Like pilgrims to the appointed place we tend ;

The world's an inn and death the journey's end.”—Dryden.

Most of the Fremont volunteer force at the time were young men and those living now wear the frosty locks of age. Of Moorland it was reported he drove off some ponies from the Pawnees when they were upon their reservation. They found the trail toward Nebraska City. They took up their stock, killing Moorland on the prairie and leaving his flesh for the wolves and his bones to bleach in the sun.

We left the Pawnees between the Elkhorn and Beaver creek valleys. Their hunting was in the Sioux country, as the buffalo had been driven back by the white settlers, consequently their natural enemy. the Sioux, were contesting every inch of ground in their direction.

At Wood river, near Fort Kearney, they had a battle depleting their numbers and Icarrow-na-Sharrow received a wound; lingering a few days he passed to his happy hunting ground.

Being nearly famished for the want of food, about one hundred at night fall stole away from the eagle eye of the Sioux, going south into the buffalo country and in three days returned with their ponies loaded down with meat. In the early fall the Pawnees returned to harvest their corn, preparatory to going to their reservation; first finding out how well they were received by the people of Fremont. Finding them friendly and not enemies, they had permission to cache their corn in the limits of the place until winter or spring, taking their time to remove it.

In 1858, the Pawnees, were enumerated by the government and numbered 3,700. When they left the reservation for the Indian Territory in 1876, their number was a little over 2,600. By good authority, in 1887, they only numbered between ten and eleven hundred.

EARLY DAYS IN NEBRASKA.

A RUNNING FIGHT WITH THE LEADER OF A BAND OF DESPERADOES.

[From the Omaha Republican, January 29, 1888.]

It was the pleasure of a Republican representative a few evenings since to listen to a number of well-told reminiscences which were recounted by Captain G. M. Bailey, of this city. Captain Bailey, who was a private in the late war, and was taken prisoner, confined in Libby prison, and afterward paroled, came to Omaha when it was hardly a good-sized town. There were no railroads at that time entering this city. Communication with the outside world was had by means of a stage line to St. Joseph, thence by steamboat to St. Louis, and it was over this route, after many mishaps, that the captain first reached Omaha. Not long after he was, on account of ill-health, placed in the commissary department, with the rank of captain. It was while he was serving in this capacity that the incident we relate occurred. We give it as it came from his lips:

"In the spring of 1866, while I was assistant commissary on the staff of General Wheaton, then in command of the district of Nebraska, I received orders to go to the Pawnee reservation to muster out a battalion of Indians who had been enlisted under Major North to fight the Sioux, and who were at that time raising a great rumpus throughout the northwest. To carry out the order it required that I, with the army paymaster and our assistants, should traverse a distance of something over a hundred miles, through a region infested with desperadoes, in a lumbering army ambulance. It was on a bright and beautiful morning-in April, if I am not mistaken-when we left Fort Omaha, on what was destined to be an eventful trip. The ambulance contained four of us-Major Olmsted, the paymaster, his clerk, my clerk and myself. The driver and a mounted escort of

three made up the party. Our ambulance was drawn by four snowwhite horses, perfect beauties, that were the pride of General Wheaton. Fremont was then the first station west of Omaha and was our objective point for the first day. We reached there without incident, but hungry and stiff from our long journey. We were thirsty, too, and right here let me tell you that I did not know what a really good drink was until that night. You see, Major Olmsted was one of those good old Germans whose love of the national beverage had not been lost when he left the fatherland, and when he learned that there was a barrel of beer at the station, he set about to concoct what he termed a flip." He first beat up some eggs in a big tin bucket, filled it up with beer and stirred the whole with a red hot poker. To us, tired as we were, it was nectar fit for the gods, and the Fremonters, learning of the extra occasion, dropped in and kept the jolly Major busy making flips, until it was about as merry a party as you can imagine. There are several of that party left, and I'll wager that the memory of that night is a green oasis in a pretty generally barren desert.”

