BOOKS BY GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL
Published by CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

The Wolf Hunters. Illustrated.
12mo, net $1.35

Blackfeet Indian Stories. Illustrated.
12mo, net $1.00

Beyond the Old Frontier. Illustrated.
12mo, net $1.50

Trails of the Pathfinders. Illustrated.
12mo, net $1.50

Blackfoot Lodge Tales. The Story
of a Prairie People. 12mo, net $1.75

Pawnee Hero Stories and Folk Tales.
Illustrated, 12mo, net $1.75

THE WOLF HUNTERS

"Then come a puff of smoke and the prairie was afire."
[Page 237]

THE
WOLF HUNTERS
A STORY OF THE BUFFALO PLAINS
EDITED AND ARRANGED
FROM THE MANUSCRIPT ACCOUNT OF
ROBERT M. PECK
BY
GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL
Illustrated
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
NEW YORK:::::::::::::::::::::1914

Copyright, 1914, by
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
Published September, 1914

INTRODUCTORY NOTE

In the days of the buffalo, wolfing was a recognized industry. Small parties—two or more men—with team, saddle-horses, and camp outfit, used to go out into the buffalo range, establish a camp, and spend the winter there, killing buffalo and poisoning the carcasses with strychnine. The wolves that fed on these carcasses died about them, and their pelts were taken to camp, to be stretched and dried.

The work was hard and not without its dangers. Storms were frequent, and often very severe, and the Indians were bitterly opposed to the operations of these wolf hunters, who killed great numbers of buffalo for wolf baits, as well as elk, antelope, deer, and other smaller animals. On the other hand, in winter the Indians did not usually travel about very much.

The following pages describe the adventures of Mr. Peck and two companions—all recently discharged soldiers—during the winter of 1861-1862.

Robert Morris Peck was born in Washington, Mason County, Kentucky, October 30, 1839. At the age of seventeen—November, 1856—he enlisted in the First Cavalry, and the following year was sent to Fort Leavenworth and took part in the Cheyenne and other campaigns. He was discharged in 1861, and not very long afterward became a wagon-master, in which capacity he served in the army of the frontier. Mr. Peck died March 25, 1909.

G. B. G.

July, 1914.

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

THE WOLF HUNTERS

CHAPTER I
TOM'S PLAN

"Well, men, what will we do?" said Jack Flanagan. "We can re-enlist or go back to the States and each hunt his job, or we can try to get something to do where we can all three stick together."

"Let's stick together if we can," said I.

"Now, hold on, men," advised Tom Vance, "until you hear what I have got to say. I have been thinking a lot about what we'd best do, and last night I think it come to me."

"Tell us what it is, Tom," said Jack eagerly. "'Tis yourself has the wise head on his shoulders, and I'd like to hear your plan."

We were three soldiers of Company K, First Cavalry, whose terms of service were about to expire, and we looked forward with much eagerness to the time when we should again be our own masters instead of being subject to military discipline. Of course, we could re-enlist for another five years, and the government offered inducements to do this. A soldier who re-enlisted within three months before the expiration of his term received a discharge three months in advance of its expiration, with furlough for that length of time and three months' extra pay. At the expiration of that time he was expected to report to his company or, if unable to do that, at the nearest military post. Failing to report for duty on time, he was regarded as a deserter. Tom Vance had served for three enlistments and Jack Flanagan for two. I was at the end of my first five years.

We were at Fort Wise,[A] Colorado Territory, and it was the summer of 1861. The Civil War was just beginning.

"What is your plan, Tom?" Jack repeated.

"Well, men," said Tom, "as I say, I thought of it last night, and I believe that we can spend the winter somewhere out here in the buffalo range hunting wolves and can make a good stake doing that. We all know something about the plains and something about wolf hunting, and if we can raise the money needed for the outfit, I believe we can make a go of it. The Indians are pretty quiet now, but, of course, we know something about Indians and know that they've got to be looked out for all the time, but I guess we'll be safe enough. What do you think of it?"

"It's sure a fine plan," said Jack, "if we can carry it through; but how much money is it going to take?"

"It's a great scheme, Tom," I added, "and it seems to me there ought to be money in it; but have we the capital?"

"We'll have some money," said Tom, "but, of course, we've got to sail pretty close to the wind and to cut our coat according to our cloth. When we get our 'final statements' cashed we ought to have about two hundred dollars apiece. This ought to buy us a good team of ponies and camp outfit, with supplies for the winter. At outfitting towns like Saint Joe, Leavenworth, Kansas City, or Independence there are chances to buy a good team and camp outfit in the fall from people who are coming in from buffalo hunting, and get them cheap, too.

"We ought to go to one of those towns, look out for such hunting parties, and, if we can find what we want cheap, take it in; then we can strike out for the plains by the old Santa Fé road, select a location in about the thickest of the herds, build us a cabin or dugout, and get ready for winter."

Jack and I agreed that the plan was sound, and Tom then asked us for any ideas or suggestions that we might have. We both felt, however, that his fifteen years' service had given him so much experience that he was much more likely to think of the necessary points than we, and we had far more faith in his judgment than in our own. We asked him to go ahead and give us the further details of his plan so far as he had thought them out.

"First," Tom said, "we must get what we absolutely need, and if we have any money left after that we can buy luxuries. For grub we'd better take about the same as government rations—flour, bacon, beans, coffee, sugar, rice, and salt. A Sharp's rifle and a Colt's navy apiece, with plenty of cartridges, will be all the arms we'll want, and, besides the clothing we already have, each man ought to have a good suit of buckskins. These are better than any cloth for wear and to keep off the wind. We can make overcoats, caps, and mittens out of furs as soon as we take a few pelts and dress them. Most of these things we can get here before we are discharged. The first sergeants of the cavalry companies often have some of these things over and will sell them to us for very little money."

"How about tobacco and pipes?" asked Jack.

"Tobacco don't come under the head of general supplies, and, as Peck don't use it, every man will have to buy his own tobacco."

"How about whiskey?" asked Jack, for he had a weakness for liquor.

Tom answered him quickly: "There'll be no whiskey taken along if I am to have any say in the plans for the expedition. When we leave the settlements you'll have to swear off until we get back again; and that reminds me that when we get our 'final statements' cashed it will be a good idea for you to turn over your money to Peck, all except a small allowance for a spree, if you must have one."

Jack was forced to yield to the decision of the majority that whiskey should form no part of our supplies.

"Seems to me," I began, to change the subject, "that we've got to decide on where we'll go. Where do you think we'd better locate our winter camp, Tom?"

"As to that, I haven't quite made up my mind," said he, "but it must be somewhere near the centre of the buffalo range and not too far from the Santa Fé road. Fort Larned is about the middle of the range this season, and I've thought some of pitching our camp on Walnut Creek, about twenty miles north of the fort."

"It's now toward the last of August," continued Tom, "and our time will be out in September. We can call for our discharges now any time that we see a chance to get transportation into the States. It'll take us about a month to reach the Missouri River if we go by bull train, and that'll be about the first of October. Allowing about ten days to fit out for the return, it'll take us the rest of October to go back to the neighborhood of Fort Larned. We won't want to do much wolf skinning before the middle of November, when the winter coat begins to get good, but there'll be plenty of work to keep us busy, building, fitting up camp, and getting ready for the cold weather. It won't do for us to have our camp too close to Fort Larned or the Santa Fé road, for around there buffalo and wolves will be scarce, but we want to be near enough to call for our mail occasionally. Besides that, if Indians should be troublesome it's a good thing to be nigh to Uncle Sam's soldiers."

