EARLY HISTORY AND REMINISCENCE OF FRONTIER COUNTY NEBRASKA

     The first house I built was upon a high hill, being far from water, and the winds blew so hard that we concluded to camp near the timber. Our choice place for a home was under the protecting branches of a large spreading elm tree.

     When we made this selection from nature's grove for our abode, near by was a large white wolf, dead with a big steel trap on his foot, which he had dragged over many a mile of prairie prairie grass until he had become hungry and outworn with life's pilgrimage, had quietly lain down like one that is weary and sweetly reposed forever. We named our home under the elm "Wolf's Rest." After some inquiry we found that our only neighbor in Red Willow County, Storm King, had set a trap at a dead buffalo, caught the wolf, which broke the chain and took the trap to Wolf's Rest.

     Of all happy days, those spent at Wolf's Rest were the best. Here we planted our little fields of corn that grew far beyond our expectations. The large old-fashioned coffee mill was nailed to a tree (the growth of the tree has almost covered the old mill, but it stands as a relic of its former usefulness); with it we ground corn into meal and hominy to cook on the old-time fireplace. Here we trained the grape-vine to climb the rustic arbor, rested far away from the aches of my Southern home and breathed the pure air in the darkling wood, in the shadow of the aged elm; here we watched strange birds build their nests and rear their downy brood unmolested, while we drank of the pure waters of the Medicine, where was not a trace of man's pomp or pride; no brass jewels shone; no envious eyes to encounter; no hypocrites to make one loathe the very name of mankind; but here in the shady nooks, along the (20) banks of the Medicine, the wild rose, the modest little violet, seemed to look up with perfumed breath whispering: "Rest with us.'

     Our log cabin at Wolf's Rest was a home for all that came. The first dance in the county was here; it took all the ladies in Frontier to make up the set. We helped all the newcomers we could, to get good creek claims, thinking then that the divides were not good for anyting but grazing purposes.

     The renowned Doctor W . T. Carver, of glass-ball-shooting fame, came to Wolfs Rest in 1872 and took a claim near by. Here it was that Dr. Carver learned and practiced the art that made him the wonder of the world. Later on his mother came, bringing the first fine poultry consisting of pea-fowls, ducks, etc., also a collection of choice flowers, and the first piano.

     These were a great curiosity to Indians and frontiersmen. In bringing the piano out from the railroad, with some wild broncho ponies, we got stuck in a swamp and could not get enough of them hitched onto the wagon to pull it out. So it stood there several weeks, covered up with buffalo robes, until the ground became dry; then we brought it down and put it in the log cabin in Medicine Valley.

     To be a good shot was considered the highest accomplishment and Dr. W. T. Carver's ambition ran that way; so he did nothing but hunt and shoot until he became the greatest shot in the world. (21) In writing to me from Vienna, Austria, he said: "I have made Medicine Creek famous all over the world-where I am proud to have hailed from."

     I helped to plow the first furrow in Red Willow County, in March, 1872. A man by the name of John King had taken a claim below Indianola; he was the only settler in that county then. I went over to get a mule I had bought of him. He had a plow in the wagon, and we hitched on to plow a few furrows to see how it looked.

     We called this man Crazy King, as he would take his team and go alone for hundreds of miles, build bridges over streams, pull through deep snows and fetch up at our camp every big snowstorm. Once while King was out on one of his trips, Indians surrounded him in camp. He fought them several hours, but they were too many for him. He was badly wounded, being shot three times; yet he got away, though the redskins took his horses.

     In June, 1870, we found a wild man in Frontier County. On several occasions we had seen very large barefoot tracks of a human being, ranging between the Platte River and the Medicine. We thought it strange, as we knew there was no one in the county but those of our own little neighborhood. As Clifford, Nelson and myself were crossing the divide on the way to Fort McPherson, one very warm day after the water had dried up in the lagoons and the grass was parched with the intense heat, we saw a man coming toward us. We felt like running when he came near enough for us to inspect his visage. He was fully six and one-half feet tall, without shoes and hatless, his head covered with grizzly gray hair, and long beard of the same color all over his face so matted with dirt that we could scarcely see his eyes.

     Nelson cocked his needle-gun ready to shoot him if he offered violence. He was not hostile, but seemed to be crazy from thirst; he took our water jug and drained it, then got on the wagon and we took him to Fort McPherson with us, The soldiers came out to see him, though none could tell by his language to what nationality he belonged, nor where he came from or stayed.

     The fellow ate all we gave him. After eating some canned fruit, he departed in the direction of Frontier; he carried a heavy club with which to defend himself and kill his meat. Nothing more (22) was seen of him for several years. A large skeleton was found in a canyon near Moorefield, which we supposed to be the remains of the Wild Man, who must have died unwept and alone.

     The abundance of buffalo and other game that majestically roamed over this territory, and drank of the waters of the Medicine, attracted men of note from abroad, on a round of pleasure in pursuing the game of the plains.

