“Then the boys used to sandwich in Irish, German and negro melodies, besides drawing upon national and war songs. Among the latter, ‘John Brown’ and ‘Dixie’ were quite popular, but any song with a good, stiff chorus was the proper thing. “A parody on the ‘Texas Ranger’ was also a popular song, though not so lively and inspiring as the others, being lacking in a chorus. It was a sort of lament of a boy who at the age of eighteen ran away, ‘joined Old Major’s train,’ and started for Laramie. They had a fight at Plum Creek, in which six of their men were killed by the Indians and buried in one grave. In his description of the fight he says: “‘We saw the Indians coming, They came up with a yell, My feeling that moment No human tongue can tell. “‘I thought of my old mother, In tears she said to me: “To you they’re all strangers; You’d better stay with me.” “‘I thought her old and childish, Perhaps she did not know My mind was fixed on driving, And I was bound to go.’ “‘We fought them full one hour Before the fight was o’er, And the like of dead Indians I never saw before;’ “‘And six as brave fellows As ever came out West, Were buried up at Plum-Creek, Their souls in peace to rest.” “In this connection I may say that less than thirty rods from the place where those six brave bullwhackers are buried, eleven others lie in one grave, killed by Indians. “The last time that I passed over the road at Plum Creek was in the spring of 1867. The railroad had been built beyond that point on the north side of the river, and the stage line had just been pulled off. “Bands of Indians were quite troublesome and as the little troop of soldiers stationed at Plum Creek had been removed, the station keeper had been frightened away, and the sole occupant of the place was a telegraph operator. I talked with him as we watched the Indians over on the hill and there was a picture of despair written upon his every feature. We told him that he ought not to stay and insisted upon his taking his traps and going with us. He wanted to, but felt it his duty to remain in charge of the telegraph office. I will never forget the parting with that man. He was a perfect stranger. I never saw him before, didn’t even know his name, and our acquaintance only covered a few hours, but there was something terrible in the look of anxiety that he gave us as he refused to leave his post. “We were the last white men that that poor fellow ever looked upon. Even as our train pulled out the Indians were in sight upon the hills south of the station, and that evening they burned the station, and nothing was ever heard of the Plum Creek operator, who, knowing the fate that awaited him, remained at his post and was massacred by the merciless Sioux.” * * * * * The frontier preacher had his share alike with others in hardship and adventure, as will be seen by the experience of the Rev. H. T. Davis.