"They say," put in Jack, "that there's plenty of otter and beaver in Walnut Creek."

"Yes," replied Tom, "we'll be apt to find some of them, but they're nothing like as plenty as they used to be. All those timbered creeks used to have lots of beaver and otter in them, and we'll find some of them, but our best hold will be wolfskins. They are plentiest and easiest to get. We'll take a few steel traps along to try for otter and beaver. We'll take anything we can in the way of fur."

CHAPTER II
WE GET OUR DISCHARGES

The next day Tom came to me looking rather serious, and I saw that he had something on his mind, and when he had gotten me alone he explained what this was.

"I've been thinking it over, Peck," he said, "and I've pretty near made up my mind that we'd better drop Jack and either pick up another man or else you and me go it without a third man. I am afraid that Jack's fondness for liquor will get him into trouble and so make trouble for us. I hate to go back on him, for he's a rattlin' good fellow when he is out of the reach of whiskey, but, when he can get it, he's a regular drunkard."

"That's so, Tom," I answered; "but when we get started back to the plains we'll soon have him where he can't get whiskey, and then he'll be all right. I think we can manage him by making him turn over all his money except a few dollars to you or to me, and when his money is gone we'll see that he gets no more. If we can get him to promise that after he gets through he will let liquor alone, he will do it. Jack prides himself on being a man of his word."

"Well," said Tom with some hesitation, "we'll take him then, but we must have a fair and square understanding with him and fire him if he don't come to time and behave like a man. We can't fool away time with a drunken man."

Besides being an all-around good fellow, Jack had a fiddle and could play it and could also sing. On these musical accomplishments I counted for much enlivening of our lonely winter's work.

When spoken to about binding himself to let whiskey alone, Jack readily promised that after one little spree when we got our pay he would swear off entirely till the wolf hunting trip was over. He was willing to turn over his money to Tom or to me when we should be paid off, reserving only a few dollars for the "good time" that he had promised himself.

We now began trading with the Indians for the skins needed for our buckskin suits, and as we got them we smoked them, using for this purpose a large dry-goods box, to the bottom of which, on the inside, we tacked the hides in place. The box was then, turned over a little smothered fire in a hole in the ground. We found that this way of smoking skins was an improvement on the Indian method, smoking them more quickly and evenly and giving them a more uniform color.

In 1861 the agency for the five tribes—Cheyennes, Arapahoes, Kiowas, Comanches, and Prairie Apaches—was at Fort Wise, and, as the time approached for the Indian agent to make the annual distribution of gifts from the government, the tribes would come in to receive their annuities. Our trading with the Indians had to be done quietly, because the post sutler had the exclusive privilege of all Indian trade on the post reservation, and, by order of the commanding officer, no one else might carry on any traffic with the Indians.

From one of the cavalry first sergeants we each bought a rifle, revolver, and some cartridges, and such additional soldier clothing as we needed. These purchases were, of course, illegal. It was a serious offence for any non-commissioned officer or soldier to sell government property. On the other hand, it was very frequently done.

A few days later Tom came into the quarters and gleefully exclaimed: "I've struck it. A bull train is corralling about a mile above the post, and the wagon-master has agreed to haul us into the settlements. It is one of Majors & Russell's outfits going back empty, and the wagon boss agrees to take us and let us work our passage, for he is shorthanded. The train will lie over here to-morrow to get some work done, and that will give us time to get our discharges, draw our rations, and say good-by to the other men."

"But, Tom," said Jack, "how can we work our passage in a bull train when ne'er a one of us knows anything about driving bulls?"

"I told the wagon boss that," answered Tom, "and he said it made no difference, that he had other work that any greenhorn could do—night herding or driving the cavvy-yard. We're to get our plunder out at the side of the road as he pulls through the post. Now, as that is settled, let's put on our best jackets and go over to the captain's quarters and ask for our discharges."

"Well, Tom," said Jack, "we'll let you do the talking for us, for likely enough the 'old man' will give us a lot of taffy and try to persuade us to re-enlist. You can give him our reasons for not taking on again better than me and Peck."

Before long we had marched briskly across the parade-ground and lined up in front of the captain's door, with Tom in the post of honor on the right. The captain opened the door and stepped out, when we all three saluted, and as he returned it he asked:

"Well, men, what's wanting?"

Standing rigidly at attention, Jack and I kept silence while Tom spoke, saying:

"We've called, sir, to see if the captain would be so kind as to give us our discharges so we can take advantage of the chance to go into the States with the bull train that's camped in the bottom yonder."

"Why, yes; certainly," said the captain slowly; "but I had hoped that you men would re-enlist in time to get the benefit of the three months' extra pay with furlough. You are pretty sure to re-enlist sooner or later, and it would be better for you to take on in your old company. It looks as if the war would continue for some time yet, and, as we will probably all be ordered into the States soon, there will be good opportunities for well-trained soldiers to get commissions in the volunteers."

"We're very grateful to the captain for his good opinion, but we've concluded to go down into the buffalo range and put in the winter skinning wolves," said Tom. "Next summer, if we take a notion to re-enlist, we'll hunt the old company up."

"All right, men," said the captain, apparently not wishing to seem unduly anxious about the matter; "you may go to the first sergeant and tell him I order your discharges and final statements made out."

Thanking him, we saluted and marched off. The documents were made out in due course and handed to us by the sergeant, with compliments on the good service we had all performed and the expression of a hope that when we had "blowed in our money" we would go back to the old company. For some hours we were busy packing up, happy in the feeling that we were once more citizens. We spent some time shaking hands and bidding good-by to every one, and in some cases the partings were rather moving.

CHAPTER III
WE FIND AN OUTFIT

When the dusty bull train came rolling along the road past the garrison it found us waiting. Our property was stowed in an empty wagon, and, again shouting good-bys to the comrades who had come out to see us off, we began our tedious, dusty, dirty march with the bull train.

At that time Majors & Russell, of Leavenworth, Kansas, had the contract for transporting government supplies to all frontier posts. Mr. Majors had the reputation of being a very religious man, and in fitting out trains required all wagon-masters and teamsters to sign a written contract agreeing to use no profane language and not to gamble or to travel on Sundays. At starting he furnished each man with a Bible and hymn-book, and exhorted him to read the gospel and hold religious services on the Sabbath. This statement is regarded by many people of the present day as an old frontier joke, but it is actual fact.

The wagons—called prairie-schooners—were large and heavy and usually drawn by six yoke of oxen to the team. When outward bound they were loaded at the rate of one thousand pounds of freight to the yoke. Twenty-five such teams constituted a train, in charge of a wagon-master and assistant, who were mounted on mules. The travel was slow, dusty, and disagreeable beyond description. At camping time the trains corralled across the road, a half circle on either side, leaving the open road running through the centre of the corral.

Our route was down the Arkansas River on the north bank, but the train itself did not go to the water. That used for cooking and drinking was carried along in casks, which were replenished at every opportunity. The detail of this travel, while interesting, cannot be given here, but on the journey we learned a great deal that was absolutely new to us.