     Buffalo Bill, Wm. Cody, my old partner, would often bring parties in, and we had many interesting hunting exploits, which made Mr. Cody the most noted buffalo hunter in the world.

     The Russian Duke Alexis, General Sheridan and other noted men came in for a share of the hilarious sport of buffalo hunting. The duke could not ride over the rough country fast enough to kill a buffalo; he did not want to return to Russia before killing one. So Bill Reed ran down a buffalo calf and held it until the grand duke came up and shot it.

     The Indians gave a war-dance for the duke's entertainment, for which he showed his appreciation by giving them many presents. He also gave Buffalo Bill a diamond pin. A tall flagstaff was raised; the American flag was run up to wave in the western breeze. The Indians looked on the flag with great respect and as long as it remained there they felt bound to keep the peace.

     The Indians got into a fight among themselves and one we called Little Billy was killed; we buried him near the flagpole.

     Duke Alexis was very dignified, and none but those high in office could approach or speak to him. I thought while in Frontier County I could and had a right to speak genteelly to any person, and (23) that no man stood above me: so I went up to Duke Alexis and said:

     "How do you do Duke?"

     He said, "I have not been introduced to you."

     I said, "It don't make any difference to me. How do you do. Duke?"

     He said to General Sheridan: "General, you are very familiar with your men."

     General Sheridan said: "By G--, sir, we are Americans."

     In the summer of 1871 a party of us went out on the Mitchell to catch some buffalo calves. When we arrived on their range there were buffalos as far as the eye could span in every direction. We caught three the first dash; and while we were off our horses, tying the calves, an immense herd of buffalos came rushing along pell-mell. The very earth seemed in a tremor beneath their elephantine tread, almost running over me and sending a thrill of fright coursing through our anatomy, which almost paralyzed us and scared our horses so that Dick Seymore, Hank Clifford and Snell's horses broke away and went with the rushing, surging herd toward the Sunny South, bridled and saddled but riderless.

     John Nelson and myself followed to try and overtake the fugitives, but they were soon lost to our view in the herd of thousands of buffalo, though we followed on in hopes of coming up with the horses.

     Near the mouth of the Mitchell we found where the buffalos had run over a bluff, at one place nearly a hundred feet down to the bottom, where stood a large elm tree in which the gentle zephyrs had moaned the evening requiems of solitude, among its leafy branches, for many long years in the flight of ages, undisturbed. But in the wild rush of the bison of the plains, a huge buffalo was crowded off the perpendicular cliff and lodged in the old elm. This was the only time I ever saw a buffalo up a tree.

     We followed the Medicine down to the Republican River, thence down that stream fifteen miles, where we came to a little log house and stakes stuck up all ever the prairie. This we found occupied by two men, a woman and child, also a dog. We soon learned the parties were Bill Colvin. Geo. Love and family; that was the first habitation we had seen, in all the county, outside of our own on the Medicine.

     As our horses were tired out, we told them we would camp(24) with them that night. We unsaddled, picketed out our ponies and began looking around for some meat for supper. As luck was to our hand in that line, a herd of buffalos came along near by. I took up my needle-gun and started after them, when one of the men called to me, saying:

     "We wish you would not kill any of those animals inside the town site, as it might be hard for us to remove the carcass."

     I apologized, saying, "I did not know that I was in town, but grant your request, and would not intentionally violate any city ordinance."

     Love said that Captain Murphy had come out from Plattsmouth with a colony, staked out a town and named it Arapahoe. The stakes I thought to be picket pins were the landmarks of the lots and street of the new town. This was in the summer of 1871, and the county was not organized until 1873, and named Furnas.

     Captain Murphy was an officer in the army and experienced many hard fights with the Indians over this country. In the sixties he had a ranch on the Platte River, at Alcalie, before the U. P. railroad was built. In 1878 I was married to his daughter, Laura Murphy, the first marriage of white people in the county.

     To return to the chase after the horses: There were so many buffalos that they tramped out every track, and trailing them was impossible. After days of hard riding we returned without the horses, which was quite a loss to us.

     Lord Dunraven and Dr. Kingsley of England came here on a hunting tour and took back, as a souvenir of the trip a buffalo head, also two wildcats that I caught for them. I had a collection of wild animals that were interesting to many of the "tenderfeet" who came along.

     The native cow would raise the buffalo calf, but they did not like it. We could not domesticate the wildcat or turkey; as soon as they got loose, they went away.

     One night while out trapping, I camped alone. About midnight 1 heard the step of some wild animal circling around me. I got my trusty needle-gun ready and waited for him until daylight. A light snow had fallen and I saw the tracks of a large mountain lion. I do not know why he did not tackle me; perhaps he was not hungry. I hastily breakfasted on coffee and warmed-over (25) beaver meat that I had cooked the evening before, then started on the trail of my lordly visitor.

     I knew he was a bad customer; the fresher the trail, the more shaky and cautious I became. On creeping up a high bluff overlooking the stream, I saw him breakfasting on a beaver he had caught as I had done. I got a broadside view and fired. He dropped the beaver and started to climb the bluff after me, when I gave him another shot which settled him. He measured nine feet from tip to tip.

