As I rode up to the headquarters I noticed several scouts in a little group, evidently engaged in conversation on some important matter.  Upon inquiry I learned that General Sheridan had informed them that he was desirous of sending a dispatch to Fort Dodge, a distance of ninety-five miles.

The Indians had recently killed two or three men while they were carrying dispatches between Fort Hays and Fort Dodge, and on this account none of the scouts seemed at all anxious to volunteer, although a reward of several hundred dollars was offered to any one who would carry the dispatches.  They had learned of my experiences of the previous day, and asked me if I did not think it would be a dangerous trip.  I gave it as my opinion that a man might possibly go through without seeing an Indian, but that the chances were ten to one that he would have an exceedingly lively run and a hard time before he reached his destination, if he ever got there at all.

Leaving the scouts to decide among themselves as to who was to go, I reported to General Sheridan, who also informed me that he wished some one to carry dispatches to Fort Dodge.  While we were talking, his chief of scouts Dick Parr, entered and stated that none of the scouts had yet volunteered.  Upon hearing this I got my “brave” up a little, and said: 

“General, if there is no one ready to volunteer, I’ll carry your dispatches myself.”

“I had not thought of asking you to do this duty, Cody, as you are already pretty hard worked.  But it is really important that these dispatches should go through,” said the General.

“Well, if you don’t get a courier by four o’clock this afternoon, I’ll be ready for business at that time.  All I want is a fresh horse,” said I; “meantime I’ll take a little more rest.”

It was not much of a rest, however, that I got, for I went over to Hays City again and had “a time with the boys.”  I came back to the post at the appointed hour, and finding that no one had volunteered, I reported to General Sheridan.  He had selected an excellent horse for me, and on handing me the dispatches he said: 

“You can start as soon as you wish—­the sooner the better; and good luck go with you, my boy.”

In about an hour afterwards I was on the road, and just before dark I crossed Smoky Hill River.  I had not yet urged my horse much, as I was saving his strength for the latter end of the route, and for any run that I might have to make in case the “wild-boys” should “jump” me.  So far I had not seen a sign of Indians, and as evening came on I felt comparatively safe.

I had no adventures worth relating during the night, and just before daylight I found myself approaching Saw-log Crossing, on the Pawnee Fork, having then ridden about seventy miles.