lowered to the ground, trying to drive the wolves away with his horns. This he continued to do until he had driven the wolves thirty yards away. All at once a wolf made a bark and a howl which seemed to be a signal for a general attack, for in a moment, the wolves were attacking the Buffalo on every side, and I don't think it was five minutes before they had the bull dead and stretched out. Until then I had never thought that wolves would attack a well Buffalo, but this sight convinced me that they could and would kill any buffalo they chose to attack.

We went back to camp, packed up our meat, and pulled out for the fort. When we got there I told Jim Bridger about the fight the wolves had with the buffalos, and he said, "If you had seen as much of that as I have, you would know that wolves signal to each other and understand each other the same as men do."

CHAPTER II.

It was early in the spring of fifty when Kit Carson, Jim Bridger, and myself met at Bent's Fort, which was on the head waters, of the Arkansas river. Bridger and I had just got in from our winter's trapping ground and had disposed of our furs to a very good advantage; Carson had just returned from a trip back east. Carson said to Bridger, "Now Jim, I'll tell you what I want you to do. I want you and Will (meaning me) to go over to Fort Kerney and escort emigrants across to California this season, for the gold excitement back in the eastern states is something wonderful, and there will be thousands of emigrants going to the gold fields of California, and they do not know the danger they will have to contend with, and you two men can save thousands of lives this summer by going to Fort Kerney and meeting the emigrants there and escorting them through. Now boys, you must understand that this undertaking is no child's play. In doing this apparently many times you will seem to take your lives in your own hands, for the Indians will be worse on the plains this year than they ever have been. At the present time there is no protection for the emigrant from the time they get twenty-five miles west of Fort Kerney, until they cross the Sierra Nevada mountains, and there are to be so many renegades from justice from Illinois and Missouri that it is going to be fearful this season, for the renegade is really worse in some respects than the Indian. He invariably has two objects in view. He gets the Indian to commit the murder which is a satisfaction to him without any personal risk besides the plunder he gets. I know, boys, you can get good wages out of this thing, and I want you to take hold of it, and you, Jim, I know have no better friend than Gen. Kerney, and he will assist you boys in every way he can. I almost feel as though I ought to go myself, but I cannot leave my family at the present time; now, Jim, will you go?" Bridger jumped up, rubbed his hands together and said, "I'll be dog goned if I won't, if Will goes with me."

[Illustration: As soon as they were gone I took the scalp off the dead
Chief's head.]

To which I replied, "I will go with you, and I think the quicker we
start the better it will be for all parties concerned." Carson said,
"You can't start too soon, for the emigrants will be arriving at Fort
Kerney by the time you get there."

The next morning Jim and I were up and had an early breakfast and were ready to start. Uncle Kit said to us, "Now boys, when you come back this fall I want you to come and see me and tell me what kind of luck you have had, and all the news."

We now bid him good bye, and we were off.

I will here inform the reader that Carson had taught me to call him Uncle Kit when I was fourteen years old, and I always addressed him in that way. Jim and I were off for Fort Kerney, which was a journey of about three hundred miles and not a sign of civilization on the whole trip. It was a wild Indian country the entire distance, but we knew where the hostile Indians were and also the friendly Indians. Consequently we reached Fort Kerney without having any trouble.

We met Gen. Kerney, who was glad to see us. He said, "Boys, where in the name of common sense are you going to?"

We explained to him in a few words our business. After hearing our plans the Gen. said, "I am certainly glad to know that someone will take hold of this thing, for I am sure that there will be more emigrants massacred this year than has ever been in any other. I will tell you why I think so. All the Indians from here to the Sierra-Nevada mountains are in the war-path; in the second place the emigrants who are coming from the east have no idea what they have to contend with, and I dread the consequences."

While this conversation was taking place a soldier rode in that had been on picket duty and said to the Gen., "I saw some covered wagons going into camp down on Deer Creek about five miles from here. Where do you suppose they are going, Gen?"

To which Gen. Kerney replied, "They are going to California, and you will see hundreds of them inside the next two weeks."

Jim Bridger said, "Well, Willie, come on and let's see what we can do with them."

As we were leaving the Fort Gen. Kerney said to us, "Boys, come back and stay all night with me, I want you to make my quarters your home while you are waiting for the emigrants to arrive."

Bridger answered, "Thank you, Gen. We will be glad to do so, and we may want you to recommend us to the emigrants."

To which the Gen. answered, "I will take pleasure in doing so."

Bridger and I rode down to where the emigrants were in camp, and we found the most excited people I ever saw in my life. They had passed through one of the most terrible experiences that had ever occurred on the frontier. There were thirty wagons in the train, and they were all from the southeastern part of Missouri, and it seemed that there was one man in the train by the name of Rebel who at the time they had left home had sworn that he would kill the first Indian he came across. This opportunity occurred this morning about five miles back of where we met them. The train was moving along slowly when this man "Rebel" saw a squaw sitting on a log with a papoose in her arms, nursing. He shot her down; she was a Kiawah squaw, and it was right on the edge of their village where he killed her in cold blood. The Kiawahs were a very strong tribe, but up to this time they had never been hostile to the whites; but this deed so enraged the warriors that they came out in a body and surrounded the emigrants and demanded them to give up the man who had shot the squaw. Of course, his comrades tried not to give him to them, but the Indians told them if they did not give the man to them, they would kill them all. So knowing that the whole train was at the mercy of the Indians, they gave the man to them. The Indians dragged him about a hundred yards and tied him to a tree, and then they skinned him alive and then turned him loose. One of the men told us that the butchered creature lived about an hour, suffering the most intense agony. They had just buried him when we rode into the camp. The woman and some of the men talked about the dreadful thing; one of the men said it was a comfort to know that he had no family with him here or back home to grieve at his dreadful death.

On hearing this remark Jim said, "You are the most lucky outfit I ever saw. Any other tribe of Indians this side of the Rocky Mountains would not have left one of you to have told the tale, and it is just such darned fools as that man that stir up the Indians, to do so much deviltry."

Until this time there had been but a few of the emigrants near us. We were both dressed in buck-skin, and they did not know what to make of us. The young girls and some of the young men were very