On the first night out from Fort Wise we were awakened by a bull-whacker, who brought to our bed two men who had asked for us and who proved to be deserters. We felt the sympathy for them which the average soldier feels for a deserter, gave them a little money and some rations, and recommended them to hurry on, travelling at night and lying hid in the daytime. They went on, as advised.

The next morning a sergeant and two privates from Fort Wise galloped up behind us and stopped to speak to us, asking if we had seen a couple of deserters. We gravely told them that we had seen no such men and suggested that they might have gone west from Fort Wise. The sergeant made a perfunctory search of the wagons and then went on, to camp a little farther along and kill time until it was necessary to return to the post. In those days such pursuing parties often overtook the deserters they were after, gave them part of their rations, and sent them along on their road.

At the Big Timbers, on the Arkansas, we met with a large band of Cheyenne Indians on the way up to Fort Wise to receive their annuities; and when we reached the Santa Fé road, where it crossed the Arkansas, coming from the Cimarron River by the sixty-mile dry stretch called the jornada, we saw a government six-mule train, travelling east, just going into camp on the river bank.

Here, we thought, was an opportunity to get along faster and travel more comfortably if we could arrange for a transfer to the mule train. Its days' drives were about twice as long as those of the bull train, which seldom exceeded twelve miles a day. We therefore sent Tom back to the mule train, and he found in the wagon-master of the train an old acquaintance, who cheerfully agreed to take us on to Fort Leavenworth without charge. Next morning, as the mule train passed us, we bade good-by to our kind but dirty friends the bull-whackers and tumbled ourselves and our baggage into one of the empty mule wagons and went on.

At the Santa Fé crossing of the Arkansas, we had begun to see a few buffalo; and the herds grew larger as we went on until we reached Pawnee Fork, near Fort Larned, which seemed to be about the centre of their range. After we passed the fort their numbers decreased until we came to the Little Arkansas, where we saw the last of them. Our old company, K of the First Cavalry, had built the first quarters at Larned, in 1859. When we passed it, in the autumn of 1861, it was garrisoned by two companies of the Second Infantry and one of the Second Dragoons and was commanded by Major Julius Hayden, Second Infantry.

After joining the mule train Tom, Jack, and I made it our business to keep the outfit supplied with fresh meat while passing through the buffalo range. We also killed numbers of ducks, geese, brant, and sand-hill cranes, borrowing the wagon-master's shotgun for bird hunting. This suggested to us that a good shotgun would be a useful part of our equipment for the winter's work.

In due time we reached Fort Leavenworth, received our pay from our old paymaster, Major H. E. Hunt, and then went down to Leavenworth City, two and a half miles from the fort. We stopped at a boarding-house kept by an old dragoon who had a wide acquaintance among citizens and soldiers and who could and would be useful to us in getting together our outfit.

The war between the States was now in full blast, and blue cloth and brass buttons were seen everywhere. Several of our former comrades had enlisted in the volunteers, and some had obtained commissions.

According to our previous understanding, I had been chosen as treasurer and bookkeeper for the expedition and began to keep accounts of receipts and expenses. Each man turned into a common fund, to be used in the purchase of an outfit, one hundred and fifty dollars—making a common capital of four hundred and fifty dollars. The balance of each man's money was left in his hands to use as he saw fit, except in the case of Jack, whom we had persuaded to turn over all his money to me. Jack begged ten dollars from me to go off and have a good time, and Tom advised me to give it; but he warned Jack that he would probably bring up in the lockup and declared that if he did so he should stay there until we were ready to start. Both Jack and I had so much respect for Tom's greater age and experience that we never thought of taking offence at his scoldings.

For two days Tom and I were busy going about from one stable to another, hoping to find a ready-made camp outfit, team, and wagon offered for sale cheap. Nothing like that had as yet been seen. We had heard nothing of our Irishman, and I was getting a little uneasy about him and asked Tom if I should not go to the police station, pay Jack's fine, and get him out. Tom agreed, and expressed some sorrowful reflections on the blemish to Jack's character which his love for liquor implied.

As expected, Jack was found behind the bars. He had evidently received a terrible beating, part of it from a gang of toughs who had tried to rob him, and the remainder from the police who had finally, with much difficulty, arrested him. I was obliged to pay a fine of twenty dollars to get Jack out.

A further search of Leavenworth City failed to show us what we wanted, and we were getting discouraged. To buy a team and a camp equipment at the prices that were asked would take all the money we could raise and still leave us poorly prepared for our expedition. We were considering the possibility of doing better in Kansas City and Saint Joe and had half decided to go to those places when one day Jack came rushing in, exclaiming:

"I've struck it. I've struck just the rig that we want. A lot of fine-haired fellows from the East have just got in from a buffalo hunt with a splendid outfit they want to sell. They will take anything they can get for it, because they are going back East on the railroad and are in a hurry to get off; and who do you think I found in charge of the outfit but Wild Bill Hickock?[B] Bill told me he'd been hired by three fellows to buy the team and rig up the whole equipment for them, and he'd been their guide. He says it's a dandy outfit. He don't know how much they'll ask for it, but says they don't care for money and will give it away if they can't sell it. They've left Bill to get rid of it. It's over yonder on Shawnee Street, and we'd better look it over and see what sort of a bargain we can make."

By this time we were all heading for Jim Brown's livery stable. There we found the wagon in the back lot, and the team, a good pair of mules, in the barn. When we had looked over the well appointed rig and made a rough estimate of its probable value we began to fear that the owners would ask more than we could pay for it. Wild Bill was absent.

I asked: "What do you think of the outfit, Tom?"

"It's one of the best camp equipments I ever saw," replied Tom, "but I am afraid it's too rich for our blood. Those mules and harness alone would be cheap at two hundred and fifty dollars. The wagon is easy worth another hundred dollars, and there is no telling what the camp outfit cost. They must have let Bill fit things up to his own notion, and Bill never did know the value of money. It may be, as Bill said, that they don't expect much for it and they'll let us have it cheap as dirt. We'd better be quick, if we can, before some one else snaps it up."

"Here comes Wild Bill himself!" exclaimed Jack; and sure enough, that first of frontier scouts, in beaded buckskins and with his long, tawny hair hanging down his back, came striding through the barn to meet us. Bill confirmed what Jack had told us, and said that as these young men seemed to have more money than they knew what to do with he had rigged up as good an outfit as he knew how. He continued: "The wagons, mules, harness, camp outfit, and some grub left over is for sale, but their riding horses are not for sale. They are to be shipped on the cars back to New York. They've got a couple of pretty fair broncos which they got here at starting, and they'll sell you them, or throw them in for good measure. What will you give me for the whole lot?"

Tom asked if he was willing to let us unload the wagon and look at its contents, to which Bill assented. We found it an extraordinarily complete camp outfit, with many duplicate parts for the wagon, a Sibley tent, a sheet-iron cook-stove, a mess-chest, and a complete mess-kit, or cooking outfit. There was a large amount of provisions left over. The wagon and the animals were good and the broncos had saddles and bridles.

While we were unpacking the wagon Bill told us something about the trip, which, from the point of view of the hunters, had been very successful, though commonplace enough as Bill saw it. When the examination was completed Bill asked: "What do you think of the outfit, Tom, and what will you give me for the whole caboodle?"

"It's a good rig, and no mistake," replied Tom with a seemingly hopeless sigh, "but, Bill, I am afraid we haven't money enough to buy it. The outfit was all right for your purposes, but we'll have to buy a lot more things and must have some money left after buying a team and camp outfit. To buy your outfit would clean us out."

