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Some, of course, were beardless youths
just out of their teens, full of that martial ardor which induced so
many young men of the nation to follow the drum on the remote plains
and in the fastnesses of the Rocky Mountains, where the wily savages
still held almost undisputed sway, and were a constant menace to the
pioneer settlers.
One morning, when the command had just
settled itself in careless repose on the short grass of the apparently
interminable prairie at the first halt of the day's march, a short
distance beyond Fort Larned, a strange noise, like the low muttering
of thunder below the horizon, greeted the ears of the little army.
All were startled by the ominous sound,
unlike anything they had heard before on their dreary tour. The
general ordered his scouts out to learn the cause; could it be
Indians? Every eye was strained
for something out of the ordinary. Even the horses of the officers and the mules of the supply-train were
infected by something that seemed impending; they grew restless,
stamped the earth, and vainly
essayed to stampede, but were prevented by
their hobbles and picket-pins.
Presently one of the scouts returned from
over the divide, and reported to the general that an immense herd of
buffalo was tearing down toward the Trail, and from the great
clouds of dust they raised,
which obscured the horizon, there must
have been ten thousand of them. The roar wafted to the command, and
which seemed so mysterious, was made by their hoofs as they rattled
over the dry prairie.
The sound increased in volume rapidly, and
soon a black, surging mass was discovered bearing right down on the
Trail. Behind it could be seen a cavalcade of about five hundred
Cheyennes,
Comanches,
and Kiowas, who had maddened the shaggy brutes, hoping to capture the
train without an attack by forcing the frightened animals to overrun
the command.
Luckily, something caused the herd to open
before it reached the foot of the divide, and it passed in two masses,
leaving the command between, not two hundred feet from either division
of the infuriated
beasts.
The rage of the savages was evident when
they saw that their attempt to annihilate the troops had failed, and
they rode off sullenly into the sand hills, as the number of soldiers
was too great for them
to think of charging.
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Cody
tells of a
buffalo stampede which he witnessed in his youth on the plains, when
he was a wagon-master. The caravan was on its way with government
stores for the military posts in the mountains,
and the wagons were hauled by oxen.
He says:
The country was alive with
buffalo,
and besides killing quite a number we had a rare day for sport. One
morning we pulled out of camp, and the train was strung out to a
considerable length along the Trail, which ran near the foot of the sand
hills, two miles from the river. Between the road and the river we
saw a large herd of
buffalo
grazing quietly, they having been down to the stream to drink.
Just at this time we observed a party of
returning
Californians coming from the west. They, too, noticed the
buffalo
herd, and in another moment they were dashing down upon them, urging their
horses to their greatest speed. The
buffalo
herd stampeded at once, and broke down the sides
of the hills; so hotly were they pursued by
the hunters that about five hundred of them rushed pell-mell through our
caravan, frightening both men and oxen. Some of the wagons were
turned clear around and many of the terrified oxen attempted to run to the
hills with the heavy wagons attached to them. Others were turned
around so short that they broke the tongues off. Nearly all the
teams got entangled in their gearing and became wild and unruly, so that
the perplexed drivers were unable to manage them.
The
buffalo,
the cattle, and the men were soon running in every direction, and the
excitement upset everybody and everything. Many of the oxen broke
their yokes and stampeded. One big
buffalo
bull became entangled in one of the heavy wagon-chains, and it is a fact
that in his
desperate efforts to free himself, he not only
snapped the strong chain in two, but broke the ox-yoke to which it was
attached, and the last seen of him he was running toward the hills with it
hanging from his horns.
Stampedes were a great source of profit to the
Indians
of the plains. The
Comanches
were particularly expert and daring in this kind of robbery. They
even trained their horses to run from one point to another in expectation
of the coming of the trains. When a camp was made that was nearly in
range, they turned their trained animals loose, which at once flew across
the prairie, passing through the herd and penetrating the very corrals of
their victims. All of the picketed horses and mules would endeavour
to follow these decoys, and were invariably led right into the haunts of
the
Indians,
who easily secured them. Young horses
and mules were easily frightened; and, in the confusion which generally
ensued, great injury was frequently done to the runaways themselves.