     Professor Ward of Chicago came here to get specimens for his museum. I killed ten buffalos, which he took--only the robes and bond for mounting. The Indians called him the "bone man," They thought he had a queer taste to take the bones and leave the meat.

     An English officer came out for the purpose of catching full-grown buffalos to put in a large strong corral near Niagara Falls, and had advertised a wild buffalo hunt. He offered us seven dollars a day to catch the buffalos, and good pay to go with him to rope at the falls. He brought out heavy freight wagons in which to cart the animals to the U. P. railroad. It had never been known that full-grown buffalos could be roped and tied down, but we thought we would try it. We made up a party consisting of Andy Barret, the roper; Texas Jack; Deshing Charley; Bloody Dick, a Texas cowboy; Chamberlain and myself.

     We went out on the Beaver before we came to the main herd of buffalos; we then got our lariats in readiness and got as near them as, possible, to save our hoses, for we knew there was a hard run before us. The game was in a draw one hundred yards away when they scented us and started on the run at breakneck speed. We had paired off, Andy and I together. When the herd reached the divide it was three hundred yards in advance of us. We urged our horses and gradually gained on them, while the ground almost trembled beneath the pile-driver tramp. The horns of the bisons rattled together, and all went in one solid black wave that swept on and on across broad divides, through canyons and over hills, stopping for nothing, at a wild and awful rush.

     We at last got a chance and cut out a fine large buffalo to one side. An instant afterward Andy's lariat went through the air like a serpent and curled itself around its victims neck; the outer (26) end was fastened to the saddle horn. I made a, lucky throw and got my rope on the animal too. We could not stop suddenly, but had to keep on the run in order to choke him down gradually, our horses holding back all they could. When we got him stopped, Andy went on one side and I on the other to prevent him from getting at us until help came, as he did not give up his freedom peaceably. Then a rope was thrown around his feet; he was brought to the ground, then tied down and left until our return after him.

     In this way we caught and tied five, Texas Jack and his party caught three; eight in all. We decided to load them in the freight wagons and take them to the U. P. railroad; but when we got around to them, they were about all dead, owing to the hot weather and their disposition not to give up their struggle for liberty. So we succeeded in getting only one alive to Wolf's Rest, and he like his companions did not give up but died while trying to free himself. Thus ended the scheme of capturing wild buffalos for the show at Niagara Falls.

     Two of our horses died from heat and overwork, while some of our men got terrible falls. Texas Jack said, "They swapped ends." There has been a great deal said about shooting buffalos, but the world's history does not record the fact that any party ever roped and tied down full-grown wild buffalos, as we did in the summer of 1872.

     Medicine Valley was the dividing line, north and South, in the hunting grounds of the two great Indian tribes, the Pawnees on the east and Sioux on the west. The buffalos having all gone west of this line, the Pawnees would occasionally steal across on a hunt. The death knell of disaster swept over the Pawnees in the summer of 1873; they made a raid in Sioux territory and killed a number of buffalos. The squaws, in high glee and happy, were busy cutting the meat in thin slices to dry, ready to take back with them, when their hated enemy the Sioux, came down on them, in a canyon where they were at work, with a savage war-whoop.

     The Pawnees were surrounded and after a hard fight the Sioux won the victory. They showed no quarter to their victims, who left many squaws and braves to moulder away with the buffalos they had slain. This was the last fight between the contending tribes in this part of the country; the Pawnee were so completely whipped that they feared the Sioux. The bones of the "poor Indians" were (27) picked up with animal bones and shipped East to be ground into fertilizer to enrich the worn soil.

     An interesting hunt took place on the Medicine near where the town of Maywood now is. My sister, Mrs. D. C. Ballentine, honored us with her company. She said:

     "I will try the difficult feat of shooting elk and buffalo from horseback while at full speed."

     There are but few men able to ride a horse on the run over rough country, and shoot with any accuracy. It took a speedy horse to catch a buffalo. I had one that was trained in the chase upon which Mrs. Ballentine was mounted. We sent out a scout to locate the buffalo. After a long ride in the direction he had taken we saw him about a mile away, riding in a circle, the Indian sign he had found them.

     We approached him cautiously and a large herd was seen coming up from the creek, where they had been to water. The saddle girths were tightened, guns got in readiness; but not any too soon for they had scented us. Then away they went, with heads and tails in the air, for the hills. Soon half a dozen of us were strung out, the fleetest horses in the lead. As we neared the lumbering, awkward-looking monsters, they begin to gain in speed until it was like a whirlwind, increasing all the while.

     Mrs. Ballentine's horse took her alongside the herd, on a level run, when she began to shoot, not ten feet away from them. Three of the party were left far behind. The buffalos finally went over a bluff, rolling like balls, with the exception of seven dead and wounded along the trail, Mrs. Ballentine having killed two and wounded several others. This is the first and only case where a woman was ever known to have killed buffalos from horseback while on the run.

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