Concise History of New Mexico

The Old Santa Fe Trail

By COLONEL HENRY INMAN

CHAPTER XXII.
A DESPERATE RIDE.

In the Rocky Mountains and on the great plains along the line of the
Old Trail are many rude and widely separated graves. The sequestered
little valleys, the lonely gulches, and the broad prairies through
which the highway to New Mexico wound its course, hide the bones of
hundreds of whom the world will never have any more knowledge.
The number of these solitary, and almost obliterated mounds is small
when compared with the vast multitude in the cemeteries of our towns,
though if the host of those whose bones are mouldering under the
short buffalo-grass and tall blue-stem of the prairies between the
Missouri and the mountains were tabulated, the list would be appalling.
Their aggregate will never be known; for the once remote region of
the mid-continent, like the ocean, rarely gave up its victims.
Lives went out there as goes an expiring candle, suddenly, swiftly,
and silently; no record was kept of time or place. All those who
thus died are graveless and monumentless, the great circle of the
heavens is the dome of their sepulchre, and the recurring blossoms
of springtime their only epitaph.

Sometimes the traveller over the Old Trail will suddenly, in the most
unexpected places, come across a little mound, perhaps covered with
stones, under which lie the mouldering bones of some unfortunate
adventurer. Above, now on a rude board, then on a detached rock, or
maybe on the wall of a beetling canyon, he may frequently read, in crude
pencilling or rougher carving, the legend of the dead man's ending.

The line of the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railroad, which
practically runs over the Old Trail for nearly its whole length to
the mountains, is a fertile field of isolated graves. The savage
and soldier, the teamster and scout, the solitary trapper or hunter,
and many others who have gone down to their death fighting with the
relentless nomad of the plains, or have been otherwise ruthlessly
cut off, mark with their last resting-places that well-worn pathway
across the continent.

The tourist, looking from his car-window as he is whirled with the
speed of a tornado toward the snow-capped peaks of the "Great Divide,"
may see as he approaches Walnut Creek, three miles east of the town
of Great Bend in Kansas, on the beautiful ranch of Hon. D. Heizer,
not far from the stream, and close to the house, a series of graves,
numbering, perhaps, a score. These have been most religiously
cared for by the patriotic proprietor of the place during all the
long years since 1864, as he believes them to be the last resting-place
of soldiers who were once a portion of the garrison of Fort Zarah,
the ruins of which (now a mere hole in the earth) are but a few
hundred yards away, on the opposite side of the railroad track,
plainly visible from the train.

The Walnut debouches into the Arkansas a short distance from where
the railroad crosses the creek, and at this point, too, the trail
from Fort Leavenworth merges into the Old Santa Fe. The broad pathway
is very easily recognized here; for it runs over a hard, flinty,
low divide, that has never been disturbed by the plough, and the
traveller has only to cast his eyes in a northeasterly direction
in order to see it plainly.

The creek is fairly well timbered to-day, as it has been ever since
the first caravan crossed the clear water of the little stream.
It was always a favourite place of ambush by the Indians, and many
a conflict has occurred in the beautiful bottom bounded by a margin
of trees on two sides, between the traders, trappers, troops, and
the Indians, and also between the several tribes that were hereditary
enemies, particularly the Pawnees and the Cheyennes. It is only
about sixteen miles east of Pawnee Rock, and included in that region
of debatable ground where no band of Indians dared establish a
permanent village; for it was claimed by all the tribes, but really
owned by none.

In 1864 the commerce of the great plains had reached enormous
proportions, and immense caravans rolled day after day toward the
blue hills which guard the portals of New Mexico, and the precious
freight constantly tempted the wily savages to plunder.

To protect the caravans on their monotonous route through the "Desert,"
as this portion of the plains was then termed, troops were stationed,
a mere handful relatively, at intervals on the Trail, to escort the
freighters and mail coaches over the most exposed and dangerous
portions of the way.

On the bank of the Walnut, at this time, were stationed three hundred
unassigned recruits of the Third Wisconsin Cavalry, under the command
of Captain Conkey. This point was rightly regarded as one of the
most important on the whole overland route; for near it passed the
favourite highway of the Indians on their yearly migrations north
and south, in the wake of the strange elliptical march of the buffalo
far beyond the Platte, and back to the sunny knolls of the Canadian.

This primitive cantonment which grew rapidly in strategical importance,
was two years later made quite formidable defensively, and named
Fort Zarah, in memory of the youngest son of Major General Curtis,
who was killed by guerillas somewhere south of Fort Scott, Kansas,
while escorting General James G. Blunt, of frontier fame during
the Civil War.

