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in, manfully came to the rescue, and proposed to make the trip to Dodge, though he had just finished his long and perilous ride from Larned. I gratefully accepted his offer, and after a short rest he mounted a fresh horse and hastened on his journey, halting but once to rest on the way, and then only for an hour, the stop being made at Coon Creek, where he got another mount from a troop of cavalry. At Dodge he took some sleep, and them continued on his own post-Fort Larned-with more dispatches. After resting at Larned, he was again in the saddle with tideing for me at Fort Hays, General Hazen sending him, this time, with word that the villages had fled to the south of Arkansas. Thus, in all, Cody rode about 350 miles in less than sixty hours, and such an exhibition of endurance and courage at that time of the year, and in such weather, was more than enough to convince me that his services would be extremely valuable in the campaign, so I retained him at Fort Hays till the battalion of the Fifth Cavalry arrived, and then made him CHIEF OF SCOUTS."

Image Caption:
INDIAN WAR DANCE.

Read through the fascinating book, "Campaigning with Crook (Major-General George Crook, U. S. A.), and Stories of Army Life," due to the graphic and soldierly pen of Captain Charles King, of the U. S. Army; published in 1890.

Incidentally the author refers in various pages to COL. CODY as Scout, etc., and testifies to the general esteem and affection in which "BUFFALO BILL," is held by the army.

The subjoined extracts from the book will give our readers an excellent idea of the military scout's calling and its dangers.

"By Jove, General!" says "BUFFALO BILL," sliding backward down the hill, "now's our chance. Let our party mount here out of sight, and we'll cut those fellows off. Come down every other man of you."

Glancing behind me, I see CODY, TAIT and "CHIPS," with five cavalrymen, eagerly bending forward in their saddles, grasping carbine and rifle, every eye bent upon me, watching for the signal. Not a man by myself knows how near they are. That's right, close in you beggars! Ten seconds more, and you are on them! A hundred and twenty-five yards-a hundred-ninety-"Now, lads, in with you."

There's a rush, a wild ringing cheer; then bang, bang, bang! and in a cloud of dust, CODY and his men tumbl in among them, "BUFFALO BILL" closing on a superbly (?)ccoutred warrior. It is the work of a minute; the Indian has fired and missed. CODY's bullet tears through the rider's leg into the pony's heart, and they tumble in a confused heap on the prairie. The Cheyenne struggles to his feet for another shot, but CODY'S second bullet hits the mark. It is now close quarters, knife to knife. After a hand-to-hand struggle, CODY wins, and the young chief, "YELLOW HAND," drops lifeless in his tracks after a hot fight. Baffled and astounded, for once in a lifetime beaten at their own game, their project of joining "SITTING BULL," nipped in the bud, they take hurried flight. But our chief is satisfied. "BUFFALO BILL," is radiant; his are the honors of the day. From page 34

THE GREATEST ARTIST, FRED. REMINGTON, WRITES FROM LONDON TO "HARPER'S WEEKLY."

The most noted depicter of Western scenes of the present day is without doubt the eminent artist, Mr. Frederic Remington. His study of the subject renders him a most competent judge. In returning from an expedition in Russia, passing through London, he visited Buffalo Bill's Wild West, and it is with pride that the projectors point to his endorsement, standing side by side in artistic merit as he does with the grand artiste, Rosa Bonheur:

The Tower, the Parliament, and Westminster Abbey are older institutions in London than Buffalo Bill's show, but when the New Zealander sits on London Bridge and looks over his ancient manuscripts of Murray's Guide-Book, he is going to turn first to the Wild West. At present everyone knows where it is, from the gentlemen in Piccadilly to the dirtiest coster in the remotest slum of Whitechapel. The cabman may have to scratch his head to recall places where the traveller desires to go, but when the "Wild West" is asked for he gathers his reins and uncoils his whip without ceremony. One should no longer ride the deserts of Texas or the rugged uplands of Wyoming to see the Indians and pioneers, but should go to London. It is also quite unnecessary to brave the fleas and the police of the Czar to see the Cossack, or the tempt the waves which roll between New York and the faroff Argentine to study the Gauchos. they are all in London. the Cossacks and Gauchos are the lates addition, and they nearly complete the array of wild riders. There you can sit on a bench and institute comparisons. The Cossacks will charge you with drawn sabres in a most genuine way, will hover over you like buzzards on a battlefield-they soar and whirl about in graceful curves, giving an uncanny impression, which has doubtless been felt by many a poor Russian soldier from the wheat fields of Central Europe as he lay with a bulletin in him on some distant field. They march slowly around over imaginary steppes, singing in a most dolorous way-looking as they did in Joseph Brandt's paintings. They dance over swords in a light-footed and crazy way, and do feats on their running horses which bring the hand clapping. They stand on their heads, vault on and off, chase each other in a game called " chasing the handkerchief," and they reach down at top speed and mark the ground with a stick. Their long coat-tails flap out behind like an animated rag-bag, while their legs and arms are visible by turns. Their grip on the horse is maintained by a clever use of the stirrups, which are twisted and crossed at will. They are armed like "pincushions," and ride on a big leather bag, which makes their seat abnormally high.

The Gauchos are dressed in a sort of Spanish costume, with tremendous pantaloons of cotton, and boots made of colt's skin, which in their construction are very like Apache moccasins. They carry a knife at their back which would make a hole which a doctor couldn't sew up with less than five stitches, if indeed he was troubled at all. They ride a saddle which would floor a Castilian at once. They ride bucking horses by pairs, and amuse the audience by falling off at intervals.

The great interest which attaches to the whole show is that it enables the audience to take sides on the question of which people ride the best and have the best saddles. The whole thing is put in such

Image Caption:
RUSSIAN COSSACKS.