Democratic Sentinel, Volume 12, Number 10, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 March 1888 — ON THE PLAINS. [ARTICLE]

ON THE PLAINS.

BY FRED J. HAMILTON.

An accident had happened on the night express train coining into Buffalo, and a good many of the boys who were going west were compelled to stay over. I suppose there were a dozen or so who had assembled in the hotel parlor, and among them “Old Tom” Gregg. Everybody knows Tommy Gregg, who is one of the veteran drummers in the clothing trade. Tom is pretty well in years now, and although fairly well off he has never been married. He still aticks to the road with the pertinacity of a knight errant, for the simple reason that he can’t leave it alone. Be that as it may, Tommy was the life of the party, and the accident suggested the recital of several experiences under somewhat similar circumstances. Short and interesting stories were told of how several of the smart young men had got ahead of time even under more trying circumstances than a commonplace railroad collision. One reminiscence brought up another, and then Tom was asked to give his experience. The old fellow, for he must be well into the fifties, took a drink, laid down Lis cigar, and said: “Well, boys, I’ve told many yarns in my day, but there’s one subject upon which I have purposely kept silent. 1 think it is now about time to ‘let her go;’ but why I have kept silent is because I have been somewhat nervous about its moral effect, that is to say, that I was a little afraid I should be set down as the darndest liar in the business—not even excepting Dick Chapman yonder, who at present holds the champion’s belt for knocking out the truth. ” “Well, Tommy, you go ahead,” remarked Ed Green, who is in the suspender, or, as he calls it, the “stretcher” trade, “and if you can discount Chapman, you must be a daisy indeed!” Chapman said he had nothing to say, and even if he had it was too late to get a notary public to swear him on his affidavit

“But this yam is true, boys,” responded Gregg, earnestly, “and that’s why I’m shaky on the credit you’ll give it. Here goes, anyway: “It was in the year 18G7. I was commissioned by a St. Louis house to take charge of a wagon train, consisting of four wagons with a four-mule team to each, to carry a general cargo of clothing and furnishings to several sutler posts along the dry trail of the Arkansas River, taking in the military posts betweens Fort Hays, Kansas and Fort Union, New Mexico. It was a rough job, but there was lots of money in it both for the firm and myself, for I had the privilege of buying all the buffalo robes I could get on my return journey, and for a cup of molasses, a few beads and tobacco, I could buy from the Indians and the soldiers for a mere song No. 1 robes beautifully embroidered with bead-work that would sell readily in St. Louis at from $9 to sl2 apiece—goods for which the buyers could easily get double the money. “The firm had given me a letter to the Deputy Quartermaster General of the Department of the Missouri, which was then commanded by Gen. Hancock, who had his headquarters at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, requesting that I be furnished with such military protection as the rules of the service allowed. The goods were sent by rail to Leavenworth. where I was to hire my wagons', mules, and drivers, and buy one or two serviceable repeating rifles for additional security. “The venture was then a new one, and few firms except government contractors, sent their goods out in that way. The general rule was for remote frontier customers to come into St. Louis to buy them and cart them back at their own risk. “The experience was exciting and fascinated me, for I was then a young fellow, xobust, full of energy, and the opportunity promised me not only plenty of excitement but lots of profit as well. “General Easton, the deputy Quartermaster General, indorsed my application, and said I probably wouldn’t need it until I reached Fort Hays, near Hays City, at that time the terminus of the Eastern Division of the Union Pacific Railroad. “Much to my annoyance most of njy teamsters were ‘greasers’ (Mexicans), of Whom I engaged four, and two white men. The Mexicans wanted to get back, and I thought it might save a little money by hiring them. The two white wagon bosses wouldn’t move under $75 per month and rations. To these terms I was compelled to assent. “Well, we got our train into pretty good shape and reached Hays City, about three miles from the fort, in as many days. After that we struck Ellsworth City, one of those portable settlements composed principally of traders, toughs, saloon-keepers, and a dozen ‘emporiums of fashion’ patronized by the frontier dudes of those times. “They mentally overhauled my stock and fixin’s, and said I’d have no trouble in getting them off mj- hands, ‘provided I had « clar route.’ which meant if I hadn’t

