Hard knocks : a life story of the vanishing West

Dedication

TO those brave and generous men whom I met and knew along the rugged Life Journey herein described, I dedicate these treasures of a fruitful memory. May those who fell by the wayside rest peacefully, and those who still trudge on, find Life's Trail less difficult as they approach its end.

Harry Young

PUBLISHER'S NOTE

CHAPTER XXV 241 My Buffalo Venture in Portland

ADDENDA 243

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Opposite Page The Author, Harry ( Sam) Young % ^

The great gun fight between Kansas and Texas gun fighters in Tim Shea's dance hall, Newton, Kansas, 1867. ^ (Sketch) 16*^

The author killing his first buffalo, Southwestern Kansas. ,

(Sketch) ZliX

The invention of the author: Skinning buffalo by mule ,

power, Southwestern Kansas. (Sketch) 40 '^

J. B. Hickok (Wild Bill) 48 iX

The great Western peace officer. Marshal of the towns of

Hayes City, Abeline and Ellsworth, Kansas, from 1868

to 1870. (From a photo taken in 1871.)

A group of Dodge City, Kansas, gun fighters in 1870. (From ^

an old photo taken in Kansas City in 1871) 56

Calamity Jane, the great female character of Wyoming /

Frank Guard, the great Indian scout, 1875-6. (Sketch) ... 12^

The Deering massacre near Fort Laramie, 1873. (Sketch) 80 ^ v^

Sioux Indians running off K Co., 2nd Cavalry, horses, 1873,

Fort Laramie (Sketch) 88

Tieing a soldier up by the thumbs at Fort Laramie, Wyom- .

The author tied "spread eagle" on a cannon. Fort Fetterman, Wyoming, 1873. (Sketch) 104 '/'

Young Sioux Indians torturing themselves at their Sun

Dance, Red Cloud Agency, 1874. (Sketch) 112 ^

The hanging of three desperate characters at Laramie City,

Wyoming, Oct. 28, 1868. (From an old Daguerrotype) 120 •/'

Sioux Indians counting their virgins at their Sun Dance at /

Red Cloud Agency, 1874. (Sketch) 128 ^

Tusoh Kessler, a Sioux half-breed, escaping from Cheyenne

The death of Frank Appleton, acting agent Red Cloud

Agency, 1875. The true cause of the Sioux War, 1876. , /

(Sketch) 144 ^

California Joe, the great mountaineer and guide in the /

Black Hills, S. D. (Sketch) 160 ^

The author parking wood near Fort Fetterman, Wyoming,

where his partner, old Mack, was killed by Sioux In- /

dians. (Sketch) 176

The author and companions attacked by Sioux Indians,

Monument of the Rev. Smith, the pioneer minister of Dead- ^

wood, S. D., erected by the citizens 200

The death of Wild Bill, Aug. 2, 1876, at Deadwood, S. D. /

(Sketch) 208

Buffalo Bill Cody and friends visiting the grave of Wild ,

Bill at Deadwood, S. D., 1906 216

The Indian head celebration at Deadwood, S. D., 1876.

(Sketch) 224 '

The author scalping a dead Sioux Indian, 1876. (Sketch) 240*^

NOTE: The illustrations in "Hard Knocks" after which the word "sketch" appears, were drawn from descriptions furnished by the author.

THE AUTHOR Harry (Sam) Young

HARD KNOCKS

Chapter I

A LIFE IN SUMMARY— EFFECTS OF DIME NOVEL LITER- ATURE— A FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD RUNAWAY— THE LOST BROTHER— ALONE IN NEW YORK— OFF FOR THE WESTERN PLAINS— MY STRANGE FRIEND, "THE HEALER."

IN this country where blood and station count for naught, and where the race of hfe is open to all comers, it is for little more than a mere matter of record to say that I, Harry Young, the author, was born in Cape Vincent, New York, in 1849. I left my home in 1863, at the age of 14 years, and, as this narrative will show, have lived in the West ever since that time. My home is now in Portland, Oregon, the metropolis of the great Northwest. When observation shows me what has been accomplished by the people of this section (to the generation of which it has been my privilege to belong), I feel a pardonable pride in the fact that it is in the midst of these people my life thus far has been spent.

