opposed at one point by a body of Missouri troops numbering many of the
men who had been his father's enemies and persecutors nine years before.
In the heat of the conflict he recognized more than one of them, and
with the recognition came the memory of his boyhood's vow to avenge his
father's death. Three of those men fell in that battle; and whether or
not it was he who laid them low, from that day on he accounted himself
freed of his melancholy obligation. After several hard-fought battles,
Price withdrew from Missouri with the remnant of his command--seven
thousand where there had been twenty. During this campaign Will received
honorable mention "for most conspicuous bravery and valuable service
upon the field," and he was shortly brought into favorable notice in many
quarters. The worth of the tried veterans was known, but none of the
older men was in more demand than Will. His was seemingly a charmed
life. Often was he detailed to bear dispatches across the battlefield,
and though horses were shot under him--riddled by bullets or torn by
shells--he himself went scathless. During this campaign, too, he ran
across his old friend of the plains, Wild Bill. Stopping at a farm-house
one day to obtain a meal, he was not a little surprised to hear the
salutation: "Well, Billy, my boy, how are you?" He looked around to see
a hand outstretched from a coat-sleeve of Confederate gray, and as he
knew Wild Bill to be a stanch Unionist, he surmised that he was engaged
upon an enterprise similar to his own. There was an exchange of chaffing
about gray uniforms and blue, but more serious talk followed. "Take
these papers, Billy," said Wild Bill, passing over a package. "Take 'em
to General McNeill, and tell him I'm picking up too much good news to
keep away from the Confederate camp." "Don't take too many chances,"
cautioned Will, well knowing that the only chances the other would not
take would be the sort that were not visible. Colonel Hickok, to give
him his real name, replied, with a laugh: "Practice what you preach, my
son. Your neck is of more value than mine. You have a future, but mine
is mostly past. I'm getting old." At this point the good woman of
the house punctuated the colloquy with a savory meal, which the pair
discussed with good appetite and easy conscience, in spite of their
hostess's refusal to take pay from Confederate soldiers. "As long as I
have a crust in the house," said she, "you boys are welcome to it." But