Life and Adventures of 'Billy' Dixon

"Oh, men, he must be shot," exclaimed a mischievous hunter.

Thereupon, another joker seized a butcher knife and ripped Fairchild's shirt down the back from collar to tail. Another, frantically calling for water, and finding none, emptied the contents of the camp coffee pot down Fairchild's bare back, which alarmed Fairchild with the fear that he had been wounded.

Fairchild was recovering by the time Myers and Masterson and the men who had been at the camp-fire, closely approaching camp, bounded in with a great rush, panting for breath, and began upbraiding Fairchild for abandoning them to the mercy of the Indians. We had asked Fairchild what had become of "Bat" and Myers, and he feebly replied:

"Killed, I guess."

"How many Indians were there, and did you see them?"

He answered that he did not know how many there were, because of the way they shot, but he was sure that the timber was full of them. Once he heard something whiz past his head which he knew was not a bullet, but an arrow.

Masterson now stepped forward and tremblingly declared that the whole turkey roost country was alive with Indians. Instantly, there was rushing to and fro in preparation for defense. Serious, perhaps fatal trouble for everybody, was at hand; the devil was to pay and no pitch hot. All kinds of suggestions were offered as to what was best to do. Some of the boys were in favor of starting at once for Dodge City, as the Indians would be unable to follow our trail at night, and we might get far enough away by daylight to escape. Fairchild was firmly committed to the Dodge City plan.

More resolute men were in favor of fighting it out, if every man bit the dust, and proposed that a strong guard be thrown round the camp, and that the men take turns standing guard until morning.

This plan was adopted, and the guards were stationed at regular intervals everywhere round camp, save on the river side, where a high bank offered protection against sudden surprise.

Fairchild was placed on guard nearest the river, and warned to maintain a vigilant lookout along the edge of the bank, as the Indians might swim up the river, and plug him when he wasn't looking, after which they could kill everybody in camp. As a matter of fact, it would have been impossible for the enemy to approach in this manner, because of the swiftness of the water, and the banks were too high and steep to be scaled.

By this time Fairchild was ready to believe anything he heard and was so badly rattled that he failed to see that we had left our camp fire burning, something that we would never have done had we actually felt that Indians were in the vicinity, as fires would have exposed us to a broadside from the darkness. Fairchild was in no frame of mind to think of trifles, and obeyed all orders without asking why.

The guards were stationed, and shortly afterwards, one by one, they came in, all save Fairchild, who stood at his post. There was much noisy laughter over the trick we had played on him. When Fairchild failed to meet the next guard, he became suspicious, and drew near camp, where he overheard what we were saying. Then he came in, with blood in his eye. I have often thought that he was the angriest man I ever saw in my life. We were too many for him, or else he would have crippled somebody. He refused to eat breakfast, and sulked for several days. This cured him, however, of wanting to kill an Indian, and ever afterwards he was a good hunter and a good fellow.

The last time I saw Fairchild he had his sleeves rolled up, skinning buffaloes, and on his face was a coat of tan half an inch thick. He bore little resemblance to the tenderfoot I had first seen at Dodge City.

Fairchild was not the only fellow we treated in this manner. The boys delighted in playing jokes upon each other. The worst scare I ever got was in 1870 when I was working for a man near Fort Hays. He owned a herd of beef cattle which he had sold to the Government. One day three of us were out with the herd. The cattle had been stampeding practically every day, and we were having lots of trouble with them.

We were riding along the Saline River, looking for strays. Campbell, a member of the outfit, was a quarter of a mile behind Thompson and myself. Campbell suddenly emptied his six-shooter and dashed toward us, shouting "Indians!" at the top of his voice. He knew that he was mounted upon a much swifter horse than either of ours, and passed us like the wind.

Thompson and I looked back, but could see no signs of Indians. We were certain, nevertheless, that Campbell was in earnest. We put both spurs to our horses and rode after him at top speed. The country was very rough, and we supposed that after Campbell and the Indians fired at each other, the Indians had dropped behind a ridge. We felt that we were making a run for our lives. Campbell was going so fast that we could not overtake him. Occasionally, he would stop long enough for us to come within speaking distance, whereupon he would shout, "Hurry up; there they come!" and dash away.