"Well," said Bill, "make a bid of what you can afford to give, not what it's worth. They do not expect to get what it's worth."

"It sounds like a mighty small price, Bill, and I'm ashamed to make you the offer," said Tom hesitatingly, "but two hundred dollars is as much as we can afford to give and still buy our other truck. Would your men consider such a bid as that?"

"Boys, that does seem like giving the outfit away, and until I see my men I won't say whether they'll take it or not, but I'll talk for you a little and help you out all I can. They told me to sell the rig for whatever I could get, and I'll tell them that two hundred dollars is the best offer I have had—it's the only one; if they say it's a go the outfit is yours."

As we stood on a corner near the levee awaiting Bill's return we heard the long, hoarse whistle of a steamboat, and saw one approaching from down the river, though still some distance away. A little later Bill came hurrying out of the hotel and gladdened our hearts by telling us that our offer had been accepted. His men were to take the approaching steamer to Saint Joe, and he must hurry back to Brown's stable and help get their fine hunting-horses aboard the boat.

I counted him out the two hundred dollars, which he stuffed in his pocket without recounting. We had bought for two hundred dollars an outfit worth at least five hundred dollars.

We soon had the six fine horses on board the boat. Bill went up to the cabin to turn over the money we had paid him. Soon the steamer's big bell clanged, and just as the deck-hands were about to pull in the gangplank, Bill came running out and turned and waved good-by to his employers, who stood on the hurricane-deck.

In the autumn of 1861 there was no railroad in Kansas, and the nearest point to reach the cars going east from Leavenworth would have been Weston, six or eight miles above, on the Missouri side of the river. The railroad from Saint Joseph east was patrolled by Union soldiers, to protect the bridges and keep it open for travel.

CHAPTER IV
BACK TO THE BUFFALO RANGE

As we started back up-town Bill exclaimed gleefully:

"Well, boys, what do you think? When I offered them fellows the money you paid me for the outfit they would not take a dollar of it, but told me to keep it for an advance payment—a sort of retaining fee—for my services next season. They're coming out again next spring with a bigger party and made me promise to meet them here and go with them."

After Bill left us Tom said: "Bill never did know the value of money. He could just as well as not have had the whole outfit that he sold us or, if he didn't want to keep it, could have sold it for twice what we paid him for it. But he's a free-hearted, generous fellow and never thought of it. He's brave as a lion; never was known to do a mean or cowardly trick; a dead shot. I am afraid, though, that he will die with his boots on, and die young, too."

When we got back to the stable we found Jim Brown, the proprietor, there, and Tom told him that we had bought the wagon, mules, broncos, and so forth, and would pay his charges before taking them away, as soon as Wild Bill came around to confirm the sale.

"Now, men," said the veteran, when we reached our boarding-house, "we're beginnin' to see our way toward gettin' out of this town, an' the sooner the better, I say; but we've got to do some more plannin'. I'll give you my plans, an' if you can suggest better ways, all right. To-morrow mornin' we'll pay our bills, an' then we'll hitch up an' pull out onto that open ground out t'other side of Broadway and camp there an' go to work gettin' ready to leave here. In camp we can overhaul the outfit an' see just exactly what more we need."

"Nothing could be better," chipped in Jack.

"Same here," I added. "Now tell us what to do to get ready for travelling?"

"Hold on," said Tom, "I've got another suggestion to offer. We're going to have a heap heavier load than them hunters had, an' I'm in favor of gettin' a pair of lead harness an' spreaders an' putting them broncos on for leaders an' work four going out. We'll want to take about five months' supplies for ourselves an' what grain we can haul to help our animals through the winter, an' all that will make too much of a load for the mules alone. We can't afford to feed our stock full rations of grain, but they ought to have some to help 'em through the worst weather an' keep 'em from gettin' too poor."

"That's a good idea; but what if the mustangs won't work?" suggested Jack. "It's a common trick with their sort to balk in harness, though they may be good under the saddle."

"I know that," replied Tom, "an' so we want that question settled right here. Ef one or both of 'em refuses to pull we'll trade 'em off for something that'll work."

On going over to the stable next morning before breakfast to give the team a rubbing down, I found Jack there ahead of me, hard at work with currycomb and horse brush, grooming the stock.

Brown told us that Bill had called and said he should let us have the outfit when we came for it.

After breakfast, while Tom went down street to a second-hand store and bought lead harness and spreaders for the mustangs, Jack and I harnessed the mules and put all our belongings into the wagon. We were delighted to find that the broncos when hitched up walked away like old work horses, which they evidently were.

Moving out Shawnee Street, beyond Broadway, where there was open ground for camping, we made camp near a little creek and, after unloading the wagon, gave everything a general overhauling to determine what more we needed to fully equip us for the trip.

We had noticed a nice-looking black shepherd dog around Brown's stable that we had supposed belonged to Brown; but now discovered that it was the property of Wild Bill. The dog seemed to be very intelligent and his owner prized him highly.

After establishing our camp our commander, old Tom, gave his orders, as occasion suggested, and Jack and I promptly executed them.

"One of us must always be in camp," said the old man, "for we don't know what prowler might come along an' steal somethin' if we ain't here to watch things. Now, for to-day, I'll be camp guard while you youngsters do the foraging. First thing, Jack, you an' Peck light out an' hunt up some wood to cook with."

As the camp-stove would be so much handier and more economical of fuel than an open fire, we had taken it out of the wagon and placed it on the ground, with the mess-chest near by—just behind the wagon—and, after pitching the tent, moved the stove inside.

Jack and I skirmished along the creek, and each gathered an armful of wood which we broke up into stove lengths, while Tom busied himself overhauling the mess-chest and cooking utensils.

When we had finished our job Tom gave another order:

"Now, while you're restin' Jack, you take the two mules, an', Peck, you take the two broncos, an' go back up the street to that blacksmith shop just this side of the Mansion House an' git 'em shod all 'round. That'll take about all forenoon. An' while the blacksmith is workin' on 'em one of you can stay there an' the other can go to a meat market an' git a piece of fresh meat an' bring it out to camp right away so that I can put it on to cook for dinner. While you're gettin' the meat, bring a loaf or two of soft bread, too. We've got plenty of hardtack in the wagon, but we'd better use baker's bread while we're in reach of it an' save the hardtack to use on the road, in camps where fuel is scarce."

Leaving Jack at the blacksmith's shop to attend to the shoeing of the team, I carried out Tom's various instructions.

While a kettle of bean soup was boiling Tom was busy rearranging things in the mess-chest and wagon. Fearing that he might neglect the soup and let it scorch, I asked:

"Tom, is there any danger of the beans sticking to the bottom of the camp-kettle and burning?"

"What do you take me for, young fellow?" he retorted indignantly. "Do you s'pose I've been a-cookin' an' eatin' Uncle Sam's beans all these years an' ain't learnt how to cook bean soup without burnin' it? Ef that soup scorches I'll agree to eat the whole mess."

"Of course you know how to cook 'em," I said apologetically, "but I noticed the beans are gettin' soft and thought maybe while you was busy at something else they might get burnt."

"Ain't you never learnt how to keep beans from stickin' to the bottom of the camp-kettle?"

"No, except to keep stirring them," I replied.

