My First Buffalo Chase

This is an extract taken from “Autobiography of a Pioneer” written by Floyd B. Small in 1916. The book records some of his experiences on the Plains in various occupations. 

The book is a fascinating read and instead of rewriting his narration, we have chosen to present it as he wrote it. It would be most disrespectful to Mr. Small if we were to attempt to improve on it. After all, it is his story, not ours.

“In the spring of 1869 my parents emigrated from a far Eastern state to the Middle West of the State of Kansas, which was then a dry, barren and wild country. Father located on a quarter section of land, or in other words, he accepted one of Uncle Sam’s valuable gifts and homesteads. We then proceeded to build a house, or rather dig one, and when finished it was a modern bungalow of the time. It was half under the ground and half above ground. The roof was shingled with dirt, walls were of dirt, and the floor was laid in dirt, while an old quilt served as a door…

“Father brought with him a very large dog, a cross between the mastiff and a Siberian greyhound. He was both swift and vicious. 

“The dog’s favorite roost was on top of the house, presumably for the reason that the only obstruction to his views in any direction was distance and darkness.

“I secured work that season with a freighting outfit, driving three yoke of oxen. We loaded a steamboat on the Missouri River at Atchison, Kansas, and freighted it 650 miles across the plains, to either Colorado Spring or Denver City. Neither of these towns was then anything more than a frontier mining camp. We made two round trips that season and lost three oxen, two of them from drinking alkali water and the other from snakebite. About all that there was to be seen the first two or three years in our newly adopted home was buffalo, Indians, rattlesnakes and hard times – the latter predominating.

“During the following season of 1870 I was home a part of the time, and during the latter part of August of that year the family, myself included, went some five miles away to Salt Marsh Creek for the day to gather wild plums, the wild fruit being all that was to be had for a number of years in the fruit line, and it makes my mouth water and tears almost come to my eyes to this day when I recall some of the butters and jams that mother would prepare from this wild fruit. We returned home late that same night.

“The dog had been left at home, as was our usual custom when the family were all away, and returning, he med us some distance from the house, and his actions plainly indicated that there was something of an unusual nature about.

“As soon as we arrived at the house I started to bring in the cows to be milked, where upon the dog darted off like a shot into the darkness and would not come back at my calling.

“In a very short time I heard him baying at something in the pond of water where the two cows were picketed. 

“I hurried up and could see it was an animal in the water. I could discern in the darkness four more animals about where the cows should be. I called the dog off and we went to loosen the cows. They were there all right. The other two animals ran away. I supposed it was stray stock that had broken loose. I took the cows home and paid no more attention to the matter than night. Next morning I was out early with my dog. We went up to the pond to investigate. I soon discovered that there had been a devil of a fight all about the water’s edge. As the old saying goes – blood, hair, and ground torn up.

“I followed up the draw, possibly a half mile, to see if I could discover any loose stock. Upon rounding a knoll we came upon three buffalo. As soon as they discovered us two of them made off. The other one made for the pond of water. I had all I could do to keep the dog from taking after the one. He was frantic with rage.

“I hurried home and reported what I had seen. I was sent to tell a neighbor. He in turn sent word to two more settlers some three miles away. About 9 o’clock there were four men in our yard mounted upon work animals, all strung up for a buffalo hunt, as buffalo meat had been pretty scarce that season.

“I shall never forget the array of shooting irons in that crowd. There was one muzzle loading shotgun, one old Long Tom muzzle loading rifle, one Mexican carbine, and a cap and ball pistol.

“Every one was an old buffalo hunter – so he said.

“I mounted one of the work horses to show where the game was, and they were to do the rest. We found the three buffalo by the pond, the two having returned to their companion. We rode to within a quarter of a mile of them and halted. We saw they were getting uneasy, and thought they would soon run, but instead they took to the water. So it was decided to ride in closer. We had not gone far when two came out, and it was evident they were on the warpath and would resist any closer acquaintance, as they commenced to paw the dirt and shake their heads. It was decided then to shoot them where they were, which was at a range of about three hundred yards.

“Everybody dismounted except myself, I felt safer upon the old mare’s back.

“One old gent said he could drop one of them where it stood. He picked out his buffalo.

“The other three men were to attack the other two. It was agreed at the count of three all were to fire.

“One, two, three – and the slaughter was on.

“Two guns were discharged and apparently no damage was done – only to start the buffalo. The two that were out of the water ran in a southwest direction. The other one came out and started in a southeast direction.

“By the time all hands were mounted the two buffalo were a full half mile away. Three of the party gave chase of the two – myself and the other party took after the one. It seemed to be handicapped in some way, but could travel, however, as fast as we could. There wasn’t a horse in the outfit that could head a cow.

“We kept after our buffalo for a couple of miles, neither gaining, or losing. There was a small band of cattle in charge of a herder directly ahead of us, some two miles distant. It saw the cattle and made straight for them. The herder saw us coming and rode out and put his dog on the buffalo and switched it around south, not wanting it to cause a disturbance in his herd. After several charges and desperate efforts to get to the cattle, it finally took cover in a bunch of wild plum brush. His dog held it at bay. It showed fight and would have attacked any living thing. The herder carried on his saddle a Joslyn carbine that burnt seventy grains of powder and of fifty-six calibre. The dog and the buffalo had it up and down and around the plum thicket for an hour or more. The buffalo wouldn’t break cover. It would charge the dog but would not show in the opening, until it became so enraged it lost its self-control and charged the dog a little too far.