He kept this up for about six miles. Our objective point was a wood-choppers' camp, where we expected to make a stand against the Indians. If we were killed, we could at least die among men of our own race. We were hopeful, however, of being able to beat the Indians off.

Our horses were now in a lather, and rapidly breaking down. Rounding a little knoll, we saw Campbell lying on the ground and rolling from side to side, as if in acute pain. Perhaps he had been shot. Upon reaching him, we found to our inexpressible rage and disgust that his paroxysms were caused by laughter – he said that he had not seen an Indian all that day; just wanted to play a trick on us. We made Campbell swear not to tell the other boys; he kept his word.

CHAPTER VII

We had lots of fun sky-larking in our camp on Moore's Creek, but spring was coming on, and it was our wish to establish a permanent camp at the best possible place. Unconsciously, we were drawn to that place as other men, long, long before us, had been drawn, and which we reached by pulling right down the river bottom about twelve miles to what was then called West Adobe Walls Creek but which is now called Bent Creek.

The latter is a beautiful stream, clear and swift. About a mile from its mouth stood the old ruins of the original Adobe Walls. Here we stopped and camped for the night. We had heard of these ruins ever since we had been in the Plains country. They were of great interest to us, and we carefully examined them, wondering what men in such a far-off day had ventured to establish themselves here, and why they had done so. We were not acquainted with the history of the place. We thought of Mexicans and different Indian tribes of the southwest. As a matter of fact, there are the remains of villages and old burial grounds on Wolf Creek in the Panhandle which men who claim to know about such things declare are the remains of the easternmost extension of the Pueblo civilization. I have no opinion in the matter.

When we first saw Adobe Walls, there were parts of walls still standing, some being four or five feet high. The adobe bricks were in an excellent state of preservation. Many different stories have been told about this place and its origin. While I was hunting buffaloes in southern Kansas I met up with a man named Charley Powell who had been a soldier in the Third Cavalry. He told me that in 1863, when they were going from Fort Smith, Arkansas, to Fort Bascom, New Mexico, the trail lay on the south of the Canadian, opposite Adobe Walls. The soldiers crossed over and looked at the ruins. Even at that time none of the buildings was standing.

Later, when I was serving as scout at Fort Elliott, Texas, I was talking with General Hatch one day, and we fell to discussing the Adobe Walls country. He told me that he passed up the Canadian in 1848 with a regiment of dragoons, going out west, and stopped to examine these ruins. He said that only the broken walls were to be seen and that there was much to indicate that the place long since had been abandoned. On this expedition he was a second lieutenant; at the time I talked with him he was Lieutenant Colonel of the Fourth United States Cavalry, and in command at Fort Elliott, an old, gray-haired man. He was shrewd and very industrious. He took pride in improving Fort Elliott, and had a mania for using adobe bricks in the erection of buildings. Employing Mexicans, who were past masters in the making of these bricks, Colonel Hatch built stables large enough to hold horses for three troops of cavalry. He put up so many adobe buildings at Fort Elliott that finally he was called "Doby" Hatch.

It is probable that old Adobe Walls was built by Major William Bent, in the first 40's or earlier, the year 1844 being possible. Major Bent's son, George Bent, now living at Colony, Okla., made this statement:

"Bent & Company built Adobe Walls, as it is called. I cannot find out when it was built. It was a trading post to trade with the Comanches, Kiowas and Prairie Apaches. Bent & Company traded for horses and mules from the Indians. They sent their traders in summer time to trade for this stock. The post was not occupied in winter, as the Company did not trade for buffalo robes, as the trading post was too far from Bent's Fort on the Arkansas River to haul the hides. These horses and mules were driven to Missouri and sold; also, to the Platte Rivers, to be sold to the emigrants. The Comanches, Kiowas and Apaches were rich in horses and mules. They stole many in old Mexico and traded off the wild ones very cheap. Bent & Company employed many Mexicans to break these wild animals, after which the latter were sold to the whites."

The noted plainsman and Indian trader, John Smith, told George Bent that together with five or six companions he made his escape from old Adobe Walls, after it had been attacked by Comanches and Kiowas.

