pany, and remained in it for several years, only
leaving it because he found even that lawless life too strict for him.
Then, being as I suppose about twenty-seven, he entered the service of
the United States Government, and became one of the famous Indian
scouts of the Plains, distinguishing himself by some of the most daring
deeds on record, and some of the bloodiest crimes. Some of these tales
I have heard before, but never so terribly told. Years must have
passed in that service, till he became a character known through all
the West, and much dreaded for his readiness to take offence, and his
equal readiness with his revolver. Vain, even in his dark mood, he
told me that he was idolized by women, and that in his worst hours he
was always chivalrous to good women. He described himself as riding
through camps in his scout's dress with a red scarf round his waist,
and sixteen golden curls, eighteen inches long, hanging over his
shoulders. The handsome, even superbly handsome, side of his face was
towards me as he spoke. As a scout and as an armed escort of emigrant
parties he was evidently implicated in all the blood and broil of a
lawless region and period, and went from bad to worse, varying his life
by drunken sprees, which brought nothing but violence and loss.

The narrative seemed to lack some link, for I next found him on a
homestead in Missouri, from whence he came to Colorado a few years ago.
There, again, something was dropped out, but I suspect, and not without
reason, that he joined one or more of those gangs of "border ruffians"
which for so long raided through Kansas, perpetrating such massacres
and outrages as that of the Marais du Cygne. His fame for violence and
ruffianism preceded him into Colorado, where his knowledge of and love
of the mountains have earned him the sobriquet he now bears. He has a
squatter's claim and forty head of cattle, and is a successful trapper
besides, but envy and vindictiveness are raging within him. He gets
money, goes to Denver, and spends large sums in the maddest
dissipation, making himself a terror, and going beyond even such
desperadoes as "Texas Jack" and "Wild Bill"; and when the money is done
returns to his mountain den, full of hatred and self-scorn, till the
next time. Of course I cannot give details.

The story took three hours to tell, and was crowded with terrific
illustrations of a desperado's career, told with a rush of wild
eloquence that was tru