Captain Henry Booth, during the year above mentioned, was chief of
cavalry and inspecting officer of the military district of the Upper
Arkansas, the western geographical limits of which extended to the
foot-hills of the mountains.

One day he received an order from the head-quarters of the department
to make a special inspection of all the outposts on the Santa Fe Trail.
He was stationed at Fort Riley at the time, and the evening the order
arrived, active preparations were immediately commenced for his
extended and hazardous trip across the plains. Lieutenant Hallowell,
of the Ninth Wisconsin Battery, was to accompany him, and both
officers went at once to their quarters, took down from the walls,
where they had been hanging idly for weeks, their rifles and pistols,
and carefully examined and brushed them up for possible service in
the dreary Arkansas bottom. Camp-kettles, until late in the night,
sizzled and sputtered over crackling log-fires; for their proposed
ride beyond the settlements demanded cooked rations for many a
weary day. All the preliminaries arranged, the question of the means
of transportation was determined, and, curiously enough, it saved
the lives of the two officers in the terrible gauntlet they were
destined to run.

Hallowell was a famous whip, and prided himself upon the exceptionally
fine turnout which he daily drove among the picturesque hills around
the fort.

"Booth," said he in the evening, "let's not take a great lumbering
ambulance on this trip; if you will get a good way-up team of mules
from the quartermaster, we'll use my light rig, and we'll do our
own driving."

To this proposition Booth readily assented, procured the mules, and,
as it turned out, they were a "good way-up team."

Hallowell had a set of bows fitted to his light wagon, over which
was thrown an army-wagon-sheet, drawn up behind with a cord, similar
to those of the ordinary emigrant outfit to be seen daily on the
roads of the Western prairies. A round hole was necessarily left
in the rear end, serving the purpose of a lookout.

Two grip-sacks, containing their dress uniforms, a box of crackers
and cheese, meat and sardines, together with a bottle of anti-snake
bite, made up the principal freight for the long journey, and in the
clear cold of the early morning they rolled out of the gates of the
fort, escorted by Company L, of the Eleventh Kansas, commanded by
Lieutenant Van Antwerp.

The company of one hundred mounted men acting as escort was too
formidable a number for the Indians, and not a sign of one was seen
as the dangerous flats of Plum Creek and the rolling country beyond
were successively passed, and early in the afternoon the cantonment
on Walnut Creek was reached. At this important outpost Captain
Conkey's command was living in a rude but comfortable sort of a way,
in the simplest of dugouts, constructed along the right bank of the
stream; the officers, a little more in accordance with military
dignity, in tents a few rods in rear of the line of huts.

A stockade stable had been built, with a capacity for two hundred
and fifty horses, and sufficient hay had been put up by the men in
the fall to carry the animals through the winter.

Captain Conkey was a brusque but kind-hearted man, and with him were
stationed other officers, one of whom was a son of Admiral Goldsborough.
The morning after the arrival of the inspecting officers a rigid
examination of all the appointments and belongings of the place was
made, and, as an immense amount of property had accumulated for
condemnation, when evening came the books and papers were still
untouched; so that branch of the inspection had to be postponed
until the next morning.

After dark, while sitting around the camp-fire, discussing the war,
telling stories, etc., Captain Conkey said to Booth: "Captain,
it won't require more than half an hour in the morning to inspect
the papers and finish up what you have to do; why don't you start
your escort out very early, so it won't be obliged to trot after
the ambulance, or you to poke along with it? You can then move out
briskly and make time."

Booth, acting upon what he thought at the time an excellent suggestion,
in a few moments went over the creek to Lieutenant Van Antwerp's camp,
to tell him that he need not wait for the wagon in the morning, but
to start out early, at half-past six, in advance.

According to instructions, the escort marched out of camp at daylight
next morning, while Booth and Hallowell remained to finish their
inspection. It was soon discovered, however, that either Captain
Conkey had underrated the amount of work to be done, or misjudged
the inspecting officers' ability to complete it in a certain time;
so almost three hours elapsed after the cavalry had departed before
the task ended.

At last everything was closed up, much to Hallowell's satisfaction,
who had been chafing under the vexatious delay ever since the escort
left. When all was in readiness, the little wagon drawn up in front
of the commanding officer's quarters, and farewells said, Hallowell
suggested to Booth the propriety of taking a few of the troops
stationed there to go with them until they overtook their own escort,
which must now be several miles on the Trail to Fort Larned.
Booth asked Captain Conkey what he thought of Hallowell's suggestion.
Captain Conkey replied: "Oh! there's not the slightest danger;
there hasn't been an Indian seen around here for over ten days."