"Well, I didn't think you'd a-got through five years of soldierin' on the plains without learnin' how to keep beans from burning. Now, I'll tell you of a trick that's worth a dozen of stirrin' 'em when you've got somethin' else to do besides standin' by the kettle an' watchin' 'em. When your beans begin to git soft just drop two or three metal spoons into the camp-kettle, then go on about your business, an' long as they don't bile dry they won't burn. You savvy the philosophy of it?"

"No, I don't."

"Well, it's just this: the heat keeps the spoons a-dancin' around in the bottom of the kettle, an' that keeps the beans from settlin' an' burning. Savvy? Easy as rollin' off a log when it's explained to you, ain't it?"

After getting back to camp with the mules and broncos newly shod, we had just taken our seats around our mess-box table when who should ride up but Wild Bill. He had heard from Brown of our move and came out to see how we were fixed. As he reined up near us Jack saluted him with:

"Get down, Bill, an' hitch your hoss an' watch me eat."

"Not by a durned sight, Jack; I can do a heap better than that," replied the scout, too familiar with the rough hospitality of the frontier to wait for a more formal invitation; "but if you've got time to watch me eat I'll show you how to do it."

He dismounted, tied his horse to the wagon, turned up a water bucket for a seat, and sat down to dinner with us. "The smell of that bean soup catches me."

As a surprise, when we had nearly finished Tom went to the oven and brought out a couple of nice hot pies.

"What a blessin' it is, sure," said Jack, "to have somethin' to cook an' somebody that knows how to cook it!"

"Well," replied Tom, "it's better than having a surplus of cooks an' no rations—a state of affairs we all know something about."

"I was just a-goin' to remark," added Bill, "that I see you've got a good cook in the outfit, an' that's no small help. I always knew Tom was a first-class soldier, an' now I've found out another of his accomplishments. Boys, I expect to be out to Fort Larned before long, an' if I ever strike your trail out in that neighborhood I'll sure foller it up an' invite myself to take a square meal with you once in a while."

"Well, I'll tell ye right now, Bill, you'll always be welcome," said Jack, while Tom and I added: "Second the motion."

"My special errand out here," said Bill as he unhitched his horse and prepared to mount, "was to tell you that when you get ready to lay in your supplies for the trip I think you can do better to buy 'em of Tom Carney[C] than anywhere else in town. There's where I bought the truck for our trip, an' I found his prices reasonable, an' everything was satisfactory an' packed in good shape. Tom's accommodatin', an' reliable, and an all-round good fellow to trade with."

While standing by his horse Bill's dog had taken post in front of him and by wagging his tail and looking up at his master was trying to attract his notice, seeing which the scout stooped down and began talking to his canine friend and patting him affectionately, which seemed to put the dog in an ecstasy of delight.

"Bill," said Tom, "I've been wondering ef we couldn't manage some way to beat you out of that dog. Don't you want to git rid of him?"

"No, Tom," replied the scout, "money wouldn't buy that dog. But there's been two or three attempts made to steal him from me since I've been here in town—I come pretty nigh having to kill a feller about him just the other day—an', seeing as he's taken such a shine to you fellers, I was thinkin' of gettin' you to take him along with you out to Larned an' leave him with somebody there to keep for me till I come out; or maybe you'd keep him with your outfit."

"Just the thing!" exclaimed Jack. "We'll take him along, all right, an' we won't leave him at Fort Larned, either—we'll keep him till you call for him."

"Well, boys, I b'lieve he'll be useful to you, for he's a shepherd an' takes to minding stock naturally, an' he's a good all-round watch-dog—one of the smartest I ever saw. I call him 'Found,' 'cause I found him when he seemed to be lost. You'll have to keep him tied up for a few days when you leave here; after that, I think, he'll stick to you, 'cause he's been used to lookin' after them mules an' ponies all summer. But, mind you, now, I ain't a-givin' him to you—only lendin' him."

"All right, Bill; he's your dog," said Tom, "an' we'll take good care of him till you want him." Thus Found became one of us.

That afternoon Tom began the work of estimating the supplies that we would need for our winter's trip, endeavoring to calculate the quantity of each item of the provisions and from that the weight that we would have to haul in our wagon. As an old soldier, he made his figures on the basis of rations—one man's allowance of each article of food for one day. He said:

"We'll make our estimate at about the rate of government rations, but, as we don't have to restrict ourselves exactly to Uncle Sam's allowance we'll allow a margin in some things to suit our own notions."

Tom calculated that about four months' rations for three men ought to be enough to carry us from the middle of October to the middle of February, and he told me to make my requisition for four hundred rations of each article and set down the number of pounds' weight of each as I went along.

"Of breadstuffs," he said, "we ought to take about three fourths flour—three hundred pounds—and one fourth hardtack—one hundred pounds. That'll make four hundred pounds of freight. Then, as an extra, a sack of corn-meal—fifty pounds.

"As we'll be able to kill plenty of wild meat, two hundred rations of bacon will be enough. At three fourths of a pound to the ration, that will be one hundred and fifty pounds."

So he went through the list of beans, rice, hominy, coffee, tea, and sugar, with vinegar, salt, pepper, yeast-powder, together with two hundred pounds of potatoes and one hundred pounds of onions. With some dried fruit and soap the total weight came to one thousand five hundred and forty-one pounds, to which he added one thousand pounds of corn, as feed for the animals during the worst weather. He purposed to take also a scythe and hay-fork and, as soon as we got into camp, to cut hay and make a stack as added provision against bad weather. These things, together with all the camp equipment to be carried, would make a load of not far from three thousand pounds for the animals.

To this load I suggested that it would be a good idea to add some interesting books to read at night, and I told him that I purposed to subscribe for some weekly papers which would give the news of current events.

Wild Bill's skill in plains travel was evident in many things about the outfit we had bought. He had fastened straps on the outside of the wagon-box to carry the tent-pole, tripod, and stovepipe, and on the opposite side to hold the axe, pick, and shovel, so that when needed on the road or in camp the tools would be at hand.

On the plains one must be prepared to encounter strong winds at any and all times, and often violent storms, and on this account we commended Bill's judgment in having selected a Sibley instead of a wall tent; for the Sibley is in many respects a most serviceable tent.

It is conical in shape, like the Indian lodge, but in other respects it is far superior to the red man's habitation. It requires but a single short pole which rests on an iron tripod, by pushing together or spreading apart the feet of which the canvas is easily stretched tight or slackened. The aperture at the top for the escape of smoke is provided with a canvas cap which can be shifted so as to keep its back to the wind, thus insuring a clear exit for the smoke. Two opposite doors secure at least one entrance and exit away from the wind. Its advantages over the wall-tent for withstanding stormy weather and for comfort and convenience are generally admitted by all old campers.

The inventor of this most excellent tent was a private soldier in the Second Dragoons, whom I often saw at Fort Bridger, Utah, in '58, but whose name I have forgotten.

The next day we drove down-town and bought our supplies and on returning to camp loaded the wagon for the trip to the plains, as Tom directed.

"Put the heaviest truck, such as the sacks of corn and flour, in the bottom an' well toward the forward end," said he, "an' such things as the mess box an' stove—that we'll be using a good deal on the road—in the hind end, where they'll be handy to git out of the wagon. The tent an' our bundles of bedding can go on top. The camp-stools, buckets, an' camp-kettles can be tied on outside. An', mind you, everything must be stowed away snug or we won't be able to get our truck all on the wagon."