Even though it be true that old Adobe Walls was established by Major William Bent and his associates, a tradition remains that they merely seized upon a site that had been occupied at an even earlier day by men of whom nothing is known, save that they are believed to have come from the Spanish settlements in New Mexico. There are traditions of buried treasure at Adobe Walls, and strangers have appeared there in search of it. One of these treasure-hunters was an old gray-haired man who came after the country had been settled. His story was that a pack train loaded with gold and silver bullion had been attacked at this place by Indians. In its extremity, the besieged party buried the bullion. Only one or two members of the expedition escaped massacre, among the slain being a Catholic priest.

The old man in search of the treasure was too feeble to do the physical work of digging, and tried to hire men to work for him. He was looked upon as slightly demented, and could get no assistance. He departed without finding the buried fortune. Subsequently, his story was revived, and men living in the locality made numerous excavations, but found nothing.

The day after we camped on Bent Creek, several of the boys rode northeast, to look over the country. Upon their return, they reported that there was an excellent site for a permanent camp on the next creek, about a mile and a half further on, so we pulled up the valley and began unloading our wagons on the bare ground in a broad valley where there was a pretty stream called East Adobe Walls Creek. This was to become a spot memorable to all of us.

Myers & Leonard built a picket house twenty by sixty feet in size. James Hanrahan put up a sod house, twenty-five by sixty, in which he opened a saloon. Thomas O'Keefe built a blacksmith's shop of pickets, fifteen feet square. Thus, a little town was sprouting in the wilderness – a place where we could buy something to eat and wear, something to drink, ammunition for our guns, and a place where our wagons, so necessary in expeditions like ours, could be repaired.

While all this hammering and pounding and digging was going on, I started with three companions and rode the country as far down as where the present town of Clarendon, Texas, now stands. We were absent about fifteen days, and upon our return we found the buildings about finished. We did not see many buffaloes on this trip. Maybe the buffaloes had scented Indians. We ranged as far east as Cantonment Creek, and on its east prong encountered a few scattering bulls. The season was too early for the cows and bulls to begin mating and running together.

On Cantonment Creek we stopped at some seeping springs. A lone cottonwood stood tall and gaunt among a few hackberries. I cut my name on this lone tree. One of the men who was with me at that time was a Frenchman, for whom we had no other name than "Frenchy," just as we had single names for many other men in the Plains country. He was an excellent cook, and I always thought he could broil buffalo steak better than any other man I ever saw.

In returning to camp, we crossed Red Deer about where Miami, Texas, now is, and camped at some water-holes. Heading northward we soon struck the brakes of Tallahone, and followed the Tallahone down to its mouth. This was a timbered creek with an abundance of running water. Perch and catfish were so plentiful that enough to feed the whole camp could be caught in a few minutes. Deer and wild turkeys were in sight all along Tallahone, and there were numerous signs of beaver and otter.

Here we crossed the Canadian at what for many years was the main crossing in this part of the country, and followed along the north side of the river to Adobe Walls.

During our absence from camp, Wright & Langton came down from Dodge City with another outfit and built a sod house sixteen by twenty feet. This firm bought buffalo hides and was engaged in general merchandising. The business was in charge of James Langton.

The buildings were finished as rapidly as possible, and every man at Adobe Walls who could be induced to engage in this kind of manual labor was given a job and paid well for his services. Each building had a big cottonwood ridge log, paralleled with smaller poles running down the roof. The poles were covered with dirt and sod. For safety and convenience in handling their stock, Myers & Leonard built a stockade corral. This inclosure was made by setting big cottonwood logs in the ground. The logs were hauled across the Canadian, from Reynolds Creek, a distance of about six miles, and was a laborious undertaking.

I had no liking for the monotony and restraint of camp life and was impatient to be about my own business, which was to find a good buffalo range and begin hunting. After remaining in camp two days, we saddled and mounted again, to go up the Canadian as far west as Hill's Creek. We crossed the river and followed the old Fort Bascom trail to Antelope Creek, where we crossed over to the Arroya Bonita, on which the LX Ranch afterwards established headquarters. The Arroya Bonita is one of the prettiest streams in the Panhandle country, with a good flow of water and lots of timber.

Here I struck the trail I had made during the previous winter, and which I now followed back across the Canadian and thence north to Grapevine Creek, where I camped two or three days. This was at the edge of the Plains. At intervals we struck small bands of bulls as we did all the way. Buffaloes were surprisingly scarce. Sometimes we killed them, and at other times did not molest them. Generally, there were from four to ten in a bunch. The scarcity of buffaloes rather discouraged us, and we redoubled our efforts to locate a big herd. We held to the east, keeping along the edge of the Plains and coming down to the Canadian between Bugbee Canyon and Big Creek. Bugbee Canyon received its name from the fact that Thomas Bugbee settled there in 1876. His was one of the first cow ranches established in the Panhandle of Texas. Charles Goodnight, whom I met first in the fall of 1875, brought his cattle that year from Colorado to Palo Duro Canyon. Mrs. Goodnight joined her husband in 1876.

We were in the Bugbee Canyon country in May, 1874. The season was delightful. The air was fresh and invigorating, the grass was green, flowers were blooming, the sky was clear, the sunshine pleasant, and a feeling of joy and happiness everywhere. Those were splendid nights, out there under the stars. The mornings came with dazzling splendor. At this season sunrise on the Plains presented a scene of magnificence. I always had the feeling that it came with a thunderous sound.

When we struck Big Creek I noticed a patch of lamb's quarter (wild greens), and I told the boys we would go into camp and cook a pot of green, which we did. We ate greens to our hearts' content.

Searching out every point in the country, next day we followed an old trail down to the Canadian valley, striking it at a high point, afterwards known as Dixon's Point, on account of its being opposite Dixon's Creek. We soon reached Adobe Walls.

All the buildings had been finished, and everybody was doing a good business. Quite a number of hunters had come down from the north, and a plain trail had been opened between Adobe Walls and Dodge City, a hundred and fifty miles away. Freight outfits were making regular trips between the two places.

All of us hunters acquainted with the habits of the buffalo knew that the herds would soon be coming north from the Staked Plains region where they had spent the winter. The spring had been unusually late, which held back the buffaloes in their migration. There was nothing for us to do but wait until the buffaloes were moved by that strange impulse that twice annually caused them to change their home and blacken the Plains with their countless, moving forms. We could lie around camp or vary the monotony by going to Adobe Walls and joining in the fun that was rampant at that place. Our amusements were mostly card-playing, running horse-races, drinking whisky and shooting at targets, the latter to improve our marksmanship.

All this soon got old to me, and about the last of May I pulled out again. Crossing the Canadian at the mouth of White Deer Creek, I followed the latter to its head and went out on the Plains, keeping along their edge until I came to Dixon Creek. Here I found an ideal camping place, with plenty of wood, grass and water. I decided to build our permanent camp, and was soon industriously at work. I knew by the signs that buffaloes had been through here, and it was certain that they would soon be coming back.

I had two men with me, "Frenchy," whom I employed as a skinner, and Charley Armitage, an agreeable fellow who had come from England. Those Englishmen certainly loved the life of the frontier.

We had been here two or three days, when the expected happened. Getting up one morning earlier than my companions, I chunked the fire for breakfast, and stood waiting for it to begin blazing. Then a familiar sound come rolling toward me from the Plains – a sound deep and moving, not unlike the rumbling of a distant train passing over a bridge. In an instant I knew what was at hand. I had often heard it. I had been listening for it for days, even weeks.

Walking out on a high point near camp, I gazed eagerly toward the horizon. I could see nothing save the vast undulating landscape. My ears, however, had revealed to me what my eyes could not see. The buffaloes were coming!

Hurrying back to camp, I shouted the good news to Armitage and "Frenchy," rousing them from their sleep and telling them to hurry breakfast. They lost no time in making coffee, frying meat and browning a cake of bread. I saddled my horse by the time breakfast was ready, and after eating hurriedly I sprang into my saddle and went south at a gallop.

After I had ridden about five miles, I began striking small bunches of buffalo bulls, all headed north and all moving. A further ride of eight miles carried me out on the Plains. My muscles hardened and grew warm at the sight. As far as the eye could reach, south, east and west of me there was a solid mass of buffaloes – thousands upon thousands of them – slowly moving toward the north.

The noise I had heard at early day-break was the bellowing of the bulls. At this time of year – the breeding season – the bellowing of the countless bulls was continuous, a deep, steady roar, that seemed to reach to the clouds. It was kept up night and day, but seemed to be deepest and plainest at early morning.