The Life of Buffalo Bill by William F. Cody (reading an ebook .txt) 📕

was very badly crippled and scattered. This caused us to go into camp and spend a day in replacing the broken tongues, and repairing other damages, and gathering up our scattered ox-teams.

The next day we rolled out of camp, and proceeded on our way towards the setting sun. Everything ran along smoothly with us from that point until we came within about eighteen miles of Green River, in the Rocky Mountains⁠—where we camped at noon. At this place we had to drive our cattle about a mile and a half to a creek to water them. Simpson, his assistant, George Woods and myself, accompanied by the usual number of guards, drove the cattle over to the creek, and while on our way back to camp, we suddenly observed a party of twenty horsemen rapidly approaching us. We were not yet in view of our wagons, as a rise of ground intervened, and therefore we could not signal the trainmen in case of any unexpected danger befalling us. We had no suspicion, however, that we were about to be trapped, as the strangers were white men. When they had come up to us, one of the party, who evidently was the leader, rode out in front and said:

“How are you, Mr. Simpson?”

“You’ve got the best of me, sir,” said Simpson, who did not know him.

“Well, I rather think I have,” coolly replied the stranger, whose words conveyed a double meaning, as we soon learned. We had all come to a halt by this time, and the strange horsemen had surrounded us. They were all armed with double-barreled shot guns, rifles and revolvers. We also were armed with revolvers, but we had had no idea of danger, and these men, much to our surprise, had “got the drop” on us, and had covered us with their weapons, so that we were completely at their mercy. The whole movement of corraling us was done so quietly and quickly that it was accomplished before we knew it.

“I’ll trouble you for your six shooters, gentlemen,” now said the leader.

“I’ll give ’em to you in a way you don’t want,” replied Simpson.

The next moment three guns were leveled at Simpson. “If you make a move you’re a dead man,” said the leader.

Simpson saw that he was taken at a great disadvantage, and thinking it advisable not to risk the lives of the party by any rash act on his part, he said: “I see now that you have the best of me, but who are you, anyhow?”

“I am Joe Smith,” was the reply.

“What! the leader of the Danites?” asked Simpson.

“You are correct,” said Smith, for he it was.

“Yes,” said Simpson, “I know you now; you are a spying scoundrel.”

Simpson had good reason for calling him this and applying to him a much more opprobrious epithet, for only a short time before this, Joe Smith had visited our train in the disguise of a teamster, and had remained with us two days. He suddenly disappeared, no one knowing where he had gone or why he had come among us. But it was all explained to us now that he had returned with his Mormon Danites. After they had disarmed us, Simpson asked, “Well, Smith, what are you going to do with us?”

“Ride back with us and I’ll soon show you,” said Smith.

We had no idea of the surprise which awaited us. As we came upon the top of the ridge, from which we could view our camp, we were astonished to see the remainder of the train men disarmed and stationed in a group and surrounded by another squad of Danites, while other Mormons were searching our wagons for such articles as they wanted.

“How is this?” inquired Simpson. “How did you surprise my camp without a struggle? I can’t understand it.”

“Easily enough,” said Smith; “your men were all asleep under the wagons, except the cooks, who saw us coming and took us for returning Californians or emigrants, and paid no attention to us until we rode up and surrounded your train. With our arms covering the men, we woke them up, and told them that all they had to do was to walk out and drop their pistols⁠—which they saw was the best thing they could do under circumstances over which they had no control⁠—and you can just bet they did it.”

“And what do you propose to do with us now?” asked Simpson.

“I intend to burn your train,” said he; “you are loaded with supplies and ammunition for Sidney Johnson, and as I have no way to convey the stuff to my own people, I’ll see that it does not reach the United States troops.”

“Are you going to turn us adrift here?” asked Simpson, who was anxious to learn what was to become of himself and his men.

“No; I hardly am as bad as that. I’ll give you enough provisions to last you until you can reach Fort Bridger,” replied Smith; “and as soon as your cooks can get the stuff out of the wagons, you can start.”

“On foot?” was the laconic inquiry of Simpson.

“Yes sir,” was the equally short reply.

“Smith, that’s too rough on us men. Put yourself in our place and see how you would like it,” said Simpson; “you can well afford to give us at least one wagon and six yokes of oxen to convey us and our clothing and provisions to Fort Bridger. You’re a brute if you don’t do this.”

“Well,” said Smith, after consulting a minute or two with some of his company, “I’ll do that much for you.”

The cattle and the wagon were brought up according to his orders, and the clothing and provisions were loaded on.

“Now you can go,” said Smith, after everything had been arranged.

“Joe Smith, I think you are a mean coward to set us afloat in a hostile country, without giving us our arms,” said Simpson, who had once before asked for the weapons, and had had his request denied.

Smith, after further consultation with his comrades, said: