The Border and the Buffalo: An Untold Story of the Southwest Plains: The Bloody Border of Missouri and Kansas. The Story of the Slaughter of the Buffalo. Westward among the Big Game and Wild Tribes. A Story of Mountain and Plain — John Shaqi
The Border and the Buffalo: An Untold Story of the Southwest Plains: The Bloody Border of Missouri and Kansas. The Story of the Slaughter of the Buffalo. Westward among the Big Game and Wild Tribes. A Story of Mountain and PlainCook, John R.
History
The Border and the Buffalo: An Untold Story of the Southwest Plains: The Bloody Border of Missouri and Kansas. The Story of the Slaughter of the Buffalo. Westward among the Big Game and Wild Tribes. A Story of Mountain and Plain
Cook, John R.
American bison hunting -- Southwest, New -- History -- 19th century; Cook, John R., 1844-1917; Frontier and pioneer life -- Kansas; Frontier and pioneer life -- Southwest, New; Indians of North America -- Wars -- 1866-1895; Kansas -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865; Pioneers -- Kansas -- Biography;
I picked up a strong cottonwood stick about eight feet long and three
inches in diameter and started for the river. The ice at the margin
for three or four steps bore my weight. I would use the stick for two
purposes: when the ice would no longer hold me up, I would with the
stick break it ahead until I got to the main channel; then I would use
it for a sounding-pole, step by step reaching ahead and thrusting it
to the bottom. The water was about 100 feet wide from shore to bar,
and ran from sheet water to three feet in depth at the north bank,
which was a cut bank, the top of which was nearly three feet above the
surface of the water. Placing both hands on top of the bank, I pulled
myself up and had both elbows on the bank, wriggling myself to get one
knee up on the bank, when my hat dropped into the water. In easing back
I let go too soon, and was nearly submerged. I got the hat, and waded
down-stream nearly 200 yards before I found a place where I could get
out.
After getting up on the bank I struck out as rapidly as my strength
would permit. After going about a mile I saw a horseman coming from the
west as fast as his horse could run. He rode up to the objects that had
attracted my attention the afternoon before, and soon two men on foot
came out, and all ran toward me. I kept my speed up to the limit until
we met. I noticed they all had guns and were excited. The horseman was
the coolest one of the party. I said, "Don't get uneasy, men; I'm all
right. I've been lost."
The two men afoot handed their guns to the man that was mounted. Then,
getting on either side of me, each one took a lifting hold under each
of my arms to assist me. I said, "Oh, no, gentlemen—I am not that bad
off;" but they clung to me. "George," said the old man, "You ride ahead
quick and tell Mother to have the coffee hot."
My first question was, "What place is this?"
"It is the Adobe Walls," came the response.
We were soon inside the walls, and a cup of coffee, one biscuit, a
small piece of fried buffalo-meat, and about two spoonfuls of gravy
were set before me. I had told them I had eaten nothing since the
fourth morning before this morning. I was told to eat slowly and sip my
coffee. The old lady said:
"Now we want you to have just all you can eat whenever we think you can
stand it." And she added: "This is not new to us; two regular soldiers
came to our place on the Picket Wire [Purgatoire] in Colorado, who had
been lost for four days, and it was all we could do to keep them from
gorging themselves; but they were both just about crazy, for, after
losing their way, and getting completely lost, they lost their heads
and one of them never did recover his mind."
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