"Next morning we started for the reservation, which was located near Genoa. It was the counterpart of the previous day in spring loveliness. Not a cloud in the bright sky. Not a soul did we meet as we travelled along, and we were congratulating ourselves that we were to make a safe journey. About 5 o'clock in the afternoon we passed a ranch, one of the few in that part of the state at that time. Tethered in front of the ranch stood as noble a piece of horseflesh as I had ever set my eyes upon. He was a beautiful coal black fellow, as trimly built as a racer, and we all fell so greatly in love with him at first sight that we stopped to look him over. It was not until we had gone on some distance that I remembered that I had heard that just such a horse was in the possession of the leader of a band of marauders who had made much trouble in that section. The thought came over me in an instant that the presence of the horse on our route meant serious trouble for us. Major Olmstead laughed at me at first, but when I related some of the gang's exploits he became nervous and displayed the first signs of fear I had ever been able to detect in his nature. I stopped the ambulance and gave the escort orders to keep a sharp lookout, both ahead and in the rear, and then we started on as fast as we could, hoping to make Columbus before the gang could get together. About half an hour later one of the

escort rode up alongside and told me that the horse with a rider was coming up the trail behind us. Looking back I saw the beautiful steed coming toward us with the speed of a whirlwind, it seemed. I felt that there was trouble brewing, and had all our weapons examined and saw that there were plenty of cartridges in readiness for use.'

"The fact was well known that the Pawnees were to be mustered out and paid off, and it was also known that the money would have to be brought overland by the paymaster. Our conveyance was therefore a signal that the money was coming for everyone knew who drove the four white horses. I was aware that the desperadoes would have no twinges of conscience if they could capture our money bags, and they would not hesitate to shoot us down like dogs if it were necessary to secure the money. So you will understand why I was suspicious and even fearful. When about half a mile in our rear, the rider veered off the trail and swept around to the southwest and passed us, coming up to within a short distance of the trail ahead of us. He halted on a little knoll alongside the trail, and when we were about three hundred yards away, he dismounted, dropped on one knee behind a rock and commenced to pump shots from a Henri rifle at us. We were in for it. One of the first shots hit one of the ambulance horses in the leg and disabled it. Now, I was perfectly well aware that this one man would never capture our party and that any man would be a fool who would attempt such a thing; but I was also well aware that within probably ten or fifteen miles there were many other members of the gang, and I divined, rightly, I think, that this man's object was to disable us and delay us until he could get reinforcements. Meanwhile the bullets were being poured in on us as rapidly as the Henri could speak, and our return fire was unavailing. We were armed only with army revolvers, and the long range destroyed their effect. Ordering the escort to charge the desperado, I climbed out of the ambulance and unhitched our disabled horse. Did the escort capture the fellow? Well, no. When they came within range of him, he coolly mount

ed and dashed off at a rate with which our tired horses could bear no comparison. When at a safe distance he halted again, and the guard returned to the ambulance. Hitching one of the escort's horses in place of the disabled one, we started on."

Well, when we had again come within range of that fellow, he repeated his former dose of Henri bullets, and we again charged him and drove him further up the trail. I realized that the only thing that would save us was to keep moving toward Columbus, in hopes of reaching there before the gang would have time to reinforce their leader. The Shell creek country was so full of desperadoes at that time that I knew that in a short time the shots would be heard by some of the gang, and that the result would be our capture. proceeded in this way the rest of the distance to Columbus. charge, a hurried mounting and flight by the assailant, a slow following by the ambulance and another fusilade of bullets. The sides of the ambulance and the hubs and spokes were filled with bullet holes, but strange to say none of the shots took effect on either the horses or the party, after the disabling of the first horse in the beginning of the fight.

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"Finally we reached Columbus about 8 o'clock that night, in pretty bad condition, I assure you. That fellow had dogged us until within sight of the town and had then made off over the hills. Sheriff Becker (I think that's his name) was one of the first to greet us. When he heard of our experience, he at once mustered a posse, and gave chase, our escort accompanying them, and about eighteen hours later they succeeded in finding the headquarters of the gang and captured them. But they did not capture him of the beautiful horse, and I never saw either of them afterward. The gang was broken up, however, much to the relief of the settlers in the Shell Creek region.

"We went to Genoa the next afternoon, and the succeeding day paid off and mustered out the Indians. Our party had the pleasure of witnessing the novel war dance and other Indian ceremonies, and in the evening we were taken to the dormitory of the Indian school to see the little Injuns' sleeping. We went into the dormitory, and to our surprise found not a bed occupied. Then, after enjoying our amazement, the principal took us to a window opening on the piazza and showed us the little fellows, wrapped in blankets, sleeping peacefully in the open air, beneath the full moon's gentle rays. It seems they preferred the hard side of a plank and a blanket to the soft beds of the dormitory, and I sometimes think that their tastes, not ours, are after all correct."