“By the time you’ve located your camp, your wagons shall be there,” said I.
“All right, Cody, I’ll leave it to you, as you seem to want to be boss,” replied he pleasantly. He at once ordered the command to dismount and lead the horses down the mountainside. The wagon train was a mile in the rear, and when it came up, one of the drivers asked: “How are we going down there?”
“Run down, slide down or fall down—any way to get down,” said I.
“We never can do it; it’s too steep; the wagons will run over the mules,” said another wagon master.
“I guess not; the mules have got to keep out of the way,” was my reply.
Telling Wilson, the chief wagon master, to bring on his mess-wagon, which was at the head of the train, I said I would try the experiment at least. Wilson drove the team and wagon to the brink of the hill, and following my directions he brought out some extra chains with which we locked both wheels on each side, and then rough-locked them. We then started the wagon down the hill. The wheel-horses—or rather the wheel-mules—were good on the hold-back, and we got along finely until we nearly reached the bottom, when the wagon crowded the mules so hard that they started on a run and galloped down into the valley and to the place where General Carr had located his camp. Three other wagons immediately followed in the same way, and in half an hour every wagon was in camp, without the least accident having occurred. It was indeed an exciting sight to see the six-mule teams come straight down the mountain and finally break into a full run. At times it looked as if the wagons would turn a somersault and land on the mules.
This proved to be a lucky march for us as far as gaining on Penrose was concerned, for the route he had taken on the west side of the stream turned out to be a bad one, and we went with our immense wagon train as far in one day as Penrose had in seven. His command had marched on to a plateau or high tableland so steep, that not even a pack mule could descend it, and he was obliged to retrace his steps a long ways, thus losing three days time as we afterwards learned.
While in this camp we had a lively turkey hunt. The trees along the banks of the stream were literally alive with wild turkeys, and after unsaddling the horses between two and three hundred soldiers surrounded a grove of timber and had a grand turkey roundup, killing four or five hundred of the birds, with guns, clubs and stones. Of course, we had turkey in every style after this hunt—roast turkey, boiled turkey, fried turkey, “turkey on toast,” and so on; and we appropriately called this place Camp Turkey.
From this point on, for several days, we had no trouble in following Penrose’s trail, which led us in a southeasterly direction towards the Canadian River. No Indians were seen, nor any signs of them found. One day, while riding in advance of the command, down San Francisco Creek, I heard someone calling my name from a little bunch of willow brush on the opposite bank, and, upon looking closely at the spot, I saw a negro.
“Sakes alive! Massa Bill, am dat you?” asked the man, whom I recognized as one of the colored soldiers of the Tenth Cavalry. I next heard him say to someone in the brush: “Come out o’ heah. Dar’s Massa Buffalo Bill.” Then he sang out, “Massa Bill, is you got any hawd tack?”
“Nary a hard tack; but the wagons will be along presently, and then you can get all you want,” said I.
“Dat’s de best news I’se heerd foah sixteen long days, Massa Bill,” said he. “Where’s your command? Where’s General Penrose?” I asked.
“I dunno,” said the darkey; “we got lost, and we’s been a starvin’ eber since.”
By this time two other negroes had emerged from their place of concealment. They had deserted Penrose’s command—which was out of rations and nearly in a starving condition—and were trying to make their way back to Fort Lyon. General Carr concluded, from what they could tell him, that General Penrose was somewhere on Polladora Creek; but we could not learn anything definite from the starved “mokes,” for they knew not where they were themselves.
Having learned that General Penrose’s troops were in such bad shape, General Carr ordered Major Brown to start out the next morning with two companies of cavalry and fifty pack-mules loaded with provisions, and to make all possible speed to reach and relieve the suffering soldiers. I accompanied this detachment, and on the third day out we found the half-famished soldiers camped on the Polladora. The camp presented a pitiful sight, indeed. For over two weeks the men had had only quarter rations, and were now nearly starved to death. Over two hundred horses and mules were lying dead, having died from fatigue and starvation. General Penrose, having feared that General Carr would not find him, had sent back a company of the Seventh Cavalry to Fort Lyon for supplies; but no word as yet had been heard from them. The rations which Major Brown brought to the command came none too soon, and were the means of saving many a life.
About the first man I saw after reaching the camp was my old, true and tried friend, Wild Bill. That night we had a jolly reunion around the campfires.
General Carr, upon arriving with his force, took command of all the troops, he being the senior officer and ranking General Penrose. After selecting a good camp, he unloaded the wagons and sent them back to Fort Lyon for fresh supplies. He then picked out five hundred of the best men and horses, and, taking his pack-train with him, he started south for the Canadian River, distant about
