I sold out the Golden-Rule House and set out alone for Saline, Kansas, which was then at the end of construction of the Kansas Pacific Railway.  On my way I stopped at Junction City, were I again met my old friend, Wild Bill, who was scouting for the Government, with headquarters at Fort Ellsworth, afterward called Fort Harker.  He told me more scouts were needed at the Post, and I accompanied him to the fort, where I had no difficulty in securing employment.

During the winter of 1866-67 I scouted between Fort Ellsworth and Fort Fletcher.  I was at Fort Fletcher in the spring of 1867 when General Custer came out to accompany General Hancock on an Indian expedition.  I remained here till the post was flooded by a great rise of Big Creek, on which it was located.  The water overflowed the fortifications, rendering the place unfit for further occupancy, and it was abandoned by the Government.  The troops were removed to Fort Hays, a new post, located farther west, on the south fork of Big Creek.  It was while I was at Fort Hays that I had my first ride with the dashing Custer.  He had come up from Ellsworth with an escort of only ten men, and wanted a guide to pilot him to Fort Larned, sixty-five miles distant.

When Custer learned that I was at the Post he asked that I be assigned to duty with him.  I reported to him at daylight the next day—­none too early, as Custer, with his staff and orderlies, was already in the saddle.  When I was introduced to Custer he glanced disapprovingly at the mule I was riding.

“I am glad to meet you, Cody,” he said.  “General Sherman has told me about you.  But I am in a hurry, and I am sorry to see you riding that mule.”

“General,” I returned, “that is one of the best horses at the fort.”

“It isn’t a horse at all,” he said, “but if it’s the best you’ve got we shall have to start.”

We rode side by side as we left the fort.  My mule had a fast walk, which kept the general’s horse most of the time in a half-trot.

His animal was a fine Kentucky thoroughbred, but for the kind of work at hand I had full confidence in my mount.  Whenever Custer was not looking I slyly spurred the mule ahead, and when he would start forward I would rein him in and pat him by way of restraint, bidding him not to be too fractious, as we hadn’t yet reached the sandhills.  In this way I set a good lively pace—­something like nine miles an hour—­all morning.

At Smoky Hill River we rested our animals.  Then the general, who was impatient to be off, ordered a fresh start.  I told him we had still forty miles of sandhills to cross, and advised an easier gait.

“I have no time to waste on the road,” he said.  “I want to push right ahead.”

Push right ahead we did.  I continued quietly spurring my mule and then counseling the brute to take it easy.  Presently I noticed that the escort was stringing out far behind, as their horses became winded with the hard pace through the sand.  Custer, looking back, noticed the same thing.