If either Booth or Hallowell had been as well acquainted with the
methods and character of the plains Indians then as they afterward
became, they would have insisted upon an escort; but both were
satisfied that Captain Conkey knew what he was talking about,
so they concluded to push on.

Jumping into their wagon, Lieutenant Hallowell took the reins and
away they went rattling over the old log bridge that used to span
the Walnut at the crossing of the Old Santa Fe Trail, as light of
heart as if riding to a dance.

The morning was bright and clear with a stiff breeze blowing from
the northwest, and the Trail was frozen hard in places, which made
it very rough, as it had been cut up by the travel of the heavily
laden caravans when it was wet. Booth sat on the left side of
Hallowell with the whip in his hand, now and then striking the mules,
to keep up their speed. Hallowell started up a tune--he was a good
singer--and Booth joined in as they rolled along, as oblivious of any
danger as though they were in their quarters at Fort Riley.

After they had proceeded some distance, Hallowell remarked to Booth:
"The buffalo are grazing a long way from the road to-day; a circumstance
that I think bodes no good." He had been on the plains the summer
before, and was better acquainted with the Indians and their
peculiarities than Captain Booth; but the latter replied that he
thought it was because their escort had gone on ahead, and had
probably frightened them off.

The next mile or two was passed, and still they saw no buffalo between
the Trail and the Arkansas, though nothing more was said by either
regarding the suspicious circumstance, and they rode rapidly on.

When they had gone about five or six miles from the Walnut, Booth,
happening to glance toward the river, saw something that looked
strangely like a flock of turkeys. He watched them intently for a
moment, when the objects rose up and he discovered they were horsemen.
He grasped Hallowell by the arm, directing his attention to them, and
said, "What are they?" Hallowell gave a hasty look toward the point
indicated, and replied, "Indians! by George!" and immediately turning
the mules around on the Trail, started them back toward the cantonment
on the Walnut at a full gallop.[68]

"Hold on!" said Booth to Hallowell when he understood the latter's
movement; "maybe it's part of our escort."

"No! no!" replied Hallowell. "I know they are Indians; I've seen
too many of them to be mistaken."

"Well," rejoined Booth, "I'm going to know for certain"; so, stepping
out on the foot-board, and with one hand holding on to the front bow,
he looked back over the top of the wagon-sheet. They were Indians,
sure enough; they had fully emerged from the ravine in which they had
hidden, and while he was looking at them they were slipping off their
buffalo robes from their shoulders, taking arrows out of their quivers,
drawing up their spears, and making ready generally for a red-hot time.

While Booth was intently regarding the movements of the savages,
Hallowell inquired of him: "They're Indians, aren't they, Booth?"

"Yes," was Booth's answer, "and they're coming down on us like a
whirlwind."

"Then I shall never see poor Lizzie again!" said Hallowell. He had
been married only a few weeks before starting out on this trip, and
his young wife's name came to his lips.

"Never mind Lizzie," responded Booth; "let's get out of here!" He was
as badly frightened as Hallowell, but had no bride at Riley, and,
as he tells it, "was selfishly thinking of himself only, and escape."

In answer to Booth's remark, Hallowell, in a firm, clear voice, said:
"All right! You do the shooting, and I'll do the driving," and
suiting the action to the words, he snatched the whip out of Booth's
hand, slipped from the seat to the front of the wagon, and commenced
lashing the mules furiously.

Booth then crawled back, pulled out one of his revolvers, crept, or
rather fell, over the "lazy-back" of the seat, and reaching the hole
made by puckering the wagon-sheet, looked out of it, and counted
the Indians; thirty-four feather-bedecked, paint-bedaubed savages,
as vicious a set as ever scalped a white man, swooping down on them
like a hawk upon a chicken.

Hallowell, between his yells at the mules, cried out, "How far are
they off now, Booth?" for of course he could see nothing of what
was going on in his rear.

Booth replied as well as he could judge of the distance, while
Hallowell renewed his yelling at the animals and redoubled his
efforts with the lash.

Noiselessly the Indians gained on the little wagon, for they had not
as yet uttered a whoop, and the determined driver, anxious to know
how far the red devils were from him, again asked Booth. The latter
told him how near they were, guessing at the distance, from which
Hallowell gathered inspiration for fresh cries and still more vigorous
blows with his whip.

Booth, all this time, was sitting on the box containing the crackers
and sardines, watching the rapid approach of the cut-throats, and
seeing with fear and trembling the ease with which they gained upon
the little mules.

