The Ways of the Wilderness. (Two Weeks ago Mr. Wells told of his first appearance in Kansas and his maiden buffalo hunt. He resumes the story of his life on the plains where he left off.)

(From the Rooks County Record, July 12, 1917.)

I went to work as a general roustabout in the roundhouse of the U. P. at Junction City, in the winter of '67 and '68. I had while there two narrow escapes from worse dangers than anything the howling wilderness could produce in the way of wild beasts or men, tho of these I was soon to gee plenty. One miraculous deliverance occurred when a mechanic wrenched off a blowoff cock on the engine while he and I were underneath. The rush of boiling water and steam was, the most frightful thing ! was ever up against, but we got away in a rare undone condition by flattening ourselves on either side of a jet that poured its blast out into the building. I got out under the cow-catcher. ,.The other menace to my safety resulted from a foolish prank played on Old Mike, a mad Irishman. Talk about Indians or avenging furies–this old bibulous railroad hand on the rampage was far more to be feared. He threw a heavy poker at me, Which went thru both windows of engine cab, and he chased me out into the bitter cold night where I staid till morning. When I met him again I literally went down on my knees and begged for mercy, which prayer found a readier answer than some I have' heard addressed to a more august tribunal. He spared me but the boss didn't spare either of us, we both got fired and here ended my railroad career.  Into the Wilds Alone.        In, a few days an overland stage driver showed up; said he wanted to go out on the Solomon river and was hunting a partner. We bought a team and covered wagon together; then an agent told us that a white man couldn't live out there; whereupon my partner weakened and sold me his interest. Perhaps his desire to unload was more induced by the fact that one of the animals was balky than by the dangers suggested by the agent.       I went up on the Solomon in February, 1868, all alone. There was snow on the ground and I camped out of doors at night, from necessity, there being few habitations in the country I traversed. When I got up in the country where I had hunted the fall

before, I stayed with Capt. Ports over on the river. My idea was to get a claim. I heard that government wagon bosses were up on Asher Creek. I would travel all day and not see anybody but would be followed continually by a gang of little coyotes waiting for me to kill something. One of my horses got sick while I was at Tom Howie's. He was a Scotchman, 45 years old, well read, and had been a wagon boss on the plains. He had a big underground stable, and kindly made room for my horses. He said there was a couple of trappers there who had asked if anybody was going out on a buffalo hunt that spring; they were going to start on an expedition in a couple of days. They were Tune Bulis and Whit McConnell, and the next morning I met for the first time these brave men, who a few years later became citizens of Stockton. They said I might go with them. They had an outfit of horses and wagon, so I left my sick horse and took the well one, riding in the wagon with them. We went on up to the head of Limestone Creek, and all slept in the wagon.  John Sees Ghosts.        The first night out I got a good scare all by myself. It was bright moonlight and I was wakeful. Raising the wagon sheet I thought I saw an Indian coming over the bank, his figure plainly outlined against the snowy background. My hair stood on end and my spine had that creepy feeling experienced by those who are badly scared." Still I did not call out, or wake my companions, and I was soon glad, for the savage did not move; and finally out of the weirdness of the night he resolved himself into a depression of the bank, causing a shadow that my vivid imagination framed into the shape of a man. I believe I was worse frightened than afterwards when I was in actual danger from real flesh and blood "varmints." Years later when I told Whit about my midnight alarm, he said that a fellow who could keep still under such circumstances would do to tie to. I didn't, take much credit to myself for I sure was speechless with fright.

 
 

Thanksgiving Every Day.        The next day we got into a big clump of cottonwood trees which was a wild turkey roost, and they came by hundreds at night. We killed several and sliced big strips from their breasts like steaks and fried them. They were mighty good for awhile, but soon palled on the taste like a buffalo diet, and in the three or four days we were there, got us out of condition. It was a time when the cholera raged among the laborers on the U. P., killing them off like sheep, and we suffered in a measure from the epidemic. I was laid up for two days. Our only medicine was the plainsman's remedy, a tea made from oak bark, steeped by McConnell. It was a powerful astrin- gent and did the 'business. I drank a lot of it and was soon on my feet again.       My business was to stay in camp. Personally I .never cared very much about hunting. I carried no rifle– only a six-shooter. With that I raised one day a big lobo wolf who was sleeping in the sun across the creek My bullet struck the ground where he was stretched out and passed right under him, grazing his hide. He jumped five feet straight up, ran for ten rods, looked over the entire horizon for his enemy and then made for the open. I laughed so that I forgot to shoot again.       Bulls and McConnell finally secured the load of meat and we drove back to Asher Creek. I stayed with Ton Howie and Bill Joiner. The latter was an Englishman. In the fall he went to the railroad and worked down to Vinita, Indian Territory, where he married a squaw, and became a member by marriage of the Cherokee tribe. He was her third husband, but he skimmed the matrimonial cream, for he became very wealthy through his association with the redskins. A decade ago I read of his death at 80 years. Howie and Joiner put me on a claim on Plum Creek, which is the first creek east of what is now Beloit, then Willow Springs. I had to contest it from Jim Duff, who is now living in Beloit. He had taken it a year before, but seemed to have abandoned it. However not wishing to stir up anything, as jumping a claim in those days was classed with horse-stealing, I went to him and said I didn't want it if it was his, and he told me to go ahead, as he had another claim he liked better, and wouldn't go back to it.