Joslyn carbine; single shot, rimfire .56 caliber cartridge, patented in 1863 by B. F. Joslyn, swinging breechblock design. From Our Rifles by Sawyer.

“The herder stood upon a high bank, gun in hand, awaiting his opportunity. He caught it in a vital spot just back of the shoulder before it could take to cover again. It rolled over, pounded its head upon the ground for about five minutes, bellowed several times and gave up the fight.

“Upon examination we found it was a five-year-old bull. His nose and upper lip was literally torn off. His under lip was torn, a chunk of which, six inches in length, hung by a small piece, and four inches of its tongue was gone. This was the work of my dog the day before, for there was every evidence of a battle between him and the dog possibly lasting for hours, the bull finally taking to the pond of water to escape further punishment, the dog discovering them while we were absent, and the bull accepting the challenge.

“It was not an unfrequent thing for a straggling buffalo to drift down into the settlement. Those that had been hunted further west and had become separated from their band.

“The other two buffalo outdistanced their pursuers so badly that they gave up the chase, but they were set upon by some travelers that afternoon about eight miles west and run to cover in the brush of Little Cheyenne Creek by them and their dogs, surrounded and shot, but not before one of them charged a horseman, disemboweled the horse and broke the arm of the rider. They were two three-year-old cows. A buffalo when separated from their own kind will take to domestic cattle, but is always a deadly enemy to a horse, and will never give ground to a horse, but is deathly afraid of a horseman, unless angered.

“This party of travelers consisted of four men and two teams and wagons. They had been out farther west and had located homesteads, and were on their way back to their homes in the eastern part of the State of Kansas. They were Fred Clark, Joe Disen and the two Collins brothers. Disen was the man that received the broken arm when his horse was gored to death by the buffalo cow. A couple of settlers had appeared upon the scene during the excitement and killing. The settlers proffered, and their hospitality was accepted, including temporary shelter and assistance to the party, being thus handicapped by the loss of a horse and a broken arm. The entire party went to the nearest settler’s home, two miles further south on this same Little Cheyenne Creek, where all passed the night, caring for the injured man as best they could, and all hands having a feast of buffalo meat. It was arranged next morning that Clark and Disen would remain with the settler for a few days in order that Mr. Disen could recuperate sufficiently to travel, and also that they might secure another animal to take the place of the horse that the buffalo killed. The Collins brothers started for home, seventy-five miles east. They were crossing the divide, lying between the Big and Little Cheyenne Creeks, a distance of some fifteen miles. They had not traveled far, however, when they were surrounded and attacked by Comanche Indians, shot to death with steel-pointed arrows, robbed, their horses taken, the wagon set on fire, and the two dead bodies badly burned. Their remains were buried by some settlers in one grave, wrapped in blankets only.

“On a high bluff overlooking and not over four hundred yards from the spot where the two buffalo cows were killed, a pole some twenty feet high was placed by the grave and the head of one of the buffalo cows was securely fastened to its top. This was a landmark for several years, until it was burned down by prairie fires.

“The massacre of these two boys took place some six miles due south of my home. I was one of the first on the ground after the massacre had been discovered, and I had picked up some burnt tools and a gun barrel, the stock of which was burned off. Others took a wagon tire, a burned ax, anything for a souvenir.

“Along in the latter part of the following September a brother of the murdered men came out from the eastern part of the state to secure positive identification, if possible, and to advise himself of the manner and location of the burial of his brothers, providing he was convinced beyond a doubt that it was his two brothers.

“The writer accompanied Mr. Collins to where the massacre took place. In looking around he picked up a shoe, badly burned, which he identified by a buckle on it as belong to one of his brothers. We then went to the grave, which had been covered with stone, having been put there a few weeks before by myself and a companion. On passing the grave one afternoon we noticed that the coyotes had been digging there.

“The brother had a stone placed at the head of the grave, with the following inscription cut thereon:

‘L. & S. Collins, two brothers, killed by Comanche Indians August 18th, 1870.’

“Referring once more to the milch cows, I might mention that the following May one of the cows presented the family with a cattalo bull calf, the sketch of which from memory is herein exhibited. A cattalo bull is inclined to be vicious. This fellow, notwithstanding his domestic rearing, had to be slaughtered in his third year on account of his vicious disposition.