Once more Hallowell made his stereotyped inquiry of Booth; but before
the latter could reply, two shots were fired from the rifles of the
Indians, accompanied by a yell that was demoniacal enough to cause
the blood to curdle in one's veins. Hallowell yelled at the mules,
and Booth yelled too; for what reason he could not tell, unless to
keep company with his comrade, who plied the whip more mercilessly
than ever upon the poor animals' backs, and the wagon flew over
the rough road, nearly upsetting at every jump.

In another moment the bullets from two of the Indians' rifles passed
between Booth and Hallowell, doing no damage, and almost instantly
the savages charged upon them, at the same time dividing into two
parties, one going on one side and one on the other, both delivering
a volley of arrows into the wagon as they rode by.

Just as the savages rushed past the wagon, Hallowell cried out to
Booth, "Cap, I'm hit!" and turning around to look, Booth saw an arrow
sticking in Hallowell's head above his right ear. His arm was still
plying the whip, which was going on unceasingly as the sails of a
windmill, and his howling at the mules only stopped long enough to
answer, "Not much!" in response to Booth's inquiry of "Does it hurt?"
as he grabbed the arrow and pulled it out of his head.

The Indians had by this time passed on, and then, circling back,
prepared for another charge. Down they came, again dividing as before
into two bands, and delivering another shower of arrows. Hallowell
ceased his yelling long enough to cry out, "I'm hit once more, Cap!"
Looking at the plucky driver, Booth saw this time an arrow sticking
over his left ear, and hanging down his back. He snatched it out,
inquiring if it hurt, but received the same answer: "No, not much."

Both men were now yelling at the top of their voices; and the mules
were jerking the wagon along the rough trail at a fearful rate,
frightened nearly out of their wits at the sight of the Indians and
the terrible shouting and whipping of the driver.

Booth crawled to the back end of the wagon again, looked out of the
hole in the cover, and saw the Indians moving across the Trail,
preparing for another charge. One old fellow, mounted on a black
pony, was jogging along in the centre of the road behind them, but
near enough and evidently determined to send an arrow through the
puckered hole of the sheet. In a moment the savage stopped his pony
and let fly. Booth dodged sideways--the arrow sped on its course, and
whizzing through the opening, struck the black-walnut "lazy-back"
of the seat, the head sticking out on the other side, and the sudden
check causing the feathered end to vibrate rapidly with a vro-o-o-ing
sound. With a quick blow Booth struck it, and broke the shaft from
the head, leaving the latter embedded in the wood.

As quickly as possible, Booth rushed to the hole and fired his
revolver at the old devil, but failed to hit him. While he was
trying to get in another shot, an arrow came flying through from
the left side of the Trail, and striking him on the inside of the
elbow, or "crazy-bone," so completely benumbed his hand that he
could not hold on to the pistol, and it dropped into the road with
one load still in its chamber. Just then the mules gave an
extraordinary jump to one side, which jerked the wagon nearly from
under him, and he fell sprawling on the end-gate, evenly balanced,
with his hands on the outside, attempting to clutch at something to
save himself! Seeing his predicament, the Indians thought they had
him sure, so they gave a yell of exultation, supposing he must
tumble out, but he didn't; he fortunately succeeded in grabbing
one of the wagon-bows with his right hand and pulled himself in;
but it was a close call.

While all this was going on, Hallowell had not been neglected by
the Indians; about a dozen of them had devoted their time to him,
but he never flinched. Just as Booth had regained his equilibrium
and drawn his second revolver from its holster, Hallowell yelled
to him: "Right off to your right, Cap, quick!"

Booth tumbled over the back of the seat, and, clutching at a wagon-bow
to steady himself, he saw, "off to the right," an Indian who was in
the act of letting an arrow drive at Hallowell; it struck the side of
the box, and at the same instant Booth fired, scaring the red devil badly.

