11

About this time a halt was made, and you bet I was might glad of it. Suddenly two to three scouts rode up. A hurried council was held, during which the pipe was passed. Everything seemed to be now arranged, and, after a little further advance, again a halt, when, amid great but suppressed excitement, every Indian mounted his now almost frantic steed, each eagerly seeking to edge his way without observation to the front.

About two hundred horses almost abreast in the front line, say one hundred and fifty wedging in half way between formed a half second line, and one hundred struggling for place - a third line; the chiefs in front, gesticulating, pantomining and, with slashing whips, keeping back the excited mass, whose plunging, panting panies, as impatient as their masters, fretted, frothed, and foamed - both seemed moulded into one being, with only one thought, one feeling, one ambition, as with flashing eye they waited for the signal "Go," to let their pent-up feelings speeds on to the honors of the chase.

Their prey is in fancied security, now quietly browsing to the windward in a low, open falt, some half a mile wide and two or three miles long, on top of a high divide, concealed from view by rising and breaks. Gradually they approach the knoll, their heads reach the level, the backs of the buffalo are seen, then a full view, when Pi-ta-ne-sha-a-du (Old Peter, the head chief) gives the word, drops the blanket, and they are "off."

Whew ! wheez ! thunder and lightning ! Jerome Parks and Hippodromes ! talk of tornadoes, whirlwinds, avalanches, water spouts, prairie fires, Niagara, Mount Vesuvius (and I have seen them all except old Vesuv.); boil them all together, mix them well, and serve on one plate, and you will have a limited idea of the charge of this "light brigade." They fairly left a hole in the air. With a roar like Niagara, the speed of a whirlwind, like the sweep on death in their souls, they pounce on their prey, and in an instant, amid a cloud of dust, nothing is visible but a mingled mass of flying arrows, horses' heels, buffaloes; tails, Indian heads, half of ponies, half of men, hald of buffalo, until one thinks it a dream, or a heavy case of "jim jams."

I just anchored in astonishment. Where are they? Ah! there is one: ther is another, a third, four, five. Over the plains in all directions they go, as the choice meat hunters sut them out, while in a jumbled mass, circling all around is the main body. The clouds of dust gradually rise as if a cutrain was lifted, horses stop as buffaloes drop, until there is a clear panoramle view of a busy scene all quiet, everything still (save a few fleet ones in the distance): borse riderless, browsing proudly conscious of success; the praire dotted here, there, everywhere with dead bison; and happy, hungry hunters skinning, cutting, slashing the late proud monarch of the plains.

I was so interested in the sight that I came near being left, when fortunately a lucky long-range shot (the only one fired during the day) at a stray heifer saved my reputation. In about two hours every pont was loaded, their packing being quite a study, that would need a deserved and lengthy description. It was wonderful.

As I had a heap of walk out, I proposed to ride in, so took a small cut of choice meat - a straight-cut - for camp. Every pony was packed down only mine, seeign which "Peter's papoose" ("the sun chief") invited himself up behind. Talk of gail - an Indian has got more cheek than a Government mule. He laughed at my objections, but as he had loaned me the pony I had to submit. He even directed the gait, and kept up a continual jabbering of "Wisgoots, ugh!" which I afterwards lerny meant "Hurry up; I am tired, hungry, and dry - how!

A reproduction, as far as practicable, of the method of buffalo hunting, will be a feature of Buffalo Bill's "Wild West," with a heard of bison, real Indians, hunters, and Western ponies.

A HISTORICAL COACH OF THE DEADWOOD LINE.

The denizens of the Eastern States of the Union are accustomed to reagrd the West as the region of romance and adventure. And, in truth, its history abounds with thrilling, incidents and suprising changes. Every inch of that beautiful country has been won from a cruel and savage foe by danger and conflict. In the terrible wars of the border which marked the early years of the Western settlements, the men signalized themselves by performing prodigies of valor, while the women, in their heroic courage and endurance, afforded a splendid example of devotion and self-sacrifice. The history of the wagon trains and stage coaches that preceeded the railway is written all over with blood, and the story of suffering and disaster, often as it has been repeated, is only known in all of its horrid details to the bold frontiersmen who, as scouts and rangers, penetrated the strongholds of the Indians, and, backed by the gallant men of the army, became the avant courriers of Western civilization and the terror of the red man.

Among the most stirring episodes in the life of the Western pioneer are those connected with the opening of new lines of travel, for it is here, among the trails and canyons, where lurk the desperadoes of both races, that he is brought face to face with the danger in its deadliest forms. No better illustration of this fact is furnished than in the hisotry of the famous DEADWOOD COACH, the scarred and weather-beaten veteran of the original "star route" line of stages, established at a time when it was worth a man's life to sit on its box and journey from one end of its destination to the other. The accompanying picture affords an idea of the old relic. and it is because of its many associations with his ow life tha tis has been purchased by "Buffalo Bill" and added to the attractions of his "GREAT REALISTIC EXHIBITION OF WESTERN NOVELTIES."

