The outfit was ordered into camp near the fort, with everybody planning for the westward trip. Our chagrin and disappointment may be imagined when we learned that the whole train was to be sold by the Government, to which it belonged. The country was now green with growing grass, and the cattle were getting sleek and fat. The orderly came and told us to assemble the train in front of the quartermaster's office. The wagons were strung out one after the other until they formed a line half a mile in length. An auctioneer stood in front of the building and cried the sale; as soon as one wagon and team was sold another took its place. The teams were bought in at from $1600 to $1800 each, wagons included, and the twenty-five wagons and three hundred bulls were bought by one man; his name was Kirkendall. He had been master of transportation at Fort Leavenworth. Kirkendall hired our train-master, and he in turn hired all the men who wanted to remain with the outfit. About half the men quit, and their places were filled with fresh bull-whackers. Some of the latter had never seen a bull train, and had lots to learn.
By this time I had begun feeling that I was an old hand. When I was first employed I found it difficult to yoke my oxen, but my small size appealed to the men, and there was always somebody willing to help me. I was now able to yoke my own oxen.
We lay in camp wondering where Kirkendall would send us. In a few days orders came for us to pull out for Fort Collins, Colorado, with government supplies. I bubbled over with joy, for now I was headed for the Plains. Kirkendall received twenty-five cents a pound for the freight he took out. Each wagon was loaded with about seven hundred pounds of freight, consisting of flour, bacon, sugar, coffee, ammunition, etc. This outfit was made up of twenty-five teamsters, one wagon master, one assistant wagon master, one night herder, and one extra man to take the place of any man that might fall sick. Each man was provided with a gun and ammunition.
Before hiring to Kirkendall, we had been paid off, and I had more money than I had ever dreamed I would possess at one time. According to the custom of the country, and not without some inclination and vanity of my own, I began investing in good clothes, notably a big sombrero, a Colt's revolver, a butcher knife, a belt, and a bull whip. For the latter I paid $7. His whip was the bull-whacker's pride, and around it circles all his ambition and prowess. Dan bought a similar outfit. I doubt if two boys ever felt more important. I am sure that the older men must have smiled at the two youngsters, each buried beneath his big hat and leaning to one side under the weight of his "shooting irons." How impatient we were for the start! The days seemed to stretch into months. At last, however, we were ready, and whooping farewells, we pulled out.
Little did we dream of the hardships ahead of us. In the comfort of our winter camp we had seen ourselves traveling across the Plains in the bright sunshine of spring, the grass green, the birds singing, and the streams flashing along the way. The winter rains and frosts had made the roads miry and seemingly without bottom. We had gone along without serious trouble until we reached Salt Creek valley. Here we had to pass through a long lane where the mud was hub deep. We did not realize how bad it was until we were well into the lane. Often we were compelled to put twenty-four oxen to one wagon to pull through some of the bad places. This valley was three or four miles wide, and it took us all day to get across. A man's patience was thoroughly tried, and that day I heard more different kinds of swearing than could be put into a dictionary. After getting out we laid over all next day resting and making repairs. One wagon was sent back to Leavenworth City for material to repair things that had been broken. In Salt Creek valley was pointed out to me a small road in which was said to be Buffalo Bill's old home.
The road grew better in the neighborhood of Maysville, Kansas, on the Big Blue, where there were a good many settlers. We were making between eight and ten miles a day. The Big Blue is a swift stream, and at the time was in flood, which caused us much trouble in crossing, as cattle do not take well to water, especially when pulling loaded wagons. We doubled our teams, cracked our whips, and forced the reluctant oxen into the torrent with a man on horseback swimming on each side of them, and in this way they swam and struggled to the further shore. Often the oxen were in danger of drowning, but the whole outfit was crossed without the loss of a single animal.
At this crossing the river made a bend, and the road took the direction of what was called the "dry" route. So we filled our canteens with water and left the river about three o'clock in the afternoon, driving until late that night, and making a dry camp. Next day brought us to the Little Blue, a tributary of the Big Blue. From there our route bore more to the north, going upstream, and in about three days we were in sight of Fort Kearney, Nebraska, and from there by making a long drive, we got to the Platte River in one day.
All the while since leaving Fort Leavenworth I had been tense with the expectation of seeing a war party of painted Indians, or a herd of buffaloes sweeping over the Plains. Neither had come to pass, and I was keenly disappointed.
When we got to the Platte, we struck a main traveled road leading out from Omaha, Nebraska, St. Joseph, Missouri, and Atchison, Kansas. These three towns were the main shipping points on the Missouri River at that time. Here we could see trains moving along or in camp on the road. Our route led straight up the valley, and in two days we reached a stage station called Plum Creek, where in later years hostile Indians committed many depredations. There seemed to be something in the very air at Plum Creek that was different from what we had left behind. A feeling of danger, invisible but present, all of which was manifested when an escort of United States soldiers moved out ahead of us when the bull train started.
This meant that we were in a dangerous locality. In my boyish enthusiasm I was delighted instead of being fearful, for it looked as if we were going into the enemies' country, and from all indications we were, for we could see where the Indians had raided the settlements the previous year. At different places where there had been a road ranch or a small store, their ruins told the tale of fire and rapine by savage Indians. These buildings were built mostly of sod, as there was no timber in the country. Here and there we passed a grave at the side of the road. The raiding had been done by the Sioux. Practically the only buildings in this part of the country were the way stations and home stations of the overland stage company which ran from the Missouri River to California.
After leaving Julesburg, Nebraska, the country became much wilder. We saw great herds of antelope and many deer. I was impatient for the sight of buffaloes, and it seemed strange to me that none had appeared. As a matter of fact they had not worked that far north, but were coming later. All along the road after we got on the overland stage route, the stage drivers, who always drove in a gallop as they passed us, would cry out "Indians on ahead! Better look out!" This we found was done jokingly, to alarm such tenderfeet as might be among us, and we soon paid no attention to it, when we encountered no Indians.
Julesburg consisted of a couple of stores and two or three saloons. Here we got a fresh escort of soldiers. Between Plum Creek and Julesburg we passed a big square stone on which was inscribed "Daniel Boone" and other inscriptions, one saying that further information could be found on the other side, meaning the bottom. This stone was so big that twelve men could not move it. We saw where teams had been hitched to it and the stone overturned. We did the same thing, and found the same inscription on the bottom. I doubt if ever a bull train passed that way without turning that big boulder to satisfy its curiosity.
Three days out from Julesburg we left the Platte, and struck a trail called the dry route, at what was known as Freeman's Orchard. There was no sign of an orchard, however. The South Platte had to be forded, and it was a different stream from any we had crossed. We stood in dread of it, as the current was swift and its shores rocky. It took us a whole day to get over, and some wagons had to be partly unloaded.
There were only three horses in the outfit, used by the wagon master, his assistant, and the night herder. They were a great help to us in crossing these streams, as the cattle would follow the horses when no amount of whipping could make them take the bad place. Traveling north, we came to the "Cash la Poole," a beautiful mountain stream in Colorado, beyond which was Fort Collins, which we reached in August, being on the road two and one-half months.
I now saw mountains for the first time. Fort Collins was situated on the "Cash la Poole" in the foothills. Long before we got there they seemed to hang in the sky like clouds. The population of Fort Collins was mostly post traders and soldiers. We remained there about a week, unloading supplies and resting the