Vouched for Pawnee Charley.       While at Howie's I was told of parties of Pawnees who had gone south a month before to steal ponies from the Arapahoes and Comanches in the Territory, on the theory that it was cheaper, and certainly less trouble to steal them than to raise them. These Indians were coming back in bunches of two or three, and sometimes a dozen in a band, driving their ponies, some- times loaded with lots of valuable plunder. They were all professional robbers, as had been their forefathers back to the beginning of time. One of these gentlemen of the trail handed me his credentials, which was a letter of recommendation from somebody up in Nebraska, saying, "This is Pawnee nee Charley; please give him some- thing to eat. He is a good Indian, if there is any." I handed his questionable endorsement back with a laugh that Poor Lo was not able to comprehend. He carried it fiat between a couple of shingles, and no doubt received many a hand-out on it.  Myriads of Buffalo.        On April 20 I was on my place, making my settlement according to the homestead laws. The migration of buffalo northward commenced, and there was no cessation until the first of June. They would bank up during the day on the other side of the creek, only a few herds crossing in daylight. At night the great mass would move on, when the whole hours of darkness would be filled with the terrifying bellowing of thousands of these mighty beasts and the constant beating of their hoofs as the innumerable host moved on. One might think that all the buffalo in the world were passing. One day I stood on a high bluff near my house, and with a field glass tried to see the outer line of this tremendous herd. I could see about 30 miles in one direction and the entire face of the earth was covered with buffalo. And would you think, that all the animals I looked at were old bulls? Where were the cows I could not tell, but doubtless there was another host beyond my ken, moving forward to their own northern goal. Remember that this movement was kept up for six weeks, during which there must have been hundreds of thousands going over that part of Mitchell county. All that I saw had the big shaggy heads and the horns.

 
 

I had a neighbor, Beckford, on another creek. He was a man of 70 years. He had a yoke of oxen, named Mike and Lyon, which he said had gone off with the buffalo, and wanted me to help him find them. One had a bell and we expected we might hear it in the midst of the babel of other sounds. We rode all day long right in among the buffalo, clear to the head of Plum Creek and finally gave it up. When we got back another bunch of buffalo was passing the house, and in among them were the oxen. They had hidden out all day, presumably to avoid doing their daily task. Unbidden Guests.         One day a settler came from over on the river and reported that a band of 40 Arapaho Indians and a white man were coming. The Arapahoes were from the lndian Territory and were after the thieving Pawnees who had stolen their ponies. The white man said he was an Indian agent, but had the appearance of the traditional "Bad man from Bitter Creek." I stayed in my shanty when the Indians appeared This abode of mine was diminutive. It had been dug out of the bank, faced up with sod and roofed with poles and dirt. It had a certain individuality about it which you could detect at a glance–one individual, not two or a dozen. You had to stoop to get in the doorway and inside it was not much more than six feet square. My predecessor, Jim Duff had built it, and I inherited it.       Two of the redskins came in. More might have come in to see me if the air space had been larger, but two were all that I could play the unwilling host to. They were young bucks and well armed by Uncle Sam.  Bone-Dry Detectives        They were very curious and showed no hesitancy about appropriating anything they could find lying around loose One discovered a bottle under my bunk containing a well known remedy for snake-bite. He looked upon it while "it stirred itself aright." and hoarsely inquired, "Visk?" "No," I said, "It is not whiskey." Then he pulled the cork and smelled. A heavenly smile broke over his countenance as the eager expectant query came forth 'Visk.?" Again I protested that it

was not whisky, but bad medicine; poison. He offered me the bottle, with a gesture that I should taste it. I did; so did he, and so did his companion. He then with impressive gestures indicated what a fine time he and his fellow would have that night all by themselves. Others tried to crowd in, and he quickly hid his find under the folds of his blanket, giving me an unmistakable wink. I never saw that bottle again.         Each Indian rode one pony and led another, his war pony. I asked one where he was going. He pointed off north. I said, "What for?" He replied, "Pawnee, Pawnee."         I asked, "What have they done to you?" Pointing south he said, "Heap pony; heap pony." "What will you do with them ?" was my next query; to which a horribly suggestive motion indicating a patch on the top of the head, made the words which followed quite understandable, "Heap scalp; heap scalp." Then they left and I saw them no more till the middle of August.