itself in a can of tomatoes not six inches from my head. As I turned around,
I saw the fellow being propelled through the door by the German's right.
At that point the contractor came in and after being told of what had happened,
he discharged the fellow. He wished to retain his revolvers, but his request
was not granted. He had an old-fashioned army musket and begged to be allowed
to keep that. I told Mr. A- not to let him have it for I was satisfied
from the blow he gave me that he was a bad actor; but Mr. A-, being good
natured and kind hearted, consented. He ordered four days' rations put
up for him and he left camp in an ugly mood and was given no further thought.
After grub, the German proposed that we flip a coin to see who should go for the horses. The. visitor losing, he at once started for the canyon below where the horses were grazing. Shortly after I heard a shot and then many more, but gave it no heed as it was a common occurrence there. Half an hour later one of the men came in and told
me that the German lay dead in the canyon below. I, with the others in camp, proceeded to the point indicated, where we found the poor fellow lying on his back. A bullet from that villian's musket had pierced his heart. His watch, belt of cartridges, revolvers, and repeating carbine were gone. After we returned with the body, Mr. A- had the mill whistle blown calling all hands to quarters and for three days and nights with little sleep or rest we searched those hills and trails leading to Salt Lake and Denver. We picketed men on each trail to search all passing trains; but the demon gave us the slip, and cheated that maddened crowd of a lynching, or something worse; perhaps a tug of war between two wild bronchos, which we had in camp, with that man's body as the connecting link.
I can to this day remember just how that poor fellow looked; cold in death, far from home and loved ones, with no mother to weep at his bier. With uncovered heads we lowered him in earth, in a rough box, at the foot of one of the tall, sentinels of the
hills, and placed a slab to mark the spot, that his friends might some day claim all that remained of as brave and honest a German as ever lived.
A WATCHFUL PROVIDENCE
Thus by the toss of a coin was my life again spared. This last narrow escape from death was the fourteenth of which I positively knew, and how many more that I did not know of, it is impossible to tell; so I made up my mind to get out of the country alive, if possible. I informed Mr. A- of my intentions and the following day closed my business and at dusk that evening I started, unaccompanied, on a two hundred mile ride over a trail watched by hundreds of bloodthirsty Indians. I knew that no Indian pony could overtake my fleet runner, and all that was to be feared was a surprise or have my horse shot from under me. I camped far from the trail, with lariat fastened to my wrist, never closing my eyes until my faithful animal had laid down for the day. His first move at dusk awoke me, and, after
feed, we were off with the wind at breakneck speed.
At the close of the second day, while I lay sleeping on the desert sands with the saddle blanket for a pillow, and dreaming of my far away home, it seemed as if something of a slimy nature was slowly crawling over the calf of my bare leg. On gaining partial consciousness, too quickly did I realize that it was a reality and not a dream. A rattlesnake's long slimy body was crossing that bridge of flesh, squirming along for a couple of inches, then raising its repulsive body a foot or more and turning its insignificant head, would look straight towards my partly closed eyes and, with its hideous mouth agap, would dart its poisonous arrow-like tongue in and out like lightning, then lowering itself, it would resume the same tactics as before. How many times it repeated this, I shall never know. No words have ever been formed that can adequately express the feeling that took possession of me. I seemed powerless to move a muscle or twitch an eye-lid. The suspense was
BILLIE! BILLIE!
terrible, expecting each time that the slimy body descended the viper
would thrust his poisonous lance into my leg and all would be over.
The horror of it all cannot be imagined, and to this day, when I
recall the incident, it sends a shiver through my entire body. As
the coarse rattles of his tail left the bare flesh of my leg, my
senses seemed to return; but it was only for a moment, for through
the pant of my right leg I felt that same crawling sensation and
I knew in an instant that it was a mate following the one that had
just passed over the bridge of flesh. As soon as it reached the bare
leg the dirty reptile went through the same horrible stunts as the
first one. The agony seemed impossible to bear and when at last the
thing had completed its journey and was at a safe distance away,
I leaped into the air--how far I shall leave the reader to surmise.