Back over the seat again he rushed to guard the rear, only to find
a young buck riding close to the side of the wagon, his pony running
in the deep path made by the ox-drivers in walking alongside of their
teams. Putting his left arm around one of the wagon-bows to prevent
his being jerked out, Booth quietly stuck his revolver through the
hole in the sheet; but before he could pull the trigger, the Indian
flopped over on the off side of his pony, and nothing could be seen
of him excepting one arm around his animal's neck and from the knee
to the toes of one leg. Booth did not wait for him to ride up;
he could almost hit the pony's head with his hand, so close was he
to the wagon. Booth struck at the beast several times, but the
Indian kept him right up in his place by whipping him on the opposite
of his neck. Presently the plucky savage's arm began to move.
Booth watched him intently, and saw that he had fixed an arrow in
his bow under the pony's shoulder; just as he was on the point of
letting go the bowstring, with the head of the arrow not three feet
from Booth's breast as he leaned out of the hole, the latter struck
frantically at the weapon, dodged back into the wagon, and up came
the Indian. Whenever Booth looked out, down went the Indian on
the other side of his pony, to rise again in a moment, and Booth,
afraid to risk himself with his head and breast exposed at this game
of hide and seek, drew suddenly back as the Indian went down the
third time, and in a second came up; but this was once too often.
Booth had not dodged completely into the wagon, nor dropped his
revolver, and as the Indian rose he fired.

The savage was naked to the waist; the ball struck him in the left
nipple, the blood spirted out of the wound, his bow and arrows and
lariat, with himself, rolled off the pony, falling heavily on the
ground, and with one convulsive contraction of his legs and an "Ugh!"
he was as dead as a stone.

"I've killed one of 'em!" called out Booth to Hallowell, as he saw
his victim tumble from his pony.

"Bully for you, Cap!" came Hallowell's response as he continued his
shouting, and the blows of that tireless whip fell incessantly on
the backs of the poor mules.

After he had killed the warrior, Booth kept his seat on the cracker box,
watching to see what the Indians were going to do next, when he was
suddenly interrupted by Hallowell's crying out to him: "Off to the
right again, Cap, quick!" and, whirling around instantly, he saw an
Indian within three feet of the wagon, with his bow and arrow almost
ready to shoot; there was no time to get over the seat, and as he
could not fire so close to Hallowell, he cried to the latter:
"Hit him with the whip! Hit him with the whip!" The lieutenant
diverted one of the blows intended for the mules, and struck the
savage fairly across the face. The whip had a knot in the end of it
to prevent its unravelling, and this knot must have hit the Indian
squarely in the eye; for he dropped his bow, put both hands up to
his face, rubbed his eyes, and digging his heels into his pony's
sides was soon out of range of a revolver; but, nevertheless, he was
given a parting shot as a sort of salute.

A terrific yell from the rear at this moment caused both Booth and
Hallowell to look around, and the latter to inquire: "What's the
matter now, Booth?" "They are coming down on us like lightning,"
said he; and, sure enough, those who had been prancing around their
dead comrade were tearing along the Trail toward the wagon with a
more hideous noise than when they began.

Hallowell yelled louder than ever and lashed the mules more furiously
still, but the Indians gained upon them as easily as a blooded racer
on a common farm plug. Separating as before, and passing on each
side of the wagon, they delivered another volley of bullets and
arrows as they rushed on.

When this charge was made, Booth drew away from the hole in the rear
and turned toward the Indians, but forgot that as he was sitting,
with his back pressed against the sheet, his body was plainly outlined
on the canvas.

When the Indians dashed by Hallowell cried out, "I'm hit again, Cap!"
and Booth, in turning around to go to his relief, felt something
pulling at him; and glancing over his left shoulder he discovered
an arrow sticking into him and out through the wagon-sheet. With a
jerk of his body, he tore himself loose, and going to Hallowell,
asked him where he was hit. "In the back," was the reply; where
Booth saw an arrow extending under the "lazy-back" of the seat.
Taking hold of it, Booth gave a pull, but Hallowell squirmed so that
he desisted. "Pull it out!" cried the plucky driver. Booth thereupon
took hold of it again, and giving a jerk or two, out it came. He was
thoroughly frightened as he saw it leave the lieutenant's body;
it seemed to have entered at least six inches, and the wound appeared
to be a dangerous one. Hallowell, however, did not cease for a moment
belabouring the mules, and his yells rang out as clear and defiant
as before.

After extracting the arrow from Hallowell's back, Booth turned again
to the opening in the rear of the wagon to see what new tricks the
devils were up to, when Hallowell again called out, "Off to the left,
Cap, quick!"

Rushing to the front as soon as possible, Booth saw one of the savages
in the very act of shooting at Hallowell from the left side of the
wagon, not ten feet away. The last revolver was empty, but something
had to be done at once; so, levelling the weapon at him, Booth shouted
"Bang! you son-of-a-gun!" Down the Indian ducked his head; rap, rap,
went his knees against his pony's sides, and away he flew over
the prairie!