It will be observed that it is a heavily built Concord stage, and is intended for a team of six horses. The body is swung on a paid of heavy leather underbraces, and has the usual thick "perches," "Jacks," and brakes belonging to such a vehicle. It has a large leather "boot" behind, and another at the driver's foot-board. The coach was intended to seat twenty-one men - the driver and two men beside him, twelve inside, and the other six on the top. As it is now stands, the leather blinds of the windows are worn, the paint is faded, and it has a battered and travel-stained aspect that tells the story of hardship and adventure. Its trips began in 1875, when the owners were Messrs, Gilmour, Salisbury & Co. Luke Voorhees is the present manager.

About this time a halt was made, and you bet I was might glad of it. Suddenly two to three scouts rode up. A hurried council was held, during which the pipe was passed. Everything seemed to be now arranged, and, after a little further advance, again a halt, when, amid great but suppressed excitement, every Indian mounted his now almost frantic steed, each eagerly seeking to edge his way without observation to the front.

About two hundred horses almost abreast in the front line, say one hundred and fifty wedging in half way between formed a half second line, and one hundred struggling for place - a third line; the chiefs in front, gesticulating, pantomining and, with slashing whips, keeping back the excited mass, whose plunging, panting panies, as impatient as their masters, fretted, frothed, and foamed - both seemed moulded into one being, with only one thought, one feeling, one ambition, as with flashing eye they waited for the signal "Go," to let their pent-up feelings speeds on to the honors of the chase.

Their prey is in fancied security, now quietly browsing to the windward in a low, open falt, some half a mile wide and two or three miles long, on top of a high divide, concealed from view by rising and breaks. Gradually they approach the knoll, their heads reach the level, the backs of the buffalo are seen, then a full view, when Pi-ta-ne-sha-a-du (Old Peter, the head chief) gives the word, drops the blanket, and they are "off."

Whew ! wheez ! thunder and lightning ! Jerome Parks and Hippodromes ! talk of tornadoes, whirlwinds, avalanches, water spouts, prairie fires, Niagara, Mount Vesuvius (and I have seen them all except old Vesuv.); boil them all together, mix them well, and serve on one plate, and you will have a limited idea of the charge of this "light brigade." They fairly left a hole in the air. With a roar like Niagara, the speed of a whirlwind, like the sweep on death in their souls, they pounce on their prey, and in an instant, amid a cloud of dust, nothing is visible but a mingled mass of flying arrows, horses' heels, buffaloes; tails, Indian heads, half of ponies, half of men, hald of buffalo, until one thinks it a dream, or a heavy case of "jim jams."

I just anchored in astonishment. Where are they? Ah! there is one: ther is another, a third, four, five. Over the plains in all directions they go, as the choice meat hunters sut them out, while in a jumbled mass, circling all around is the main body. The clouds of dust gradually rise as if a cutrain was lifted, horses stop as buffaloes drop, until there is a clear panoramle view of a busy scene all quiet, everything still (save a few fleet ones in the distance): borse riderless, browsing proudly conscious of success; the praire dotted here, there, everywhere with dead bison; and happy, hungry hunters skinning, cutting, slashing the late proud monarch of the plains.

I was so interested in the sight that I came near being left, when fortunately a lucky long-range shot (the only one fired during the day) at a stray heifer saved my reputation. In about two hours every pont was loaded, their packing being quite a study, that would need a deserved and lengthy description. It was wonderful.

As I had a heap of walk out, I proposed to ride in, so took a small cut of choice meat - a straight-cut - for camp. Every pony was packed down only mine, seeign which "Peter's papoose" ("the sun chief") invited himself up behind. Talk of gail - an Indian has got more cheek than a Government mule. He laughed at my objections, but as he had loaned me the pony I had to submit. He even directed the gait, and kept up a continual jabbering of "Wisgoots, ugh!" which I afterwards lerny meant "Hurry up; I am tired, hungry, and dry - how!

A reproduction, as far as practicable, of the method of buffalo hunting, will be a feature of Buffalo Bill's "Wild West," with a heard of bison, real Indians, hunters, and Western ponies.

A HISTORICAL COACH OF THE DEADWOOD LINE.

The denizens of the Eastern States of the Union are accustomed to reagrd the West as the region of romance and adventure. And, in truth, its history abounds with thrilling, incidents and suprising changes. Every inch of that beautiful country has been won from a cruel and savage foe by danger and conflict. In the terrible wars of the border which marked the early years of the Western settlements, the men signalized themselves by performing prodigies of valor, while the women, in their heroic courage and endurance, afforded a splendid example of devotion and self-sacrifice. The history of the wagon trains and stage coaches that preceeded the railway is written all over with blood, and the story of suffering and disaster, often as it has been repeated, is only known in all of its horrid details to the bold frontiersmen who, as scouts and rangers, penetrated the strongholds of the Indians, and, backed by the gallant men of the army, became the avant courriers of Western civilization and the terror of the red man.

Among the most stirring episodes in the life of the Western pioneer