I am not sure that there was much, if any, patriotism in my early sentiments, but there was certainly a decided tinge of romance in my make-up, doubtless due to my having stored in my brain a considerable amount of literature of the dramatic variety. I had read everything obtainable in the line of dime novels, and my head was so filled with "hair-raising" stories of Indians, hunters, trappers, and other denizens of the Wild West, that I had my mind made up that it was my duty to go forth and encroach upon the domains of those nomads and assist in the extermination of the Noble Red Man.

One beautiful morning I stole away from home and boarded a vessel called the "Greyhound." I had taken my departure without going through the formality of bidding my parents good-bye, or even of obtaining their consent. The "Greyhound" was bound for Oswego, New York, and was loaded with shingle bolts. The distance was short, and, after a two-days' sail, we arrived at our destination. I worked for two days helping unload the vessel, for which I received the munificent sum of two dollars and fifty cents. This was in "shinplasters, — the old money of war times. I had never been away from home before for more than two days at a time in my life, except to visit friends and relatives.

With this two dollars and fifty cents snugly stowed away in my pocket, I made my way to Fulton, New York. I was aware before leaving home that my brother "Bill," as we called him, was working in a machine shop there. I determined to find him if possible. It was noon when I arrived in Fulton, and I went into the first machine shop I saw. As I entered, on a lathe lay a pair of greasy trousers which I recognized as a part of "Bill's" old working clothes, although he had been away from home for one year.

I sat down and waited for some of the men to come back from their dinner. Presently, one of them walked in and I asked him if "Bill" Young worked in that shop.

"Yes," he replied, "he's here. You stay with those old pants and you will find him soon, for they belong to him."

Bill came in shortly afterward and was much surprised to see me. He immediately wanted to know where I was going. I informed him that I was bound for New York, but did not tell him it was my intention to become an Indian fighter.

"You may stay here tonight," he said, "but in the morning you must go back home. I know you have run away."

I begged to be allowed to go on, and after a while he consented. The next morning he paid my fare to New York City. I have never seen him since.

I arrived in New York City that night at ten o'clock. I shall never forget it. I alighted at the old Hudson River depot, at Tenth Avenue and Thirtieth Street, and was carrying an old-style grip-sack. The hackmen immediately began to crowd around me, each urging me to ride with him. I did not care to do so as I now had but sixty-five cents in my pocket.

Presently, one of the hackmen snatched my carpet bag from my hand, and placing it on the seat of the vehicle, insisted on my getting in. I refused to do so, and told my troubles to a passing policeman. He compelled the hackman to give up my bag, and asked me where I wanted to go. On being informed that I was a stranger in the city wanting to find a cheap lodging house, he took me across the street to a place having a lunch counter on the ground floor and rooms upstairs. I was not hungry, and went to bed without supper.

Shortly after retiring, I was disturbed by something, I knew not what. I sprang up bewildered, lighted the candle, and turned down the bedding. Good heavens! My companions were there by the thousands. I went down and told the clerk that although I was fond of Hfe and enjoyed it as much as anyone, there were times when there could be too much of it, especially in a bed. I sat up the balance of the night.

The next day I obtained a position as bell boy in the Weldon Hotel, at the corner of Broadway and Howard Streets. After working there for several months I went to New Orleans, from which place I worked my passage to Memphis on the old steamer "Bismark." From there I made my way to Fort Smith, Arkansas.

At Fort Smith I became acquainted with a queer character, the first of many whom I met later on in the course of my travels. This man was about sixty years old, fully six feet in height, with gray hair, long gray beard, and the longest arms and fingers I have ever seen on anyone. He took a great fancy to me and told me a great many strange things, among them, that he was "a healer" and could locate and cure any disease by the laying on of his hands. He said that he had just arrived in town, and wanted just such a boy as myself to sell tickets and distribute handbills for the public healing which he proposed to do while there. We finally arrived at an understanding and had some bills printed, which I distributed. These anannounced in glowing terms that "The Healer" would be at the hotel that evening at eight o'clock and would cure all ills that human flesh was heir to.