Back to his old place in the rear tumbled Booth, to load his revolver.
The cartridges they used in the army in those days were the
old-fashioned kind made of paper. Biting off one end, he endeavoured
to pour the powder into the chamber of the pistol; but as the wagon
was tumbling from side to side, and jumping up and down, as it fairly
flew over the rough Trail, more fell into the bottom of the wagon
than into the revolver. Just as he was inserting a ball, Hallowell
yelled, "To the left, Cap, quick!"

Over the seat Booth piled once more, and there was another Indian
with his bow and arrow all ready to pinion the brave lieutenant.
Pointing his revolver at him, Booth yelled as he had at the other,
but this savage had evidently noticed the first failure, and concluded
there were no more loads left; so, instead of taking a hasty departure,
he grinned demoniacally and endeavoured to fix the arrow in his bow.
Booth rose up in the wagon, and grasping hold of one of its bows
with his left hand, seized the revolver by the muzzle, and with all
the force he could muster hurled it at the impudent brute. It was
a Remington, its barrel octagon-shaped, with sharp corners, and when
it was thrown, it turned in the air, and striking the Indian
muzzle-first on the ribs, cut a long gash.

"Ugh!" he grunted, as, dropping his bow and spear, he flung himself
over the side of his pony, and away he went across the prairie.

Only one revolver remaining now, and that empty, with the savages
still howling around the apparently doomed men like so many demons!
Booth fell over the seat, as was his usual fate whenever he attempted
to get to the back of the wagon, picked up the empty revolver, and
tried to load it; but before he could bite the end of a cartridge,
Hallowell yelled, "Cap, I'm hit again!"

"Where this time?" inquired Booth, anxiously. "In the hand," replied
Hallowell; and, looking around, Booth noticed that although his right
arm was still thrashing at the now lagging mules with as much energy
as ever, through the fleshy part of the thumb was an arrow, which was
flopping up and down as he raised and lowered his hand in ceaseless
efforts to keep up the speed of the almost exhausted animals.

"Let me pull it out," said Booth, as he came forward to do so.

"No, never mind," replied Hallowell; "can't stop! can't stop!" and up
and down went the arm, and flip, flap, went the arrow with it, until
finally it tore through the flesh and fell to the ground.

Along they bowled, the Indians yelling, and the occupants of the
little wagon defiantly answering them, while Booth continued to
struggle desperately with that empty pistol, in his vain efforts
to load it. In another moment Hallowell shouted, "Booth, they are
trying to crowd the mules into the sunflowers!"

Alongside of the Trail huge sunflowers had grown the previous summer,
and now their dry stalks stood as thick as a cane-brake; if the wagon
once got among them, it would be impossible for the mules to keep up
their gallop. The savages seemed to realize this; for one huge old
fellow kept riding alongside the off mule, throwing his spear at him
and then jerking it back with the thong, one end of which was fastened
to his wrist. The near mule was constantly pushed further and further
from the Trail by his mate, which was jumping frantically, scared out
of his senses by the Indian.

At this perilous juncture, Booth stepped out on the foot-board of
the wagon, and, holding on by a bow, commenced to kick the frightened
mule vigorously, while Hallowell pulled on one line, whipping and
yelling at the same time; so together they succeeded in forcing the
animals back into the Trail.

The Indians kept close to the mules in their efforts to force them
into the sunflowers, and Booth made several attempts to scare the
old fellow that was nearest by pointing his empty revolver at him,
but he would not scare; so in his desperation Booth threw it at him.
He missed the old brute, but hit his pony just behind its rider's leg,
which started the animal into a sort of a stampede; his ugly master
could not control him, and thus the immediate peril from the
persistent cuss was delayed.

Now the pair were absolutely without firearms of any kind, with
nothing left except their sabres and valises, and the savages came
closer and closer. In turn the two swords were thrown at them as they
came almost within striking distance; then followed the scabbards,
as the howling fiends surrounded the wagon and attempted to spear
the mules. Fortunately their arrows were exhausted.

The cantonment on the Walnut was still a mile and a half away, and
there was nothing for our luckless travellers to do but whip and kick,
both of which they did most vigorously. Hallowell sat as immovable
as the Sphinx, excepting his right arm, which from the moment they
had started on the back trail had not once ceased its incessant motion.

Happening to cast his eyes back on the Trail, Booth saw to his dismay
twelve or fifteen of the savages coming up on the run with fresh
energy, their spears poised ready for action, and he felt that
something must be done very speedily to divert them; for if these
added their number to those already surrounding the wagon, the chances
were they would succeed in forcing the mules into the sunflowers,
and his scalp and Hallowell's would dangle at the belt of the leader.

