America needed heroes, righteous figures in white hats, atop a trusty steed, flag flying as backdrop. Cody recognized that opportunity and leapt into the breach, wrapped in words and images.

It wasn’t all words. His first few years in this country were by far his most difficult. His father Isaac, an ardent and outspoken free-state man, was stabbed giving a speech promoting Kansas as a slave-free state. Although not initially fatal, the wound and subsequent harassment and pursuit by the pro-slave advocates had Isaac constantly on the run and in hiding. He succumbed to the damage to his lungs in 1857.

At the age of 11, Will was now the man of the family. Sorely in need of cash to stave off a fictitious claim against their property, Will signed on as a “boy extra” with Russell, Major and Waddell, overland freighters headquartered in Leavenworth. He was assigned to a bull train that consisted of thirty-five wagons pulled by several yoke of oxen. The wagons resembled the ordinary prairie schooner but were larger and more strongly built, and each had a freight capacity of seven-thousand pounds.

Will quickly discovered that life on the trail was not all supper by the campfire with sparks brightly cascading into the night sky. It was mostly adversities and hardships. There were days, as the wagons were hauled up the long and arduous trail, when the clouds obscured the sky and the winds screamed unabated by any windbreak; days when torrents fell and swelled the streams that must be crossed, and when the mud lay ankle-deep; days when the cattle stampeded, and the round-up meant long, extra hours of heavy work; and hardest but most needed work of all, the eternal vigil against an Indian attack.
Days out on the trail, at a point twenty miles from Fort Kearney, a halt was called for dinner at the bank of a creek that emptied into the Platte River. No signs of Indians had been observed and there was no thought of special danger. Nevertheless, three men were constantly on guard. Many of the trainmen were asleep under their wagons, awaiting the call to dinner, and Will was observing the magic of the cook as he prepared the coming meal. Suddenly shots rang out from a nearby thicket, accompanied by a chilling series of savage yells.

Will saw the three sentries drop in their tracks, and watched as the Indians split, one group stampeding the cattle and the other charging down upon the camp. The trainmen quickly lined up behind the wagons and sent a volley of rifle fire into the charging band, driving them back out of rifle range. The only hope of safety lay in the cover of the nearby creek’s high banks, so a run was made for it. The Indians charged again, but the train had reached the creek, and from behind the natural breastwork they maintained fire that drove the enemy back out of range.

Clearly badly outnumbered, the best if limited hope for escape lay in following the creek bed, and the difficult flight was begun. After a few miles of wading, and as they continued their effort to reach the fort, Will had tired badly and fell a short distance behind. Suddenly the moonlight fell upon the head of Indian peering over the bank. Motionless, Will watched as the full outline of the brave came into view. As the Indian drew his bow into firing position, Will instinctively raised his rifle and fired. The foe tumbled down the bank and into the creek bed, dead.

The trail boss, now realizing that Will had fallen behind, ran back to find him hauling the dead warrior ashore.

“Well done, my boy, you’ve killed your first Indian, and done it like a man.”

As the two caught up to the waiting group, Will was greeted by cheers as the boss announced, “Pards, little Billy has killed his first redskin.” His sister later reported that the cheers grated on Will’s ears, for his heart was sick, and the shouts seemed strangely out of place. But there was no time for reflection or sentiment, as the enraged Indians resumed their attack. The haggard group, using the cover of the creek banks made their way to Fort Kearny by dawn.

Radical Winds ~ by Steve Buttress, posted by Chuck Peek