When the much anticipated hour arrived, the only persons present were five old women, one of whom was an old negro mammy, who had with her a humpbacked boy. She requested the heeler to remove the deformity. The healer informed her that he could do so and asked her to return with the boy at ten o'clock on the following morning. She became indignant, saying she had paid ten cents and was entitled to an immediate cure. The other women agreed with her, which caused considerable commotion and terminated in the breaking up of the entertainment. (Total receipts were sixty cents). Becoming thoroughly disgusted I went to bed, and shortly after was joined by my bedfellow. The Healer. For the remainder of the night, he kept me in a state of constant fear by talking to the spirits. I made a firm mental resolve then and there, that if good fortune permitted me to live until morning, I would dissolve partnership with my strange friend. Rising early, without disturbing him, I descended to the hotel office, and after some very rapid thinking, I concluded to leave the town before the negro mammy returned. I was now fifteen years of age, and more thoroughly imbued with the spirit of adventure than ever.

Chapter II

NEW IDEALS— HUGH— THE KENTUCKIAN— OFF FOR FORT GIBSON— MY FIRST RIFLE AND THE FIRST INDIAN — MY FIRST NIGHT ON THE PLAINS — ROUGHING IT— FIRST REQUEST FOR FOOD— FIRST WILD GAME— MY HERO.

FROM this time on, I heard nothing more of my friend, The Healer. But if I had been disgusted with him, my first strange character, I was to be charmed with another whom I next met in the hotel office. This new acquaintance was a tall, raw-boned man, fully six feet, two inches in height, dressed entirely in buckskin and wearing a broad-brimmed hat and a long knife sticking in his belt. He was in every particular my ideal of the pictures I had seen, and of which I had read in the dime novels.

Being prompted by some impulse, I commenced a conversation with him, during which he told me he was "Kentuck Hugh" (a noted trapper and hunter), and that he had killed and scalped many wild Indians in his time. He remarked that he was leaving at once for Fort Gibson, twenty-five miles northwest from Fort Smith, and that he intended to walk the entire distance, sending his effects ahead by stage, with the exception of two blankets and a long rifle, of the old pattern, which he proposed to carry with him.

In suppressed excitement, I asked him if I might accompany him, and my joy knew no bounds when he replied in true backwoodsman style : "Sure ! be glad to have you." On being appraised that I had no money, he paid my hotel bill, amounting to a dollar and twenty-five cents, and put his bundle and my carpet bag aboard the stage. We crossed the river in a flat-bottomed boat, and started on our way. How my whole being thrilled, and how my heart beat at the thought that I was going into a country of real live Indians. Heretofore I had never had a gun of any kind in my hand, and I longed to handle his, but dared not ask him that privilege.

We had walked but a short distance, when we saw a man coming on horseback. "Here comes an Indian." said Hugh, and my heart beat fast, expecting every moment to see Hugh kill and scalp him.

"How are you and where are you going?" the Indian asked, in very good English.

"To Fort Gibson," Hugh replied. "Are we on the right road?"

"Yes," was the Indian's reply. "This is the stage road and you can't go wrong."

He then asked Hugh if he had any whiskey with him, and said that if he would give him a drink, he would go back with us and give us dinner. My companion produced a small flask of Peach Brandy and gave the Indian a drink, whereupon he turned back with us. I was watching him very closely all the while, and thinking that he was a rather tame looking Indian, as he was dressed in white men's clothes. The only characteristics about him that to my mind were anything like those of an Indian, were his dark complexion and a few turkey feathers he wore in his hat.

After a short time we arrived at his house. Hugh took a drink from the flask and gave our Indian friend another drink; the latter then spoke to his squaw in the Cherokee tongue, ordering her to get our dinner. She complied, but not in the most gracious manner possible, looking daggers at us all the while.

Presently the dinner was ready, and a really good meal it was. The Indian retained the flask while we ate, and drank what was left. Before we had finished eating he came in, whooping and yelling in true Indian fashion and said to Hugh: "Don't you know that you can be arrested for bringing whiskey into the Indian Territory ? Now if you don't give me some more, I'll have both of you arrested." Such is Indian gratitude.

I was badly frightened and expected every moment to see Hugh shoot him, but instead, Hugh was very mild and told the Indian he had no more with him. He even went so far as to open his shirt front and bundle of blankets, in order to convince the Indian he was telling the truth. I was disgusted with my companion. I supposed that Hugh, being an old Indian fighter, would surely kill this red-skin on the spot. Presently the Indian, seemingly satisfied that Hugh was not deceiving him, mounted his horse and went back down the road, yelling like mad.

We gathered up our blankets and started on our way, Hugh acting in a very sullen manner. After a little he said to me : "If it had not been for that Indian squaw, I would have killed him, dead sure." This raised Hugh a notch in my estimation, as I was beginning to think that he was not the ideal of my dime-novel education.

We trudged on until sundown, when we stopped for the night under a large oak tree. Hugh lighted the fire, — just as I had read in the novels, — spread out the blankets, and we laid down to sleep. This was my first night on the frontier. Sleep for me was impossible. When darkness came, a feeling of home-sickness came over me, and oh ! how I wished myself back at home in my nice, clean bed. I fell to thinking of father, mother, sisters, brothers — ran the gamut of my friends and acquaintances in the old town and wondered what each was doing just then. I choked down many sobs that night, for I did not want Hugh to think I was not game.

At this time I was well dressed and was wearing low cut shoes, called Oxford ties. The heels were very high and were almost under the instep, and from that one day's walking in the hot sun and sand, my shoes were runover to one side and my feet very sore.

Morning came at last. The birds began to sing and Nature was awake again for another day. Hugh awoke, and after stretching himself and yawning a time or two, said : "Well, my boy ! How do you feel ?"

"Pretty good," I replied, "except that my feet are very sore."

He then took me to a spring close by and I bathed my feet, which helped greatly. We rolled up the blankets and ate some crackers and cold meat, which Hugh had brought along. It had never occurred to me how we were going to get any food, but I found out very soon. We trudged along until three o'clock in the afternoon, when we came to a house by the roadside. Hugh told me to go over and ask for something to eat, as neither of us had any money. I did not want to go and informed him that I had never begged in my life.

"You'll get used to that, my boy, before you're as old as I !" was his reply.

I summed up courage, choked down my pride, and knocked hard on the door, which was opened by a black squaw. I asked her for something to eat. She didn't seem to understand I was asking for food, so I began to make signs. These, too, were without avail; and so, neither of us being able to speak the other's tongue, the attempt was a failure and resulted in having the door shut in my face with a bang. I started back to Hugh, feeling very downcast at my unsuccessful appeal for food. On my way back, however, I noticed an old-fashioned cheese press with a cheese under it and a large stone on top for pressing. While watching the house closely to see if I was observed, I went to the press and stole the cheese, — my first theft. But I know, dear reader, you will forgive me this bit of wrong-doing ; as one, when hungry, dead broke, and utterly unable to speak Cherokee, will do almost anything to secure something to eat.

Walking on about four miles, we came to a spring where we concluded to camp for the night. We ate the cheese and drank the spring water to wash it down, and, as a result, neither of us slept very much that night. Although a rather slim supper, the "quality" was there, and, consequently, we dreamed of everything imaginable during the little time we slept.

When morning came, we started on, and after a walk of an hour or so, arrived at a stage station kept by an old Irishman, with a heart as big as a barrel. He had just gotten up and greeted us with: "Top av the marnin to yez; ye air out early."

"Yes," my companion replied, "and very hungry at that." We were offered breakfast, which, however, had a string attached to it in the shape of a woodpile.