trouble with the Indians. Then I presented my letter to the commanding officer at Fort Hays and got my first set-back. “He said he hadn’t any cavalrymen to spare, as the service needed all the force be had, but if I didn’t mind taking along two infantrymen who had charge of a deserter they would give me their services until I got to the next post at Monument Station, twelve miles away. I consented and it took us two days to make those twelve miles and most of the time the soldiers and their prisoner were soaked with liquor. However,they were tolerably goodnatured over their tin cups, and no harm came of it. On approaching Monument Station, which was under a bluff, we came across a coil of about thirty rattlesnakes partially embedded in the soil, where they had hidden for warmth, for it was in the month of November and bitterly cold. They were partially torpid, butthose which were in the inner coil slowly unwound themselves on our approach. “We fired several shots into them, and the result was that sections of rattlesnake were sent flying in all directions. The frozen and exposed reptiles were broken in two just as though you were splitting dry wood for kindling. It was the most curious sight you ever saw, and not without its comical side, too.” “Serio-comic,” chimed in Ed Green. “That’s knock-down No. 1 for Chapman, anyway.” “Well, if you fellers never saw a frozen rattlesnake that isn’t my fault,” replied Gregg. “But as I’m telling this story, and not you, I’ll take the responsibility for accuracy. Monument Station was a onehorse post, consisting mainly of adobe shanties half dug in the ground. I did a little business with the sutler, but I got no escort. We stayed there one night. It was here 1 got my first wrinkle in camp life on the plains. Before leaving one of the officers asked if I had a good tent. I said yes, but wondered what earthly use a tent would be at such a time of the year. He replied that if I didn’t want to freeze to death I shouldn’t attempt to sleep in the wagon, as, being new to the country, the exposure would affect me more rapidly than one who was acclimated.

“This was his advice: ‘l’ve tried it,’ he said, ‘ and I know what I'm talking about. Get your tent out; pitch it in front of your fire, say twelve feet away. Then should it snow, get one of your teamsters to dig a small trench about six inches deep, put a couple of buffalo robes iu it, lie down and have your men pack the snow tightly around the outer robe above you; crawl in and you’ll sleep as sound as a top. You’ll find it a big improvement on the wagon bed-room and you’ll not catch cold so readily. You will have iu addition what heat your feet can get from the fire and you will be able to arouse yourself much sooner in case of a surprise.’ “I tried it a dozen times or more, and have always found it work like a charm. I never got frost-bitten, nor have I had chills or fever, which so many people get in their first experience of'"'life on the plains. “To make a long story short, however, my venture proved remarkably successful. I visited Forts Hays, Harker, Zarah, Larned, and Fort Dodge. There was no such place as Dodge City in those days. I had sold three-fourths of my stock, and had had one or two skirmishes with Indians, but, fortunately, the four soldiers and a corporal who had been sent from Harker aided me materially in keeping them at a safe distance.

“My next stopping place was at Fort Union, N. M. I had been out about two days when my little party was surrounded by a gang of horse thieves, of whom there were a dozen, against myself and my six men. The Mexicans, with but one exception, turned cowards. The time of attack was about sunrise, and at first I thought they were Indians. Presently I recognized they were white men. Following the Indian fashion, they succeeded in stampeding the mules, after cutting the traces of the harness. Our attention was principally directed to the mules, which then formed the most valuable part of our outfit. “One of my white teamsters was shot through the right arm, which bled so copiously that I thought he was a goner. Placing a white handkerchief on the barrel of my rifle I signaled for a parley. “The leader lowered his weapon and came forward, as splendid a physical specimen of a man as I had ever seen.

“ ‘Wot goods ’ave you got thar"?’ “I told him that I had a small stock of woolen shirts, drawers, and the usual kind of clothing worn on the plains. “ ‘We heerd tell,’ he said, ‘as you was in this section hereabouts, an’ we want some o’ them clothes, an’ if yer don’t part civil we’ll make yer.’ “Of course I had to let him take his choice. Then at a signal five of his men covered us with their rifles while the rest went to the wagon in which the goods were, cut the bales and proceeded to help themselves, trying on the garments and leaving their discarded clothing in the wagon. This occupied not more than half an hour, and then the five men were relieved and they took their turn at dressing up in new toggery. Before saying good-by the leader said: ‘That man’s arm,’ referring to the wounded teamster, ‘is in a bad way. Guess if yer come to my ’oss (picketed about fifty away with the others) I’ve got summat in my saddle bag as ’ll do him good.’ I was struck by the man’s evident sincerity and accepted his offer of a small bundle of herbs. I used it with great advantage to the poor fellow, for it allayed the inflammation. Judging by the condition of the clothes they had left they sadly needed a change of raiment. But the istrangest part of the story is yet to coffie, for sewed up in the lining of an old vest, I found a small parcel containing nine diamonds and about four ounces of gold dust. The man had forgotten to take them in his hurry to get away. Well, gentlemen, those diamonds more than paid for the value of the stolen goods.

“The party were thorough desperadoes, and was composed, as I afterward learned, of deserters and miners who were wanted by the vigilantes in Colorado and New Mexico. “The mules returned—mules, by the way, always return to a good thing —and soon after we were met by a troop of the Tenth United States Cavalry, a portion of which escorted us safely into Fort Union.” “Well, and how much did you get for the diamonds, Tommy?” asked Chapman. “Exactly $722.” “Seems strange to me that they didn’t go for your money. Tuat’s the only suspicious omission in the story,” observed Ed. Green. “It wouldn’t have done ’em any good, because it was all in checks on the United States Depository at Leavenworth, and they couldn’t have cashed them. Any more questions, gentlemen?”— Clothier and Furnisher,