Stripping the wagon-sheets off the bows, we packed the wagon to the best advantage, leaving at the hind end a vacant space to receive the mess-chest and stove. Replacing the sheets, we tied them down snugly to the wagon-box, all around, to be prepared for rainy weather.

Tom, who once had served as hospital steward, had learned something of the use of medicines, and during our stay in Leavenworth he fitted up a small medicine-chest and stocked it with such remedies as he knew how to use, to be prepared for emergencies.

"You may not need 'em very often," he remarked; "you may never need 'em; but, as Wild Bill says of his pistols, when you do need 'em you'll need 'em bad."

As we were to pull out in the morning, Wild Bill rode out to our camp that evening to take supper with us. The evening was pleasantly passed with music from Jack's fiddle, singing by all hands, and wound up by a jig danced by Wild Bill which astonished and delighted us all.

As Wild Bill was mounting his horse to return to town, Tom took the precaution to chain the dog, Found, to a wheel of the wagon, to prevent him from following his master.

Our commander, old Tom, had given orders for an early start next morning, and before daylight his call, "Turn out, men!" routed us out of our blankets. Tom got breakfast, while Jack and I fed the team and then groomed and harnessed them while they ate.

We intended to feed them well on grain as long as we were in the settlements, where it was plenty and cheap; but after getting beyond Council Grove there would be no more settlements, and consequently no grain to be bought along the road, and, as the grain we were hauling would be needed later to carry our animals through the cold of winter, they would have to depend on the grass after leaving the settlements.

Daylight was upon us when we had finished eating, and, all hands turning to, the dishes were soon washed and packed away, the wagon loaded, the team hitched up, the fire put out, and we were off.

Our team was fat, frisky, and well rested, and walked away with its load with ease; but, following our soldier training in starting out for a long trip, we made short, easy drives for the first few days, gradually increasing them till we reached the maximum—about twenty-five miles a day.

Shortly after leaving Leavenworth we met our old friends the bull-whackers, with whom we had made the first part of our trip on starting from Fort Wise. They were just getting in with their train, as dirty and jolly as ever. We were gratified to realize that we had gained so much time and avoided so much dirt by transferring to the mule train at the Santa Fé crossing of the Arkansas River.

Later we met more bull trains and other freighting outfits coming in but found few going west. At this season most people were inclined to seek the friendly shelter and comforts of the settlements rather than to brave the inclemencies and dangers of the bleak plains.

Among the travellers whom we met coming in was an occasional outfit of "busted Pike's Peakers," as unfortunate and discouraged miners returning from the Pike's Peak gold region were called. Most of these gave doleful accounts of life and prospects in the Colorado mines.

For a few days after leaving Leavenworth we kept the dog, Found, tied up, lest he should go back to his master; but we were all kind to him, and he showed no inclination to quit our company, and when we turned him loose again he contentedly remained with our outfit.

We found the roads fine and the weather real Indian summer; days hazy, warm, and pleasant, nights cool, and mornings frosty, as is usual on the plains at this the most pleasant time of the year.

While in the settlements we indulged in such luxuries as milk, butter, eggs, and so forth, whenever they were to be bought, and we killed plenty of prairie-chickens with our shotgun.

These prairie-chickens were very numerous in the Kansas settlements, occurring in such multitudes that they were pests to the farmers, eating great quantities of grain. They haunted the settled country or grain-producing parts but were seldom found far out on the plains, though while in the service I saw a few as far west as the Big Bend of the Arkansas.

In the army the Sibley tent was calculated to hold twelve to sixteen men—crowded pretty close together—but in our Sibley, with only the three occupants, there was room for stove, mess-chest, camp-stools, or anything else we might bring inside. Found always made his bed under the wagon, where he could keep watch over the animals and act as general camp guard.

In order to favor our team we made two drives a day, stopping for an hour or so at noon to turn the animals out on the grass, while we made coffee and ate some cold meat and bread. On our afternoon drive, as night approached, we selected a convenient place and camped, turning out the team—except the flea-bitten gray mare, which we always picketed as an anchor to the rest. After supper, sprawled on our beds in the tent, we talked and spun yarns.

Tom having served three enlistments—fifteen years—and Jack two, while I had only five years' service as a soldier to my credit, I was considered a raw recruit and usually listened while they talked. When in a musical mood, Jack got out his fiddle and played and sang.

We seldom lit a candle at night, for we had only one box of candles and knew that before us were many long winter evenings when lights would be more needed than now. We had found, rolled up in the tent, an infantry bayonet—the best kind of a camp candlestick. When we had occasion to light a candle we appreciated its convenience.

Since we first came from the plains into the Kansas settlements we had heard much said about jayhawkers. The term jayhawking as used then was a modified expression for theft or robbery, but was applied more particularly to the depredations of gangs of armed and mounted ruffians, who, taking advantage of the turbulent condition of affairs resulting from the war—the civil law being impotent or altogether lacking in many parts of the scattering settlements of Kansas—roamed at will through the country, hovering especially along main thoroughfares and helping themselves to other people's property. Sometimes they professed to be volunteer soldiers or government agents sent out to gather in good horses, mules, or other property for the use of Uncle Sam, giving bogus receipts for what they took and saying that these receipts would be honored and paid on their presentation to any government quartermaster—which, of course, was pure fiction.

Where they failed to get what they wanted by other methods they did not hesitate to use violence, even to killing those who resisted their demands.

Such were the Kansas jayhawkers of those times, whom we had hoped to escape meeting; but we had talked much of the possibilities and probabilities of such an encounter and had decided on certain plans of action to frustrate the probable movements of any jayhawkers whom we might meet. We did not propose to be robbed and stood ready to put up a strong bluff and, if necessary, to fight to defend our property. In view of a possible fight, arms were to be kept in order and ammunition handy.

We had nearly reached Council Grove without encountering any jayhawkers and had begun to flatter ourselves that we were going to slip through the settlements without having trouble with them. At one or two places along the road, however, we had heard that a party of jayhawkers had lately been seen on the route ahead of us, and we had been cautioned to look out for them.

CHAPTER V
WE MEET DOUBTFUL CHARACTERS

One day, on stopping at a store to buy some feed, just before reaching the crossing of a timbered creek, we noticed two saddled horses hitched to the fence and on entering the store found two well-armed, rough-looking fellows lounging about, one of whom seemed to be half tipsy. The store was also a post-office and presided over by a very old man.

While Tom and the storekeeper retired to a back room to measure out some grain, the two ruffians began to manifest considerable interest in our affairs, asking many questions, to all of which Jack and I, who had left the team standing in the road and walked up to the store, gave rather curt answers.

Apparently not satisfied with our replies, the drunken fellow staggered out toward our team, remarking to his more sober companion:

"Joe, let's take a look at their outfit."

We paid little apparent attention to them but quietly watched every movement they made, for we began to suspect that these were some of the robbers we had heard of.

Each of the men carried a pair of revolvers hung to his belt. The most drunken one was a large, swearing, swaggering ruffian who was addressed by the other as "Cap." The one named "Joe" was smaller and apparently more sober and wore an old cavalry jacket.

