's eye. Plainly the latter was
seeking to compel an acknowledgment of error, but Will only patted the
mouse-colored flanks.

Fifteen miles were told off; Custer's thoroughbred horse was still in
fine fettle, but the mule had got the second of its three or four winds,
and was ready for a century run.

"Can you push along a little faster, General?" asked Will, slyly.

"If that mule of yours can stand it, go ahead," was the reply.

To the general's surprise, the long-eared animal did go ahead, and when
the party got into the hills, and the traveling grew heavy, it set a
pace that seriously annoyed the general's thoroughbred.

Fifteen miles more were pounded out, and a halt was called for luncheon.
The horses needed the rest, but the mouse-colored mule wore an impatient
expression. Having got its third wind, it wanted to use it.

"Well, General," said Will, when they swung off on the trail again,
"what do you think of my mount?"

Custer laughed. "It's not very handsome," said he, "but it seems to know
what it's about, and so does the rider. You're a fine guide, Cody.
Like the Indian, you seem to go by instinct, rather than by trails and
landmarks."

The praise of Custer was sweeter to the young scout than that of any
other officer on the plains would have been.

At just four o'clock the mouse-colored mule jogged into Fort Larned and
waved a triumphant pair of ears. A short distance behind rode Custer, on
a thoroughly tired thoroughbred, while the escort was strung along the
trail for a mile back.

"Cody," laughed the general, "that remarkable quadruped of yours looks
equal to a return trip. Our horses are pretty well fagged out, but we
have made a quick trip and a good one. You brought us 'cross country
straight as the crow flies, and that's the sort of service I appreciate.
Any time you're in need of work, report to me. I'll see that you're kept
busy."