"Now, bhoys," said the Irishman, "here is a fine axe ; chop me a bit of wood, and yez shall have a f oine meal."

Hugh, being a fine axeman, we soon completed our task, Hugh doing the chopping and I carrying it in. Presently, breakfast was ready. The Irishman called us in and said : "Bhoys, ye're all right. Sit down and fill up; there's some venison."

I had not the remotest idea of what he meant by venison, and presently asked Hugh what it was.

"Deer meat, my boy," was his reply.

How delighted I was at the thought of eating my first wild game. Now I knew that all I had read in the dime novels was true. Before leaving, the Hibernian, noticing that I limped, gave me some coal oil with which to bathe my feet, and which helped them wonderfully. He also gave us food enough to last us two days, and told us we would find another stage station twenty-five miles farther on.

We started; I was satisfied with the world and everything in it. My feeling of home-sickness was entirely gone. About two o'clock in the afternoon we were still traveling when, on looking a short distance to one side of the road, I saw about a dozen turkej'^s.

"Hugh!" I exclaimed, "there are some turkeys; there must be a house near by."

"Hush!" he said, "those are wild turkeys." And before I could regain my senses, he dropped on one knee and fired. Down fell the largest bird, and unable to contain myself, I rushed after it and carried it back to Hugh in triumph.

"Pretty good shot. Turkey for supper tonight," said Hugh, as he reloaded his gun. One can imagine my admiration for him the remainder of the afternoon. I set him up for my hero, and to this day can see him walking ahead of me, I carrying the turkey. Hugh was a great walker, and kept me busy keeping up with him. I thought him the greatest man in the world, and that if some day I could be like him, the height of my ambition would be reached.

On arriving at the stage station, we ate the food furnished by our friend at the last station. After a good night's rest in the hayloft, we had turkey — roast turkey — for breakfast. We helped about the place, remaining all day that day to rest and finish up that turkey. We were well treated there, and I for one was loath to leave the place. Hugh entertained me all the while with accounts of his adventures with Indians and wild animals. How I admired that man! Why, 1 would have died for him any moment.

To me, our next day's journey was not so hard, as we were in the timber all day. We were protected from the rays of the sun and the sand was not as hot as it was at first. The woods were filled with wild doves, and to me their cooing was so sad that it made me homesick to hear them.

"Why don't you shoot some of them, Hugh?" I asked.

He looked at me in disgust. "Wait until we find some larger game, my boy," he replied. "We are almost out of the settlements and ought to get a shot at a deer soon." The thought of it thrilled me and I kept a good lookout, but saw no deer. We arrived at the third station about dark, but there the keeper was not so friendly as the others we had passed. After some talk, however, he thawed out and we found him to be a pretty good fellow. We trudged on again next day, stopping at another station that night. The following night we arrived at Fort Gibson.

Chapter III

OUR WELL-TAGGED BAGGAGE— DESERTED— "TENDER- FOOT"— A STRANGE OFFER OF MARRIAGE— THE INDIAN ENGINEERING PARTY— AN OLD FRIEND— A HORRIBLE PRACTICAL JOKE.

ON our arrival, we went to the hotel. Before entering, Hugh reminded me that he had no money, and advised me to say nothing about it while we were in the hotel. He boldly registered our names, and, as the stage office was in the hotel, he asked if our baggage had been left there by the stage.

"Yes," the clerk replied, producing it; mine, with a tag attached calling for four dollars, and Hugh's for three dollars.

The next morning Hugh informed me that he was going out on the grade to look for a job as bridge carpenter. The Missouri, Kansas & Texas Railroad was then grading its road about four miles west of Fort Gibson. Heretofore, I had supposed that the occupation of Indian fighters consisted entirely of hunting, trapping and slaying Indians, and was correspondingly disappointed in my hero on being told by him that he was going to work. We left the hotel early in the morning without settling our bills, and had walked about two miles, when we arrived at a spring, to the north of which was a wooded canyon. At this point Hugh left me, saying he was going into the brush to cut a couple of walking sticks, and requested that I wait where I was until he returned. After waiting about an hour, I began to think that some wild animal had eaten him. I was considerably frightened, and halooed to him. Receiving no response, I went up to the top of a near-by ridge, and from there saw the railroad graders at work. I ran to them in great trepidation and told them that my partner was missing, and that I thought he had been eaten by wild animals. They burst into a hearty laugh.

