When word came in the fall of 1858 that gold had been discovered in Pike's Peak by the wagonload, that settled it. We got the fever, and in April, 1859, we started for Pike's Peak. We went by the way of Beatrice, striking the Overland trail near the Big Sandy. An ex-soldier, Tim Taylor, told us he believed the Little Sandy to be the best place in southern Nebraska. We built a ranch house on the trail at the crossing of Little Sandy and engaged in freighting from the Missouri river to the Rocky Mountains. This we did for several years, receiving seven to eight cents per pound. We hauled seven thousand to eight thousand pounds on a wagon, and it required from seventy-five to eighty days to make a round trip with eight and ten yoke of oxen to a wagon. I spent about nine years freighting across the plains from Atchison, Leavenworth, St. Joseph, and Nebraska City to Denver, hauling government supplies to Fort Laramie. In 1863-64 I served as substitute stage driver, messenger, or pony express rider. I have met at some time or another nearly every noted character or "bad man" that passed up and down the trail. I met Wild Bill for the first time at Rock Creek ranch. I met him often after the killing of McCanles, and helped bury the dead. I was well acquainted with McCanles. Wild Bill was a remarkable man, unexcelled as a shot, hard to get acquainted with. Lyman, or Jack, Slade was considered the worst man-killer on the plains. The Indians did not give us much trouble until the closing year of the civil war. Our trains were held up several times, being forced to corral. We were fortunate not to lose a man. I have shot at hundreds of Indians. I cannot say positively that I ever killed one, although I was considered a crack shot. I can remember of twenty or more staying with us one night, stretching out on their blankets before the fireplace, and departing in the morning without making a move out of the way. The Pawnees and Otoes were very bitter toward the Sioux and Cheyennes. In the summer of 1862 over five hundred Indians were engaged in an all-day fight on the Little Blue river south of Meridian. That night over a hundred warriors danced around a camp-fire with the scalps of their foes on a pole, catching the bloody scalp with their teeth. How many were killed we never knew.