“I now desire to refer the reader once more to Salt Marsh Creek. Before we leave this locality I wish to state that in the fifty years I have spent in a wild and game-covered country I have never seen anything to equal the sights that could be seen on this salt march in the Fall and Spring of the years 1870-1871. There were what was known as North and South Marsh Creeks, draining possibly one thousand square miles of territory. The two creeks formed a junction about eight miles northeast of my home. At that time from the junction of the two creeks they were called Salt Marsh Lake, a narrow body of water that would cover about one hundred yards in width and quite deep. This lake was about three miles in length and full of different species of fish, and many kinds of crabs, toads, crawfish, tadpoles, snakes, turtles, etc. At the termination of this lake the valley opened out to a width of some two miles by seven miles in length. The stream running through the center was very shallow with scarcely no banks at all. This valley in the years mentioned was devoid of any vegetation whatever, perfectly level, and bare as a street during dry weather. Salt would form on the surface of this valley to such an extent that it resembled a covering of snow and could be seen for miles. This salt and water was the attraction for wild animal game, and possibly had been for years. The freshets during the Spring and Fall swept down and through the lake, carrying out fish and other water animals mentioned, and scattering them broadcast over the entire valley. This fish food and water accounted for the presence of the wild fowl I have seen there in the Fall and Spring of the year, and all in plain sight at once – buffalo, elk, deer and antelope, the wild horse in the distance, and the ever present buffalo and coyote wolf; the swan, wild goose and brant, the crane, and the wild duck by the multiplied thousands, and the prairie chicken as thick as flies, for such a conglomerated and congested mass of wild game at one sight has been but few men’s fortunes to see in any country.

“A few more lines concerning the years above mentioned in this particular locality in Bleeding Kansas, and we will pass on farther West and see what took place there. Kansas was known for many years as the Grasshopper State, or Bleeding Kansas, but of late years it has been better know as the Sunflower State. On August 4th, 1874, the middle west of the State of Kansas was devastated of every particle of vegetation, excepting the prairie grass, by the grasshopper. I was at home on that morning. It was a bright, sunshiny morning until about 9 o’clock. I was passing from the house towards our stock corral. The path led through a cornfield. The corn was just passing from the milk stage and the promise for an abundant crop had never been better in the five years my people had been there. All of a sudden the sun darkened; I looked up and was hit in the face for my pains by not less than a dozen grasshoppers before I could turn back. The sun was clouded by the magnitude of the swarm of grasshoppers. There was a barrel stave lying by the path. I picked it up and started to strike against the drift of grasshoppers, which resembled a heavy snowstorm driven by a high wind. I possibly stood there three minutes, not longer, when I quit striking I had at least a half-barrel of grasshoppers laying before me. They lit on the corn – on everything that was green – and commenced to devour it in the most ravenous manner. My mother had grown a beautiful garden that Spring, everything in it ready to use and root up for Winter. It was covered three inches deep with grasshoppers in less than five minutes. Poor mother, it was a most heart-sickening thing for her, this being the first year during the five that she had battled so hard in this new and wild place to keep the souls and bodies of herself and family together, and the prospects were so good not ten minutes before to have a little more to eat that Winter and some to sell, and thus be able to cover up some of the naked spots that her most resourceful and ingenious disposition could not provide longer without help, and now to see those hellish grasshoppers devouring the last vestige of everything eatable. Imagine her feelings, and her’s were only those of hundreds and hundreds of others. By 3 o’clock that afternoon you could have seen a rabbit forty rods in any direction through that cornfield, nothing whatever left but the stubs of the cornstalk. There we were, and everybody in that part of the country in the same fix; a lot of hogs just starting to fatten and not one stalk of corn for their evening feed. Well, this calamity was lived through, or rather starved through, as were many other hardships overcome by the early settlers and pioneers of this great Western country. Some could not survive the repeated onslaughts, and their number was much greater than has ever been surmised. These grasshoppers bored themselves into the prairie sod and deposited the eggs that Fall. The following Spring in March and April the eggs began to hatch, and here arose another menace to the Fall and Spring wheat, as well as other crops. The young grasshopper when not larger than a black ant showed up in the edges of the wheat and rye fields by the multiplied billions.

“The only thing that could be done was to burn all prairie grass, and where enough old dead grass remained to carry a fire this was done and a parcel of the crops were saved, the fire destroying a large percentage of the young hoppers, but this method of destroying the young hopper proved fatal to more than one poor settler. Prairie fires were raging all over the country. It was nothing uncommon to see a string or line of prairie fire anywhere from five to twenty-five miles in length, and a sudden rise of wind spelled the doom of every settler in its wake. Many were the poor settlers that were burned out of house and home, nobody able to give any material aid. One family lost two little girls, another the mother, leaving the father with five small children and no more of a home than a jackrabbit. His team and wagon also burned. I could go on and enumerate hardships of a like character that have been encountered by the pioneers of this Western country, but I don’t choose to do so. I neither have the space nor inclination. The majority of my reflections along this line are not pleasant for me to dwell upon. One thing I know; that in but a few instances are the ones that paid the price the ones that are enjoying the fruits. Bleeding Kansas was right. Hot winds, dry weather cyclones, tornadoes, floods, hail and wind storms in the Summer seasons and those blizzards that swooped down over that country from the northwest from three to six days’ duration, piling snow twenty feet high, freezing both man and stock, during the Winter season. Well do I know that there were other bones than buffalo bones left to bleach on those high, wild and dry prairies. Bleeding Kansas in the seventies – that was right.” 

References:

1 Small, Floyd B., Autobiography of a Pioneer, F.B. Small, Seattle, Washington, 1916, PP 15-25