these sand-and-gravel storms, and he said that it had been changed into the appearance of ground glass, and had been rendered almost opaque. But he made light of the storm, saying that he had seen much worse ones. Afterwards we did experience one equally as bad, if not worse, while going from Lodgepole northwest to Court House Rock. Sand and gravel banked up against the pilgrim quarters in places about two feet high above the level, as the consequence of this storm. We kept the horses herded up in the canyon until the storm was over, and did not lose any.
About two weeks after that we were told that some prowling Indians bad been seen in south of Gilmans' ranch, headed towards our place, and Captain O'Brien thought I bad better reconnoiter a little up the canyon, so as to forestall any surprise. Instead of taking a party of men with me, I thought I would prefer to go alone, as I had a most excellent horse, which I will hereinafter describe. I rode up on the east rim of the canyon, and looked over the country with my field-glass pretty fully. By keeping up on the rim, I could see the canyon inside and out. I went around about ten miles, and saw a lot of fresh pony-tracks. I also saw a large lone buffalo down in the canyon. I rode past it to see whether or not there was any Indian looking for him, and making up my mind there was not, I went down into the canyon to get the buffalo. I only had two Colt's calibre.44 revolvers in my holster. I carried neither saber nor carbine. The time that I had with that buffalo in the canyon I shall not soon forget. He chased me a great deal more than I chased him. The matted hair upon his forehead was filled with mud, and he faced me at all times. My revolver bullets glanced off from his forehead apparently as if it were a piece of granite, and they only seemed to irritate him. It was fully two hours before I laid him out, and I had fired thirty-one shots.
About a week after that, Captain O'Brien desired to make a further reconnaissance, in view of reports which came in. I got well acquainted with the ins and outs on the east side, and the shortest and best routes from one crossing to another, which were deeply worn by buffalo trails. And here I got my first idea of the extent to which game and wild animals make the shortest and best roads through a country, and the most accessible roads, which in after time are followed by the white man, and become the highways from place to place. On this occasion I carried my target rifle (a Smith amp; Wesson, calibre.44) and a field-glass. When about eight miles from the camp, I saw in the distance a bareheaded Indian going over a ridge on foot with great speed. I hastened to catch up with him, but when I got to the ridge where he disappeared, I considered that it would be safer for me to be careful lest I should fall into some kind of ambuscade. So I rode around on the high ground, and examined the gullies for about a mile, but the Indian had successfully eluded me, and I was in no condition to go down and hunt through the canyon. He was probably some lone Indian who was acting as a spy, or reconnoitering. An Indian on a pony could be easily tracked, but an Indian on foot could slip around and secrete himself, and be quite safe. There were always down in the valley along the road some halfbreed Indian traders who also acted as spies, and would communicate all necessary information to the Indians and sell them what was called 'Pilgrim whisky'; hence the Indians, as we were informed, reconnoitered on foot, and it was one of these I had probably seen.
The pilgrim whisky of that day was a bad compound. Owing to the distance which it had to be carried, alcohol was substituted for whisky, and when a person out in that country got a barrel of alcohol, he would take a quart of it and mix it with a quart of water, and stir in molasses and a touch of red pepper, and it made a compound that would bring out all the bad qualities of the consumer. This was the kind of whisky that the Indians would get from traders. They dealt surreptitiously, because it was a penitentiary offense to sell whisky to the Indians. The ranchmen fought the contraband fiercely, and there were stories of herders and ranchmen taking some half-breed and lynching him when they had found that he had sold that kind of stuff to the Indians.