As they walked around the team we heard an ominous growl from our dog, Found. The big fellow stepped back and laid a hand on the butt of one of his pistols, and Jack quickly grasped the handle of his own weapon and took a step or two in the direction of the drunken ruffian, keeping his eyes on the fellow's pistol hand. "Cap" saw the movement and turned toward Jack, still with his hand on his pistol, and remarked with an oath:

"Mister, ef that dog tries to bite me he dies."

"Then there'll be two dogs die," returned Jack quietly, looking the fellow in the eye.

I kept a close watch of the motions of Joe, but he made no threatening gestures and seemed waiting to see what his leader would do.

"What do you mean, sir?" demanded the drunken blusterer of Jack.

"I mean," replied the Irishman quietly, "that if you keep away from that team and attend to your own business the dog'll not hurt you; but you draw a gun to shoot him, an'—well, you heard my remark."

Instead of resenting Jack's ultimatum, the big fellow turned to his henchman and said:

"Joe, these men don't appear to have heard of me. Tell 'em who I am," and then disappeared into the store.

Joe stepped up to Jack and said in a confidential way:

"Pardner, you've made a big mistake to talk so insulting to that man, an' I'm afraid you'll have trouble about it. That's Captain Tucker, one o' the worst men in Kansas. I reckon he's killed more men than I've got fingers an' toes. Best thing you can do now, is to foller him into the store an' call for the drinks, apologize, like a man, an' make it all up with him, fur he's turrible when he's riled, specially when he's drinkin'."

"Is that so?" exclaimed Jack. "Why, he's a bad one, ain't he? I'm right glad to know him."

"More'n that," added Joe, "he's captain of our company, an' we're the toughest lot that ever struck this country."

"Where's your company, and how many of you is they?" asked Jack.

"Oh, they's a whole lot of us, an' we're camped down on the crick a couple o' miles from here," was Joe's evasive reply.

I began to get uneasy. What if Jack's rashness should bring this gang of desperadoes down on us? Jack was game and would not back down from the stand he had taken. I knew that Tom—who was still in the store getting his sack of grain and knew nothing of the trouble we were about to get into—was game, too, and would stand by the Irish-man; and if it came to a fight I could at least handle cartridges for them. But what could three of us do against a gang of unknown numbers of these lawless men?

"Jack, haven't you been a little too brash? You may get us into a scrape if he brings up his men."

"Ef there's none of 'em more dangerous than their captain there's nothin' to fear. I've studied such fellows all my life, an' I never made a mistake in one of his sort. He's just such another blowhard as that 'bad man from Texas' that I swatted in Leavenworth. An' on the principle of 'like master, like man,' you'll be apt to find that this big company of desperadoes, if we ever meet 'em, will dwindle down to six or eight windy ruffians like their captain. I believe the three of us could whip twenty of 'em. Such fellers don't fight unless they can get the drop, an' we'll see that they don't do that."

Just as we reached the store door I turned to see what had become of Joe, and noticed him still standing where we had left him—as near the mules as Found would let him come—intently engaged in writing or drawing something with a pencil on a piece of paper. The paper he held in his hand looked like a yellow envelope, and, nudging Jack, I pointed to him.

Joe seemed to be deeply interested in his work, looking first at the mules and then at his yellow envelope as he marked on it, and did not notice us. I was still wondering what he could be doing when the Irishman's quick wit comprehended the situation, and he whispered:

"He's copyin' the brands on our mules. We'll hear more of this by an' by."

"How?" I asked.

"He'll send somebody to claim 'em, on a lost-strayed-or-stolen plea, an' the claimer will prove ownership by showing the exact brands marked on paper before he has been near the mules. I've known that trick played before."

As we entered the store the old storekeeper and Tom came out of the grain room—Tom with a sack of corn on his shoulder, making mysterious winks at us as he moved toward the door, indicating that he desired us to go back to the wagon.

The store man cast an inquiring glance at the decanter and then at Captain Tucker. The latter nodded his head and said:

"Chalk it down."

On the way to the wagon we met Joe, who had probably completed draughting our mules' brands to his satisfaction.

We told Tom of all that had occurred, and I rather expected that he would reprimand Jack for acting so rashly, but to my surprise he approved of the Irishman's doings.

"Perfectly right, perfectly right," said Tom. "It won't do to give back to such fellows a particle. If we've got to have a brush with them, right now an' here's as good a time an' place as any. We must bluff 'em off right at the start or fight. But we mus'n't forget the old sayin', 'Never despise your enemy'; he may turn out a better fighter than you give him credit for bein'. We must watch every move they make an' be prepared to bluff 'em off at every trick they try. Jack was right in suspecting that that fellow with the cavalry jacket was copying the brands on our mules. They'll be after trying to prove 'em away from us, ef they can't bluff us."

"Did you find out anything about them from the storekeeper?" I asked anxiously. "You were in that back room so long I thought you must be pumping him."

"Yes, I wasn't idle," replied Tom, "an' I found out a whole lot. At first the old man was afraid to talk, for he's scared of these fellers, but when I promised him that we would not get him into trouble he let out an' told me all he knows about 'em.

"This is the gang we heard about at Burlingame and again at A-Hundred-an'-Ten-Mile Creek," continued Tom. "They came to this neighborhood about a week ago an' have been robbin' and plunderin', an' everybody's afraid of 'em. The old storekeeper says that there are so few able-bodied men left here—most all of 'em having gone off to the war—that the few citizens left can't well make any organized opposition to 'em. This lot is an offshoot from Cleveland's gang of jayhawkers that we heard about at Leavenworth. It seems, the old fellow says, that this Captain Tucker was a lieutenant under Cleveland, an' they couldn't agree—each one wanted to be boss—so Tucker with a few followers split off from Cleveland an' started a gang of his own."

"Well, but did you find out how many there are in this gang?" I asked.

"Yes. The old man says that they try to make people believe that there is a big company, but from the best information he can get there are only seven or eight."

"What did I tell you?" said Jack contemptuously. "Ef they're no better than these two we're good for that many, easy."

"Yes," said Tom, "ef we don't let 'em get the drop on us I think we can stand 'em off; but we may find 'em a tougher lot than we take 'em for—ef they tackle us for a fight we've just got to clean 'em out, it's a ground-hog case. An' as to killin' 'em, I'd have no more hesitation about it than I would to kill a hostile Injun. Ef we have to open fire on 'em I want you men to shoot to kill, an' I'll do the same. These jayhawkers have been declared outlaws by orders from the commander of the department, an' the troops are turned loose to hunt 'em down, kill 'em, or break up the gangs wherever they can be found.

"The old storekeeper says they've just taken possession of his store," he continued, "helpin' themselves to his liquor or anything else they want, tellin' him to 'chalk it down' an' by an' by they'll settle with him.

"A boy from the neighborhood who had been down to their camp to sell 'em some butter told the old man that there was only seven men of 'em an' they had a tent an' a two-horse wagon. The boy said they had lots of good horses, an' the old man thinks they gather in all the good horses an' mules they can find in the country an' now an' then send a lot of 'em in to Leavenworth an' sell 'em to the contractors there who are buyin' up horses an' mules for the government.

"Whatever happens," continued Tom, "we must be careful not to compromise this old storekeeper an' his family, for he's very much afraid of these jayhawkers an' cautioned me several times not to let them get a suspicion that he had told us anything about them.

"I put an idea in his head, though, which may be the means of ridding this neighborhood of these rascals. I told him to write a letter to General Hunter, in command of the department at Fort Leavenworth, tellin' him the situation out here, an' to request the general to send out a company of cavalry to clean out this gang an' give protection to the farmers an' people travelling the road.