"Here is another tenderfoot," was their only reply. The expression "tenderfoot," I had never heard before, and I naturally thought the graders referred to my feet, which were very sore and tender and I felt that had they walked as far as I, their feet would have been in a like condition. Sometime afterward I learned the term applied not to one's feet, but was a common expression for a "greenhorn" in the country.

I asked the graders for work, but was refused. Then I returned to the hotel hoping to find or hear something of Hugh, but was told they had not seen him, so I came to the conclusion that he had deserted me. I was homesick and heartbroken, and my ambition vanished — "great Indian fighters existed not in reality, but on paper only."

I concluded that as I was alone I would go back to Fort Smith, and asked the hotel man for my carpet bag. He refused, however, to let me have it until I paid him six dollars — two for the hotel and four for the stage company; and no amount of pleading on my part could soften his heart or change his decision. Crestfallen, I departed from the hotel minus my carpet bag; arriving at the first stage station that night, footsore, weary, and discouraged. The station-man took me in, giving me a good meal, and I enjoyed a good night's rest. The next morning he offered to engage me to dig potatoes for him, for which he agreed to pay me fifty cents a day and my board and lodging.

Here was the turning point in my career. I had arrived at this station the previous evening with the firm resolve to return to home and friends ; the ardor of western adventures had undergone a severe shock, and was at a decidedly low ebb. The ideals in which, in my boyish fancy, I had placed so much confidence, had completely vanished, and unpleasant memories alone remained with me for comfort and consolation. However, I felt induced to accept the offer of the station-man and for two weeks worked for him, digging potatoes.

During this time I had gradually gained courage and my adventurous spirit was again in the ascendancy. My efforts and diligence evidently met with favor in the eyes of my employer, for one day he called me into his room and asked me how I liked the country.

"Fairly well," I replied.

"Well," he rejoined, "do you want to become a rich man? If so, I will tell you how."

I looked at him without speaking, and he went on: "As you know, my wife is a Cherokee, and she has a sister just your age who has seen you and likes you. Her mother, who lives on the hill yonder, owns many head of cattle and horses, and a great deal of com land, all under cultivation. She is old now, and when she dies the girl and my wife will get it all. There is a white man working for her mother who has been trying to marry the girl, but she prefers you and wants to meet you and will be here in the morning. I will do the talking for both, and can fix it up in a few minutes; then you can go to Fort Gibson and be married."

This man, Pat, was a big-hearted Irishman and meant well, but as for my getting married — well, I was not exactly in the mood for discussing matters of that nature just then.

True to the Irishman's word, the girl came the next day. She was astride a horse, bare back, and with only a rope loop in the horse's mouth for a bridle. She was a well-formed girl, but I could not fancy her for a wife, particularly for my wife. The Irishman talked to her in her native tongue (Cherokee) and then to me in English, but as I did not care to offend either of them, I told him I would think it over that night. He urged me to decide quickly before the other white man could secure the prize.

Later in the day a surveying party came into the station. It consisted of the chief and twenty-one men and two four-mule teams, and was engaged in running a railroad survey from Fort Smith, Arkansas, to connect with the main line of the Atlantic & Pacific Railway at Antelope Hills, three hundred miles south. After the party had camped in front of the station, the chief came in to obtain provisions, and they had a guide to take them through the Cherokee country, as it was difficult to find camping places. While in conversation with my Irish friend, the chief gave his name as Mr. Innes. My heart leaped into my mouth, for I remembered a Mr. Innes who was City Engineer in my home town. After he had made some purchases, I followed him out and asked him if he ever lived in Cape Vincent, New York.