dead two
summers before, else Capt. Pickens had been more careful in his
confidences. One night he told the young lieutenant the story of
a raid on an emigrant camp on the Cottonwood river; how the dead man had
been left no shroud; the wounded one no blanket; how the mules were sold
and the proceeds gambled for.

But Lieut. "Hart's" mask revealed nothing.

Three days later Pickens and two of his friends were found dead on Bull
Creek.

Col. Jim Lane's orderly boasted of the Cottonwood affair in his cups at a
banquet one night.

The orderly was found dead soon after.

Quantrell told a friend that of the 32 who were concerned in the killing
of his brother, only two remained alive, and they had moved to California.

The fight at Carthage in July 1861, found Quantrell in Capt. Stewart's
company of cavalry. I was there as a private in the state guard, fighting
under Price. Then came Gen. Lyon's fatal charge at Wilson's creek, and
Gen. Price's march on Lexington to dislodge Col. Mulligan and his command.

Here Quantrell came into the public eye for the first time. His red shirt
stood out in the first rank in every advance; he was one of the last when
the men fell back.

After Lexington, Quantrell went with the command as far as the Osage
river, and then, with the consent of his officers, came up the Kansas line
again to settle some old scores with the Jayhawkers.

3. DRIVEN FROM HOME

I was only seventeen when Col. Mockbee gave a dancing party for his
daughter at his home in Harrisonville which was to terminate seriously for
some of us who were there.

The colonel was a Southerner, and his daughter had the Southern spirit,
too. Probably this was the reason that inspired the young Missouri
militiamen who were stationed at Harrisonville to intrude on the colonel's
party. Among them was Captain Irvin Walley, who, even though a married
man, was particularly obnoxious in forcing his attentions on the young
women. My sister refused to dance with him, and he picked a quarrel with
me.

"Where is Quantrell?" he asked me, with a sneer.

"I don't know," I answered.

"You are a liar," he continued, and as he went down in a heap on the
floor, he drew his pistol, but friends came between us, and at their
solicitation I went home and informed my father of what had taken place.
He told me to go down to the farm in Jackson county, and to keep away from
the conflict that Walley was evidently determined t