| Page 25BUFFALO BILL.
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How He Came to Go On the Stage.
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His Great Ride With General Custer.
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"Just Foller Yer Hand, [B-y-] and Steam Up."
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"I'm no actor," said Buffalo Bill one afternoon during his late visit here, as a small but congenial party of us sat in the back office of the City Hotel. "I don't pretend to be anything of an actor, but you see the people seem to like it, and during the winter season I have nothing else to do, and, of course, I kin make more money this way than I can taking parties out on the plains or in hunting. I've got a nice little ranche now, and about 8,000 head of cattle, and as soon as I get my pile about where I want it, I shall just settle down. You see this layin around hotels all winter, living high and doing nothing, don't agree with a man who has been accustomed to being in the saddle all his life, and out among the excitement of the border, with an occasional scare from them at red-skinned hair lifters, or a bout with grizzlies. Just as soon as I get through with the theatrical season I just dust for my ranche and then my work commences, and as soon as I hist into that sadle and start out with the other cattle raisers I feel at home, and what with rounging in the cattle, branding 'em, etc., it don't take long to knock off this lazy flesh. It's a mighty exciting life, and we have lots of fun with it all. You see there are some jolly good fellows that have gone into is cattle-raising business, for, barring accidents, it is a money-making business, and when night comes and we all get together in camp there are some fine old hoorays, for you see when a man is out that on the plains he can "steam up" considerable, and getting into the saddle, with a chase after a lively steer, will take the head off of you quicker than brandy and soda or any of these rejuvenators you fellows use in the cities after a racket."
"How did you first come to go upon the stage?" said I.
"Wall, you see, I think it was a matter of nine or ten years ago I was in the government employ as a scout. I had been out on the plains with one of the editors of a Chicago paper, and we had a little brush with some Injins; give the fellow a terrible scare and when he got back he writ it up, and of course, like all you newspaper fellows, spread it on mighty thick and you would thought it was the biggest Injin scrimmage on record, and he a regular team of an Injin fihter. Well, I come back to Chicago shortly after and I met old Ned Buntline; I had known him before for the old fellow had often been out on the plains. He says to me: 'Bill, I''ve got a play written, and I want you to go on the stage and act in it, here in Chicago , and I'll give you five hundred dollars.' I said to him: 'Why, I don't know anything about acting, Ned.' 'Oh, tha'll be all right,' said he. So, as it promised to be a pretty good snap, I spoke o the General commanding the department about the matter, and he told me to go on, for you see I was only getting a hundred and fifty dollars a month and rations from Uncle Sam, and I knew I could always get my place back again if the acting business didn't work. Buntline gave me my part to study and I went to work on it. I kin tell you it was tough work for me, for it was out of my line, you see, and was worse work for me than following a grizzly's trail or hooping up a lot of buffaloes. The night of the opening performance came; and when the curtain went up and the cue was given for me to go on I'd forgot every consarned word of my lines and went on the stage and stood there like a Stoughton-botle. Somebody said 'Whar did you come from, Bill?' That was my cue. I couldn't think of anything else to say, so I just whacked out he story of being out after the Injins with his editor I told you of. He was thar that night in a box, and when I told the story in my way the audience just got on to it and fairly howled. I took up the whole scene, and when the curtain went down on the first act the rest of the company were saying they had not been on at all. But Buntline says: 'This's going bully; it's all right; just go on in your own way, Bill.' Well, I give it to them in that style. Somebody would say on the stage. 'Who'll save me!' Then on I'd rush. 'I will, Buffalo Bill!' Fire off a brace of six shooters. Injins drop all over the stage. Red fire!! Whoop!! Curtain.
"Well, that's about the style of the thing, and I've played from Main to Louisiana and as long as the public like it, why of course its all right. This season, as you know, I've got a new play and its very fair; and of course in these eight years I've got some experience in stage matters and feel quite at home, but bless you, I don't make any pretensions to being an actor. See here, I am getting dry talking so much. You boy there, tell Davenport to foller his band-- same all round-- them are apple toddies Tom mixes, are great stuff for steaming up; but they kick like a mule. Speaking of mules reminds me of a ride I took on one once, going across the plains with Custer. We'd got to go aobut seventy miles, and had got to make time, so I went down to the corral and picked out a tough-looking long-ears. When I rode up, Custer says to me, 'Bill, this is going to be a long ride; you'll need a horse.' 'Government don't furnish horses,' said I. 'I'll stay with you right smart for awhile with this mule, I reckon.' He had blooded horse, but I knew, for a long pull, old mule was good. They are tougher than the bark of a hickory. I had on a pair of old Mexican spurs, and once in a while I would just quietly sock one in on the off-side, and that old mule would just hum. I kept up with the gang, and after we had gone some distance Custer says, 'That's a pretty good mule you've got Bill?' 'Yes,' says I, 'for a mule he is quite fair;' and then I would jam that spur in on the side of the mule away from Custer, and just lift him. Well, we kept on that way and didn't get left much, you can bet. Old mule was right thar, every time. Custer thought he had better hold up a little on the pace for fear my old nag would give out, but I told him to go right along as if nothing had happened, and if he got there before I did to just tell 'em I was on the road. Well, now, you talk about Sheridan's ride, it wan't a circumstance. Custer could ride like the very devil, and it kinder bothered him to have that old mule keep so well side of his Kentuckian; and he was giving his horse all the lift he could get out of him just for spite; but I'll be dog-goned if I don't think that mule had got a streak of Arabian in him, for he was no end of a loper and if Custer got a little ahead a good dose of spur would bringme up level, and I knew I could tire the horse out on a long pull. Well, to make a long story short, when we got prety near the end of the juant i just made up my mind I was going to elave Custer behind and crawl in ahead. I gathered up the old mule and with a regular o'd Piute yell I jammed both spurs way in and jus dusted down the trail like a streak of greased lightning. I got into the fort just ten minutes 'fore Custer showed up and when I seen him quietly. 