"He jumped at the idea an' said he would write the letter right away an' send it in by the mail which will go past this afternoon. I think the general will send the troops immediately, for he is makin' war on these bushwhackers wherever he can hear of them. If the scheme is carried out right the soldiers will be apt to kill or capture this whole gang. I'd like to stay an' help 'em at it, but it will take four or five days, at least, before the soldiers can get here. Ef this gang undertakes to make war on us we may have to teach 'em a lesson on our own hook."

"Well, Tom," I asked, "what are your plans for meeting this emergency if you think these fellows are going to give us trouble?"

Before he could answer me the two jayhawkers came out of the store and, without making any hostile demonstrations, went to their horses, mounted, and rode a little way back down the road we had come, and then, turning across the prairie struck for the timber farther down the creek. They eyed us in passing but said not a word. As they rode past us we noticed that both were mounted on good-looking animals, especially Tucker, whose mount was a splendid, large black horse of fine proportions and good movement.

CHAPTER VI
STANDING OFF THE JAYHAWKERS

While Jack and I stowed away the sack of corn and waited for Tom's reply to my question, he stood watching the disappearing riders till an intervening rise of ground hid them and then began to unfold his plans.

"It's earlier in the day than we generally camp," said Tom thoughtfully, "but under the circumstances we must select a camp not far from here an' hang up till we see what they're going to do. Ef we try to go on farther they'll think we're running from 'em. We must camp in open ground where they can't get in shooting distance of us without showing themselves in open prairie.

"I asked the storekeeper about the lay of the land on the other side of the creek, an' he told me of a good place to camp about a half mile beyond the ford, where there's an abandoned house out in the prairie an' a good well. The family who owned the place got scared out and moved into Topeka to stay till times get better. There's where we'll camp; so let's get there an' get prepared for action in case this outfit gives us a call. They won't let us go by without trying some bluff game on us an' maybe a fight.

"I don't think there's any need of it here," added Tom as he looked toward the timber at the crossing of the creek ahead of us, "but, to be on the safe side, while I drive the team, Jack, you an' Peck may take your guns and form a skirmish line ahead of me as we go through the timber."

We did so, but, finding no sign of an enemy, as we again came out on the prairie we joined the wagon and rode up to the abandoned house and camped in a good, defensible position. There was no grass close to the house whereon to picket our team, but some hay that had been left in the barn made a good substitute.

Finding the inside of the house littered with waste and rubbish left by the recent occupants, we pitched our tent near the wagon, as usual, camping by the house merely to secure a defensible location in open ground with wood and water convenient.

We were confident that we would receive a call from the jayhawkers and hurried our dinner, keeping an anxious lookout back along the road toward the store, which was now hidden from us by the timber.

After we had cleared away the dishes Tom ordered:

"Now, men, see that everything is prepared for action. See that all arms are in good working order, an' have a good supply of ca'tridges handy."

Such orders were hardly necessary, for we made it a rule at all times to keep our arms in good shape and cartridges convenient.

"Here they come!" exclaimed Jack in great glee, and, looking toward the store, we could see a party of mounted men just coming out of the timber at the creek crossing. As soon as the announcement was made Tom brought the field-glass to bear on them and began counting:

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven—all told." Then he added: "They would likely leave only one man back to take care of camp; so eight is about the full strength of the gang, just as we heard."

Passing the glass to me, he added:

"As soon as they get in hailing distance I'll halt 'em, an' you men will be ready to enforce my commands. Ef they don't halt at the first command I'll halt 'em again, an' maybe the third time, but not more. An' when I give the command, 'Fire!' remember your old training—aim about the saddles an' let em' have it, an' don't waste your ca'tridges. Let each one of us try to see how many saddles he can empty."

To me this sounded serious, but the veteran was as cool about it as if giving instructions to a squad of soldiers on skirmish drill. Jack always seemed happy when there was a good prospect of a fight before him. I must admit that I began to feel a little squeamish as the jayhawkers drew near us, but I was somewhat reassured by the firm and fearless demeanor of my comrades.

As the jayhawkers approached it was seen that all except the leader, "Cap" Tucker, carried rifles, carbines, or shotguns in addition to their pistols. All seemed to be well mounted, but Tucker was particularly conspicuous by his fine black horse. They followed the main road till opposite the house where we were and then turned and rode toward us at a walk.

As soon as they had approached within easy hail Tom took a few steps toward them and, bringing his Sharp's rifle to a ready, sung out:

"Halt!"

Jack and I moved up in his rear and came to the same position.

The jayhawkers did not seem to be expecting such a manœuvre on our part and did not promptly obey Tom's first command; but by the time he had repeated "Halt!" in a louder tone they took the hint, and Tucker quickly ordered his men to stop. Turning to us, he called out in a tone of indignant surprise:

"What do you mean?"

"Just what I say," replied Tom. "Ef you men have any business with us, one of you—and only one—can advance an' make it known. The rest'll stand where they are."

Turning and speaking a few words to his men, Tucker then rode up to us.

As the big captain halted a few feet from us he demanded angrily:

"What do you men mean by drawing your guns on us an' halting us this way?"

"In these doubtful times," replied Tom, "we don't propose to allow a party of armed men to enter our camp without first finding out who they are an' what's their business with us. Will you please tell us what yours is?"

"Why, certainly," returned the big ruffian. "We are free rangers looking up stray an' stolen stock an' also gathering in good hosses an' mules fer the government. Have you any objections to that?"

"Not in the least," said Tom, "but we have no stray or stolen stock an' no horses or mules for sale, an' I don't see as you have any further business with this outfit."

"The reason why we've made this call on you is this," answered Tucker. "A short time ago one of my men had a fine pair of mules stole from him an' trailed 'em down nigh to Leavenworth where he lost track of 'em. I learned from the old storekeeper over the crick yonder that you men had lately bought your mules in Leavenworth, an' when I went back to camp an' mentioned this matter to Bill Sawyer he got to thinkin' about it, an' he thought that possibly you might of bought his mules without knowin' they was stole; an' so I jes' brung him an' a few more of the boys over to look at your mules."

While the captain was making his little speech Jack gave me an occasional wink, which seemed to say: "Listen to what's comin'."

"Now, pardner," continued the jayhawker, "we ain't in the habit of spending much time arguing about a matter of this kind, an', as I tol' you before, we're a-gatherin' up mules an' hosses fer the government, an' whenever we find any that suits we just take 'em, givin' an order on Uncle Sam, an' he foots the bill. But to show you that we're dealing on the square with you men about these mules, ef they ain't ours we don't want 'em. Now, I'll make you a fair proposition. The man that lost the mules I'm talking about is out yonder, an' he's never seen your mules yet. He's got the brands marked down on a piece of paper. Now, ef you're honorable men an' willing to do what's right I don't see how you can help accepting my proposition, which is this: I'll call Bill Sawyer up here an' let him show his brands as they're marked down on that paper afore he's ever had a chance to see the brands on your mules, an' ef the brands he's got marked down is the same as what's on them mules, why, it's a plain case that they must be his mules. Now, what do you say to that?"

Tom gave no sign that he was "onto their game," but merely said:

"Call your man up, but only him—no more."

Tucker rode out a few steps toward his gang and called: