Barton County KS Archives History - Books .....A Pioneer's Experience 1912
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Book Title: Biographical History Of Barton County

A PIONEER'S EXPERIENCE
By Homer H. Kidder of Great Bend

IN 1863, I left Michigan with the purpose of taking a look over Kansas,
principally with a view of making a home and going into business. At Kansas City
I met with Kit Carson, the famous Indian scout, and Wm. Bent, the builder of
Bent's old Fort, near the mouth of the Purgatoire river in Colorado. They were
then preparing to take a trip west, and knowing I would never have a better
chance, I gladly accepted their invitation and accompanied them.

   From Kansas City Kit Carson, Mr. Bent, Charley Rath and myself went up the
river to Leavenworth; there we joined a mule train of about ten wagons. "We came
by way of Topeka (then quite a small town), and Council Grove.

   In September we arrived at the mouth of Walnut Creek, and went into camp
about an hour before sunset, and, while knowing full well that we were 100 miles
from the nearest white settlement, yet we saw large numbers of human beings
coming to us on horseback, which, on their arrival, proved to be wild Indians;
but as they were peaceable at that time we had nothing to fear, and upon taking
a view of the broad green prairies, dotted here and there with clusters of
Indian lodges and groupes of ponies, and in the distant background could be seen
large herds of buffalo, waiting quietly to become food for the Indians. It was
truly the happiest hour of my existence —for it was my first sight of wild
Indians and buffaloes.

   The Indians arrived at our camp and dismounted, and, after shaking hands all
round, with their "how, how," they sat down, we all smoked the pipe of peace,
and after spending an hour or so in a chat, we all lay down on the ground for a
sleep.

   Next morning several Indians with Kit and myself went out on a buffalo chase,
and within half an hour ran into a fine herd of them, and after a short run we
had several of them lying dead on the ground, some killed with arrows by the
Indians and some with our bullets.

 We remained in the Indian camp several days, for rest, and decided to open a
trading post with them; and, after a few days more were spent in an Indian feast
and making our camp convenient for business—building a corral for our stock,
etc.—we opened up and sold such goods as we had brought for that purpose. After
several weeks of life with the Indian families, enjoying the company of the
beautiful Indian maidens, eating out of the same skillet with them, and
partaking of their dish of "fat dog," I bade my dusky beauties adieu, and went
up to Fort Larned to accept the situation of clerk in the quartermaster's office
for the winter. At that time Fort Larned was a small adobe fort. We had a long
spell of intensely cold weather, with considerable of "the beautiful snow" on
the ground; and during that winter many freighters lost much of their stock by
freezing to death and stampeding and remaining with the buffalo. Several
"bull-whackers" also froze to death that winter. But, as everything has an end,
so did our bitter cold winter, and with it came our spring, when I resigned my
clerkship and returned to Walnut Creek, where I built a ranch that lasted me
many years during my frontier life. I located it close to the creek for the
purpose of obtaining water without endangering myself from the hostile attacks
of the Indians, who were then threatening to break out and go on the war-path. I
had not half finished my ranch (it being slow work to cut the sod with an ax),
when the Indians made a break on some freight trains enroute to Mexico, cutting
off some of the hind wagons, capturing the stock and killing the drivers. This
of course opened the warfare and put us all on our guard. I finally finished my
ranch, and began to trade for poor and lame cattle that were brought from Mexico
by freighters and drovers; and during that year found myself in possession of a
nice large herd of cattle, and by keeping them well guarded from the Indians I
lost none of them. During the year the Indians made a great many attacks on
trains, seldom failing to get the best of the bargain and carry off the scalp of
some poor unfortunate who happened to be away from the main party; but as the
season closed the Indians retreated to the Medicine Lodge, where they spent the
winter, and made ready for a continued raid and a season fight of plunder and
massacre next year.

   The winter being a very mild one, my herd of stock went through in fine
condition, and in the following year I increased the herd to several thousand
head, and as the freighting season again opened, everything seemed lively.

   It was nothing uncommon to see 100 wagons in a double line, moving across our
"Great American Desert," and it was almost a daily occurrence to see from 30 to
100 "Prairie Schooners" at once. These wagons, when under a full load, would
contain from 4 to 6 thousand pounds, and were hauled by six yoke of oxen or six
mules. All these wagons would camp on the creek, at or near my ranch, making it
contain quite an army nearly every night. Such nights would usually be spent in
telling yarns until a late hour, when all would take their "gunny sack" and lie
down for sleep on the ground, except the night herders who were constantly on
the watch till the break of day when they drove in the stock. In a moment all
was astir, and within half an hour on the move, and I left alone again, with the
exception of my hired help.

   Thus the season continued, except an occasional attack on some poor pilgrim
or unguarded train, in which, after a few moments of the most intense
excitement, the Indians would usually come out victorious, having one or more
bloody scalps at their belts, and were stampeding the stock across the prairies
at full speed.

   While engaged in herding my cattle one day, one of my men (Jack) being near
by but out of sight, fishing in the creek, a small war party of Indians came up
from the river near by, and seeing a mule train about a mile off, they all made
a dash on the train except one Indian, who, upon seeing me, set up such a yell
as only a red devil can give, and with a drawn lance made a dash at me with the
utmost speed, intending to run me through. When about a rod from me I fired.
With a piercing yell he jumped from the pony, the blood spurting from his bare
breast. As he came to the ground we clenched, each one trying to get away with
"his Injun." Part of the time he was on top, then again I had him down; and he,
though weakening from loss of blood, got a knife from his belt and made a lunge
at me, while I was grasping him in a genuine rough-and-tumble for dear life, and
trying to restrain his hand. He finally succeeded in thrusting the knife through
my hand, and was about getting away with me, when my herdsman came in timely to
the scene of action. The Indian relaxed his hold of me and fell to the ground,
with a bullet through his head, and before he breathed his last I had his scalp
with his own knife; and, while he has "gone to the happy hunting ground," I
still carry "as a trophy" the scars of that event and the long scalp of my enemy.

   The Indians would occasionally make a dive on some train and get the worst of
it, having their scalps taken, which all white frontiersmen would do whenever
they killed a red-skin. This was done, they said, to keep the dead warriors from
going to the "happy hunting ground," the Indians claiming that anyone loosing
their scalp will never go there.

   And so the season wore on; we usually got our supplies from the passing
trains; so that, in reality, our life was an easy one, yet full of excitement on
account of the Indians who often tried to get our stock, but failed; until
September, when they made a grand successful rally, and drove off all my stock,
killing my herder.

   The loosing of several thousand head of cattle gave me the blues, and shortly
after I accepted a situation as mail carrier on the Santa Fe stage line of
Barlow, Saunderson & Co., where I remained more than three years, but still
keeping up my ranch, having to pass it weekly going out and returning to the
States. During that time I crossed the plains 150 times.

   During the fall of 1867 the Indians attacked a mule train, enroute for
Mexico, near the mouth of Walnut Creek, cut off an ambulance from the rear end
and killed an old lady and gentleman, cut the old lady in quarters, piled her
clothes en the remains and set them on lire, and carried off the bleeding scalps
of both at their belts.

   This was the year that Fort Zarah was built and occupied by troops. During
this same fall, a short distance this side of Walnut Creek four government teams
loaded for Fort Larned were attacked by Indians, who succeeded in killing and
scalping the drivers, and running off the stock. The Post Commander, thinking it
not a safe place for him, kept his quarters, and gave us what we could get out
of the wreck; we went out and made a nice haul of coffee, sauer kraut, beans,
flour, sugar, etc.

   Cow Creek crossing had many a fight between freighters and Indians, and many
killed on both sides. Once, when a small party (three men and one woman) with an
ambulance, were going to Fort Harker, they were attacked about a mile east of
Cow Creek crossing; they stopped over a deep buffalo wallow, and all got down
into it for protection. While in this condition1 a company wf troops commanded
by a captain who had been sent out to look after them, came up on the west bank
of Cow Creek in plain view of the scene, and after looking at them a few
moments, turned his command around for the west, without attempting to render
them any assistance. One sergeant in his company begged the captain to cross the
creek and relieve them, but instead of so doing the captain put the sergeant
under arrest and returned to Fort Zarah with his company, thus leaving the small
party to perish at the hands of the red devils, which they most certainly would,
had it not been for the timely arrival of a dozen scouts on their way from Fort
Harker to Fort Larned, who arrived on the spot just as the deserted party had
used their last shots at the Indians. They killed three or four Indians, and on
the other hand the Indians wounded the entire party. The cowardly captain was
cashiered and dismissed from the service for the act.

   We raised onions, tomatoes and potatoes, that year (1867) near the ranch on
spaded ground, they being the first vegetables ever raised in Barton County by
white men. We had rains enough to keep them in good growing condition, and they
matured of good size, and shape.

   That fall everything went on in the usual way, the Indians taking the west
end of the road above and around Fort Dodge. A mild winter followed; and when
spring returned so did the Indians, who kept up their attacks during the summer
at every opportunity. They kept things livelier than usual for us.

   During the fall of 1868 we fought the last Indian fight of Barton County,
four miles below where Great Bend now stands, on the Arkansas river. We numbered
twelve men and the Indians about seventy-five. We fought them for three hours,
killing and wounding several, also killing several ponies. We lost two men in
that engagement; shot with both bullets and arrows. The Indians finally left the
battle ground, carrying of their dead and the battle ground, carrying off their
dead and I sent my colored man out for some stray stock; the Indians cut him off
from the ranch, captured him, cut off his feet and one of his hands, skinned the
muscles off his limbs, skinned the whole top of his head taking every hair,
ripped him open from end to end, and left him. He crawled several rods in that
condition, until he reached an elevation in sight of the ranch, and expired.

   During the same fall, and a short time previous, the Indians killed and
scalped a white man of mine, near where now stands the Great Bend stock yards.

   Another engagement was had in September, (I think), that same fall, only a
short time previous to the last one mentioned, just this side of Walnut Creek,
and near where the railroad bridge now is, between the Indians and soldiers of
the Fort. The red devils captured the teams and killed some of the soldiers.
Indian fights were frequent along the Santa Fe trail, that season, and many of
good white man was put under the sod on that account.

   Cholera extended from ranch to ranch, nearly crossing the plains, in 1867,
and many died in consequence.



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