'Pretty good mule I had Custer.' He didn't say anything, but it was a grinder for him. His horse died that night from the hard pull he had; but that old mule chewed his prairie grass the next morning as if nothing had happened. I don't know whatever became of him. I reckon othing short of an earthquake would kill him. I've had some pretty good times taking parties out hunting. You know there is a good many of these English lords come over here for a little shootin', for they can bag game out on our prairies that they don't find at home. You know I went out with the Earl of Dunraven one season, and he was just crazy for shootin', and if I told you of the amount of game we knocked over, you'd think I was pulling the long bow. He wrote a hook after he went home and gave me quite a send-off. He came over a second time and sent for me, but I had an American party in tow, and so sent Texas Jack with Dunraven. He didn't like it a bit, but I had gin my word to go with the other party, so I couldn't get out of it. This party I was going with was some of the proprietors of the Remington Rifle and Sewing Machine Company, and a jolly good set they were, too. They liked to hunt and to have a bully good time besides, I give them a grand Injin scare one night just for fun. We was in a pokerish-looking place, and just after dark I got up on the side of the canon and just give a series of yells, and you'd have thought that whole Sioux nation was down on us. Them fellers were sitting in the tents and saying to each other, 'What blasted idiots they were to leave comfortable homes and firesides to be skylarking round out there, with the likelihoods of getting their hair lifted by the pesky redskins.' When I let on what I'd been doing, they just acknowledged the corn, and you can bet we just steamed up.
Well, I'm getting dry again. Aleck, tell Davenport to foller his band again. Same old story all round, is it? No you don't, you can't ring any Apollinarius in on me, take suthin hard. That sounds more liek it; make that last one whiskey and gum, Aleck. Now boys I'd be right glad to see you out on my ranche next summer; come out and stay six weeks or so, I'll guarantee you a good time, and if you like riding I can mount you with a good animal and if you don't enjoy yourself it's your own fault. I ain't foolin' now. I'd really like to have you come, and if you'll just send me word I'll meet you anywhere you say, and I'll bet you say you never had a better time in your life, and you can't find any such fun this side of old Missouri."
"Vale." | Page 25BUFFALO BILL.
---
How He Came to Go On the Stage.
---
His Great Ride With General Custer.
---
"Just Foller Yer Hand, [B-y-] and Steam Up."
---
"I'm no actor," said Buffalo Bill one afternoon durin his late visit here, as a small but congenial party of us sat in the back office of the City Hotel. "I don't pretend to be anything of an acotor, but you see the people seem to like it, and during the winter season I have nothing else to do, and, of ourse, I kin make more money this way than I can taking parties out on the plains or in huntin. I've got a nice little ranche now, and about 8,000 head of cattle, and as soon as I get my pile about where I want it, I shall just settle down. You se this layin around hotels all winter, livin high and doing nothing, don't agree with a man who has been acustomed to being in the saddle all his life, and out among the excitement of the border, with an occasion al scare from them at red-skinned hair lifters, or a bout with grizzlies. Just as soon as I get through with the theatrical season I just dust for my ranche and then my work commences, and as soon as I hist into that sadle and start out with the other cattle raisers i feel at home, and what with rounging in the cattle, branding 'em, etc., it don't take long to knock off this lazy flesh. It's a mighty exciting life, and we have lots of fun with it all. You see there are some jolly good fellows that ave oe io is cattle-raising business, for, barrig accidents, it is a money-making business, and when nigh comes and we all get together in camp there are some fine old hoorays, for you see when a man isout that on the plains he can "steam up" considerable, and getting into the saddle, with a chase after a lively steer, will take the head off of you quicker than brandy and soda or any of these rejuvenators you fellows use in the cities after a racket."
"How did you first come to go upon the stage?" said I.
"Wall, you see, I think it was a matter of nine or ten years ago I was in the government employ as a scout. I had been out on the plains with one of te editors of a Chicago paper, and we had a little brush with some Injins; give the fellow a terrible scare and when he got bak he writ it up, and of course, like all you newspaper fellows, spread it on mighy thick and you would thought it was the biggest Injin scrimmage on record, and he a regular team of an Injin fihter. Well I come back to Chicago shortly ater and I met old Ned Buntline; I had known him before for the old fellow had often been out on the plains. He says to me: 'Bill, I''ve got a play written, and I want you to go on the stage and act in it, here in Chicago , and I'll give you five hundred dollars.' I said to him: 'Wgy, I don't know anything about acting, Ned.' 'Oh, tha'll be all right,' said he. So, as it promised to be a pretty good snap, I spoke o the General commanding the department about the matter, and he told me to go on, for you see I was only getting a hundred and fifty dollars a month and rations from Uncle Sam, and I knew I could always get my place back again if the acting business didn't work. Buntline gave me my part to study and I went to work on it. I kin tell you it was tough work for me, for it was out of my line, you see, and was worse work for me than following a grizzly's trail or hooping up a lot of buffaloes. The night of the opening performance came; and when the curtain went up and the cue was given for me to go on I'd forgot every consarned word of my lines and went on the stage and stood there like a Stoughton-botle. Somebody said 'Whar did you come from, Bill?' That was my cue. I couldn't think of anything else to say, so I just wacked out he story of being out after the Injins with his editor I told you of. |