Crazed with anger and trembling from head to foot, I rushed for my
revolvers and fired at random. I was considered a good shot in those
days, but in this excited condition I would not have been able to
hit a
barn. I ran for my Henry Carbine and, grasping it by the barrel, made short work of ridding the earth of the cause that had produced the most terrifying scare experience during my western life.
THE FAITHFUL HORSE
For the first time
during the excitement my thoughts turned to my faithful horse, but. he was
nowhere to be seen. The horror of the situation began to dawn upon me and I
realized at once that I was lost on that desolate plain--one hundred miles
from any camp that I knew of and apparently alone. I cried out, "My God,
what can be done!" The thought was enough to drive one crazy. Can I ever
forget it? I think not; nor could anyone. Even to see or talk to an Indian
would have been a comfort. Driven to agonizing despair I ran for my field glass
and scanned the rolling ground in every direction. Buffalo, deer, antelope,
coyote, and a small party of horsemen were visible, but the latter too far
away to make out if they were United States Cavalrymen or Indians. Look-
ing again, without my glass, I discovered
my horse standing on a high knoll not more than a half mile away with head
and tail erect; the breath from his dilated nostrils ascending heavenward in
the cold October air and presenting a picture for an artist. I called loudly, "Billie,
Billie" and with outstretched hand walked slowly toward him, but he looked
not in my direction. All of a sudden he made a quick bound and was off. My
heart seemed to stop beating. A minute seemed an hour; but I kept walking after
him and he finally stopped, turned around and faced me. That look can never
be forgotten. With ears thrown back, he came slowly toward me. Again, I called "Billie,
Billie," and held out both hands and with a whinner he came on a gallop,
trembling in every muscle, seemingly as frightened as myself. I patted his
neck, straightened out his rich heavy mane, rubbed his face and nose and kissed
him. He licked my cheek and hand in appreciation of my welcome; moisture gathered
in his large eyes and I cried with joy--like a child that I was--and then we
both felt better. I coiled up the lariat and placed my right arm over
his perfectly formed neck and slowly walked to our little camp. I rubbed
him down until he was perfectly dry; then curried, brushed and rubbed
until I could almost see myself in his coat of silky hair. Then I made
him lay down and did the same thing myself, using his withers and mane
for a pillow. When I awoke the moon shown full in our faces. I patted
his neck and soon those large eyes were looking affectionately into
mine. I sprang to my feet and he did the same. After brushing off the
side on which he had laid, I placed the saddle blanket, buckled taut
the saddle, gathered up my small camp kit and fastened it to the rear
of the saddle, coiled the lariat and hung it on the pommel of the saddle,
fastened on my spurs--from which he had never felt even the slightest
touch--threw my field glass over my left shoulder, buckled on my cartridge
belt and revolvers, swung my canteen and Henry Carbine over my right
shoulder, and with a leap, landed astride the saddle, and was off
with the wind in search of the trail two full miles away.
THE INDIANS CAPTURE A FRIEND
Early on the morning of the third day, I stopped at a stage station, where I met the assistant wagon boss who was with the bull train during my first trip across the plains. He was a genuine Missouri Bushwacker and a desperate fellow. Like all others of his class he wore his hair long, making it a much coveted prize for the Indians. After the days visit and relating our experience of western life, he told me that he was on his way to the Black Hills. I reluctantly volunteered the information to him that I did not think he would ever reach there on the old skate he was riding, and that he should not venture on the trail until after dark, but he knew it all and started at sundown. I was sure the fellow would never reach the Hills, nor was I mistaken, for in less than an hour the Salt Lake Coach rolled up to the door of the station, and the driver asked if a horseman had put up at
WO WEEKS later a strapping six-foot German, who was in charge of another camp further down the line, came for a visit. Shortly after his arrival, he proposed that we should go hunting, to which I agreed. That morning, as usual, the men called for their liquor, and among them was a long lanky fellow with red hair and bushy beard. He certainly had the appearance of an outlaw. He had received one glass of grog and came for the second which I refused him. Without a word I was on my back. At that point the German came in and caught him with the left hand in the same locality. Suffering with pain and crazed with liquor, he left the store, secured his revolvers and returned. I was behind the counter at the time with my back to the door. The first thing I knew I heard the report of a revolver and a bullet whizzed past my ear and buried