Glancing around in the bottom of the wagon for some kind of weapon,
his eye fell on the two valises containing the dress-suits.
He snatched up his own, and threw it out while the pursuers were yet
five or six rods in the rear. The Indians noticed this new trick
with a great yell of satisfaction, and the moment they arrived at
the spot where the valise lay, all dismounted; one of them, seizing
it by the two handles, pulled with all his strength to open it, and
when he failed, another drew a long knife from under his blanket and
ripped it apart. He then put his hand in, pulling out a sash, which
he began to wind around his head, like a negress with a bandanna,
letting the tassels hang down his back. While he was thus amusing
himself, one of the others had taken out a dress-coat, a third a pair
of drawers, and still another a shirt, which they proceeded to put on,
meanwhile dancing around and howling.

Booth told Hallowell of the sacrifice of the valise, and said,
"I'm going to throw out yours." "All right," replied Hallowell;
"all we want is time." So out it went on the Trail, and shared
the same fate as the other.

The lull in hostilities caused by their outstripping their pursuers
gave the almost despairing men time to talk over their situation.
Hallowell said he did not propose to be captured and then butchered
or burned at the pleasure of the Indians. He said to Booth: "If they
kill one of the mules, and so stop us, let's kick, strike, throw dirt
or anything, and compel them to kill us on the spot." So it was agreed,
if the worst came to the worst, to stand back to back and fight.

During this discussion the arm of Hallowell still plied the effective
lash, and they drew perceptibly nearer the camp, and as they caught
the first glimpse of its tents and dugouts, hope sprang up within them.
The mules were panting like a hound after a deer; wherever the
harness touched them, it was white with lather, and it was evident
they could keep on their feet but a short time longer. Would they
hold out until the bridge was reached? The whipping and the kicking
had but little effect on them now. They still continued their gallop,
but it was slower and more laboured than before.

The Indians who had torn open the valises had not returned to the
chase, and although there were still a sufficient number of the
fiends pursuing to make it interesting, they did not succeed in
spearing the mules, as at every attempt the plucky animals would
jump sideways or forward and evade the impending blow.

The little log bridge was reached; the savages had all retreated,
but the valorous Hallowell kept the mules at their fastest pace.
The bridge was constructed of half-round logs, and of course was
extremely rough; the wagon bounded up and down enough to shake the
teeth out of one's head as the little animals went flying over it.
Booth called out to Hallowell, "No need to drive so fast now,
the Indians have all left us"; but he replied, "I ain't going to stop
until I get across"; and down came the whip, on sped the mules,
not breaking their short gallop until they were pulled up in front
of Captain Conkey's quarters.

The rattling of the wagon on the bridge was the first intimation
the garrison had of its return.

The officers came running out of their tents, the enlisted men poured
out of their dugouts like a lot of ants, and Booth and Hallowell were
surrounded by their friends in a moment. Captain Conkey ordered his
bugler to sound "Boots and Saddles," and in less than ten minutes
ninety troopers were mounted, and with the captain at their head
started after the Indians.

When Hallowell tried to rise from his seat so as to get out every
effort only resulted in his falling back. Some one stepped around
to the other side to assist him, when it was discovered that the
skirt of his overcoat had worked outside of the wagon-sheet and
hung over the edge, and that three or four of the arrows fired at him
by the savages had struck the side of the wagon, and, passing through
the flap of his coat, had pinned him down. Booth pulled the arrows
out and helped him up; he was pretty stiff from sitting in his cramped
position so long, and his right arm dropped by his side as if paralysed.

Booth stood looking on while his comrade's wounds were being dressed,
when the adjutant asked him: "What makes you shrug your shoulder so?"
He answered, "I don't know; something makes it smart." The officer
looked at him and said, "Well, I don't wonder; I should think it
would smart; here's an arrow-head sticking into you," and he tried
to pull it out, but it would not come. Captain Goldsborough then
attempted it, but was not any more successful. The doctor then told
them to let it alone, and he would attend to Booth after he had done
with Hallowell. When he examined Booth's shoulder, he found that
the arrow-head had struck the thick portion of the shoulder-blade,
and had made two complete turns, wrapping itself around the muscles,
which had to be cut apart before the sharp point could be withdrawn.

Booth was not seriously hurt. Hallowell, however, had received two
severe wounds; the arrow that had lodged in his back had penetrated
almost to his kidneys, and the wound in his thumb was very painful,
not so much from the simple impact of the arrow as from the tearing
away of the muscle by the shaft while he was whipping his mules;
his right arm, too, was swollen terribly, and so stiff from the
incessant use of it during the drive that for more than a month
he required assistance in dressing and undressing.