By the first of December we had got pretty well acquainted with our surroundings. Captain O'Brien with four men went out to reconnoiter the canyon fully, and he took the west bank. He went nearly to the end of the canyon, and explored it fully, and then going west came down back through another large cedar-filled canyon. I afterwards, in about a week, also made the reconnaissance of the canyon from the west bank about ten miles of distance, and at a certain place where there was a wall of indurated clay I carved name, date, Company, and Regiment. It was necessary for us as officers of the company to know the country, and to familiarize ourselves with Indian matters. Ten miles west of our post was Jack Morrow's ranch, of which I will speak hereafter. Between it and our post there were several ranches that had been deserted, on account of the Indian scare, but which were reoccupied after our arrival. In fact, as soon as we camped at Cottonwood Springs, the safety of the place being assured, many people seemed inclined to take up land, or to accept employment in the neighborhood. On the first of December, on the suggestion of Captain O'Brien, I tabulated all the civilians fit for military duty within twenty-five miles between Gilmans' ranch and Jack Morrow's, and found that there were nearly one hundred and fifty men. They were frontiersmen as a rule, all well armed, and more or less engaged in the 'pilgrim trade,' some in cattle, and some in hunting and trapping. The largest number was probably at Gilmans' ranch. The Gilmans had two hundred cows, but never milked one. The ranch had a number of herders. There were herds along the river at various other ranches, attached to which were herders of various kinds; some full-blood French of the Canadian variety, and some adventurous spirits from the East who, in addition to their work at the ranches, made considerable by hunting and trapping. All of the ranches sold steel traps of various sizes, from muskrat up to bear. The population had increased principally during our occupation. There were down at Gilmans' ranch, besides the Gilmans themselves, several who were very wise in Indian lore, and with whom we often desired to talk. From time to time we felt obliged to know things, and to go to Gilmans' ranch for the purpose of having consultation. The fifteen miles down to the ranch was over a country as level as a floor, beaten down hard and swept by the wind. It took an hour and a half to go there; so we could leave at two o'clock and get back at seven, and have two hours' consultation. From them we obtained information, and drew rough maps and diagrams of the country both north and south. They told us where the bunches of timber were, both north and south, and where the water was among the valleys in the hills, and the routes which the Indians used.
All of this time, however, the work at the post was going on rapidly, either the Captain or myself acting as boss. Our first Lieutenant looked more particularly after the supplies. I had two horses, one a good, average cavalry horse, but I managed to become the owner of a large, raw-boned irongray horse, of which I will speak more hereafter. I got him before coming to Nebraska, and paid $135 for him. The horse formerly belonged to Colonel Baker, of the Second Iowa Infantry, who was killed in the battle of Pittsburg Landing. The horse was not afraid of firearms nor musketry. He had a mouth that was as tough as the forks of a cottonwood log, and I had to use a large curb bit on him with an iron bar under the jaw, made by our company blacksmith. Without this terrible curb, I could do nothing with him. He was afraid of nothing but a buffalo, and as a wild buffalo is more dangerous than a bear, I was always afraid that sometime he would act bad and get me hurt. He was also very much frightened at even the smell of a buffalo-robe. This large iron-gray horse would start out on a dead run for Gilmans' ranch, and keep it up for fifteen miles without halting. I never saw a horse with more endurance, or more of a desire to go, and he kept himself lean by his efforts and energy. I knew that when I was on his back no Indian pony nor band of Indians could overtake me, and hence I scouted the country without apprehension. The buffalo which I killed as last alluded to, was the last buffalo we saw around Cottonwood Canyon. Our fort was called 'Cantonment McKean,' but the War Department afterwards named it 'Fort McPherson,' after General McPherson, who was killed while with Sherman near Atlanta, Georgia; but the fort was popularly known as 'Fort Cottonwood.' Among our men was a fine carpenter who had worked at cabinetmaking, and from the boards which we whip-sawed out, he made lots of chairs, a company desk, tables and furniture as needed. It is strange how simply furniture can be made, and yet equal to the best in comfort and convenience. Our furniture was all made out of beautiful red cedar.
Along on the side of the hill west of our post, and about five hundred yards from it, we put up a palisade of logs sunk in the ground, and forming an eight-foot square target. I practiced with our howitzers upon this target until I got the exact range and capacity of the two guns. They varied but little; we had to know how far the guns would shoot, and the number of seconds on which to cut our shell fuses. We had a large number of shrapnel shell fitted with Bohrman fuses. Our powder was separate, in red flannel bag cartridges, so made as to fit the rear chamber of the gun, which was smaller than the calibre. Attached to the shrapnel shell was a wooden block made accurately to fit the bore of the piece. The powder was first rammed down, and then the shell rammed down on the wooden block, which was called a 'sabot.' The 'sabot' was merely a wad. The fuse of the shell was towards the muzzle of the gun. The explosion of the powder went around the shell, and ignited the fuse in front of it. The gun was fired with what were called 'friction primers,' which, being inserted in the touchhole and connected with the lanyard, were pulled off, and threw the fire down into the cartridge. But, before the friction primer was put in, a 'priming- wire' was thrust down to punch a hole through the flannel bag of the cartridge. The process of loading was somewhat complicated for so simple a gun. One man brought the powder cartridge and inserted it and it was rammed home by another man with a wooden rammer. Then another brought the shell with sabot attachment, and