At times when the herd was very large, the
horses scattered over the prairie and were irrevocably lost; and such as
did not become wild fell a prey to the wolves. That fate was very
frequently the
lot of stampeded horses bred in the States,
they not having been trained by a prairie life to take care of themselves. Instead of stopping and bravely fighting off the blood-thirsty beasts,
they would run. Then the whole pack were sure to leave the bolder
animals and make for the runaways, which they seldom failed to overtake
and dispatch.
On the Old Trail some years ago one of these
stampedes occurred of a band of government horses, in which were several
valuable animals. It was attended, however, with very little loss, through
the courage and great exertion of the men who had them in charge; many
were recovered, but none without having sustained injuries.
Hon. R. M. Wright, of
Dodge City,
Kansas,
one of the pioneers in the days of the
Santa Fe
trade, and in the settlement of the State, has had many exciting
experiences both with the savages of the great
plains, and the
buffalo. In relation to the habits of the latter, no man is better qualified to
speak.
He was once owner of Fort Aubrey, a celebrated
point on the Trail, but was compelled to abandon it on account of constant
persecution by the
Indians,
or rather he was ordered to do so by the military
authorities. While occupying the once
famous landmark, in connection with others, had a contract to furnish hay
to the government at Fort Lyon, seventy-five miles further west. His
journal, which he
kindly placed at my disposal, says:
While we were preparing to commence the work,
a vast herd of
buffalo
stampeded through our range one night, and took off with them about half
of our work cattle. The next day a stage-driver and conductor on the
Overland Route told us they had seen a number of our oxen twenty-five
miles east of Aubrey, and this information gave me an idea in which
direction to hunt for the missing beasts. I immediately started
after them, while my partner took those that remained and a few
wagons and left with them for Fort Lyon.
Let me explain here that while the
Indians
were supposed to be peaceable, small war-parties of young men, who could
not be controlled by their chiefs, were continually committing
depredations, and the main body of savages themselves were very uneasy,
and might be expected to break out any day. In consequence of this
unsettled state of affairs, there had been a brisk movement among the
United States troops stationed at the various military posts, a large
number of whom were believed to be on the road from Denver to Fort Lyon.
I filled my saddle-bags with jerked
buffalo,
hardtack and ground coffee, and took with me a belt of cartridges, my
rifle and six-shooter, a field-glass and my blankets, prepared for any
emergency. The first day out, I found a few of the lost cattle, and
placed them on the river-bottom, which I continued to do as fast as I
recovered them, for a distance of about eighty-five miles down the
Arkansas.
There I met a wagon-train, the drivers of which told me that I would find
several more of my oxen with a train that had arrived at the Cimarron
crossing the day before. I came up with this train in eight or ten hours'
travel south of the river, got my cattle, and started next morning for
home.
I picked up those I had left on the
Arkansas as
I went along, and after having made a very hard day's travel, about
sundown I concluded I would go into camp. I had only fairly halted
when the oxen began to drop down, so completely tired out were they, as I
believed. Just as it was growing dark, I happened to look toward the
west, and I saw several fires on a big island, near what was called "The
Lone Tree," about a mile from where I had determined to remain for the
night.
Thinking the fires were those of the soldiers
that I had heard were on the road from Denver, and anticipating and
longing for a cup of good coffee, as I had had none for five days,
knowing, too, that the troops would be full of news, I felt good and
determined to go over to their camp.
The
Arkansas
was low, but the banks steep, with high, rank grass growing to the very
water's edge. I found a
buffalo-trail
cut through the deep bank, narrow and precipitous, and down this I went,
arriving in a short time within a little distance of my supposed soldiers'
camp. When I had reached the middle of another deep cut in the bank, I
looked across to the island, and, great Caesar! saw a hundred little
fires, around which an aggregation of a thousand
Indians
were huddled!
I slid backwards off my horse, and by dint of
great exertion, worked him up the river-bank as quietly and quickly as
possible, then led him gently away out on the prairie. My first impulse
was not to go back to the cattle; but as we needed them very badly, I
concluded to return, put them
all on their feet, and light out mighty
lively, without making any noise.
I started them, and, oh dear! I was
afraid to tread upon a weed, lest it would snap and bring the
Indians
down on my trail. Until I had put several miles between them and me,
I could not rest easy for a moment. Tired as I was, tired as were
both my horse and the cattle, I drove them twenty-five miles before
I halted.
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