The mules who had saved their lives were of small account after
their memorable trip; they remained stiff and sore from the rough
road and their continued forced speed. Booth and Hallowell went out
to look at them the next morning, as they hobbled around the corral,
and from the bottom of their hearts wished them well.

Captain Conkey's command returned to the cantonment about midnight.
But one Indian had been seen, and he was south of the Arkansas in
the sand hills.

The next morning a scouting-party of forty men, under command of a
sergeant, started out to scour the country toward Cow Creek,
northeast from the Walnut.

As I have stated, the troopers stationed at the cantonment on the
Walnut were mostly recruits. Now the cavalry recruit of the old
regular army on the frontier, thirty or forty years ago, mounted on
a great big American horse and sent out with well-trained comrades
on a scout after the hostile savages of the plains, was the most
helpless individual imaginable. Coming fresh from some large city
probably, as soon as he arrived at his station he was placed on the
back of an animal of whose habits he knew as little as he did of the
differential calculus; loaded down with a carbine, the muzzle of which
he could hardly distinguish from the breech; a sabre buckled around
his waist; a couple of enormous pistols stuck in his holsters;
his blankets strapped to the cantle of his saddle, and, to complete
the hopelessness of his condition in a possible encounter with a
savage enemy who was ever on the alert, he was often handicapped by
a camp-kettle or two, a frying-pan, and ten days' rations. No wonder
this doughty representative of Uncle Sam's power was an easy prey for
"Poor Lo," who, when he caught the unfortunate soldier away from his
command and started after him, must have laughed at the ridiculous
appearance of his enemy, with both hands glued to the pommel of his
saddle, his hair on end, his sabre flying and striking his horse at
every jump as the animal tore down the trail toward camp, while the
Indian, rapidly gaining, in a few minutes had the scalp of the hapless
rider dangling at his belt, and another of the "boys in blue" had
joined the majority.

The scouting-party had proceeded about four or five miles, when one
of the corporals asked permission for himself and a recruit to go
over to the Upper Walnut to find out whether they could discover
any signs of Indians.

While they were carelessly riding along the big curve which the
northern branch of the Walnut makes at that point, there suddenly
sprang from their ambush in the timber on the margin of the stream
about three hundred Indians, whooping and yelling. The two troopers
of course, immediately whirled their horses and started down the
creek toward the camp, hotly pursued by the howling savages.

The corporal was an excellent rider; a well-trained and disciplined
soldier, having seen much service on the plains. He led in the flight,
closely followed by the unfortunate recruit, who had been enlisted
but a short time. Not more than an eighth of a mile had been covered,
when the corporal heard his companion exclaim,--

"Don't leave me! Don't leave me!"

Looking back, the corporal saw that the poor recruit was losing ground
rapidly; his horse was rearing and plunging, making very little
headway, while his rider was jerking and pulling on the bit, a curb
of the severest kind. Perceiving the strait his comrade was in,
the corporal reined up for a moment and called out,--

"Let him go! Let him go! Don't jerk on the bit so!"

The Indians were gaining ground rapidly, and in another moment the
corporal heard the recruit again cry out,--

"Oh! Don't--"

Realizing that it would be fatal to delay, and that he could be of
no assistance to his companion, already killed and scalped, he leaned
forward on his horse, and sinking his spurs deep in the animal's
flanks fairly flew down the valley, with the three hundred savages
close in his wake.

The officers at the camp were sitting in their tents when the sentinel
on post No. 1 fired his piece, upon which all rushed out to learn
the cause of the alarm; for there was no random shooting in those
days allowed around camp or in garrison. Looking up the valley of
the Walnut, they could see the lucky corporal, with his long hair
streaming in the wind, and his heels rapping his horse's sides, as he
dashed over the brown sod of the winter prairie.

The corporal now slackened his pace, rode up to the commanding
officer's tent, reported the affair, and then was allowed to go to
his own quarters for the rest he so much needed.

Captain Conkey immediately ordered a mounted squad, accompanied by an
ambulance, to go up the creek to recover the body of the unfortunate
recruit. The party were absent a little over an hour, and brought
back with them the remains of the dead soldier. He had been shot
with an arrow, the point of which was still sticking out through his
breast-bone. His scalp had been torn completely off, and the lapels
of his coat and the legs of his trousers carried away by the savages.
He was buried the next morning with military honours, in the little
graveyard on the bank of the Walnut, where his body still rests in
the dooryard of the ranch.