The western end of the Kansas Pacific was at this time in the heart of the buffalo country.  Twelve hundred men were employed in the construction of the road.  The Indians were very troublesome, and it was difficult to obtain fresh meat for the hands.  The company therefore concluded to engage expert hunters to kill buffaloes.

Having heard of my experience and success as a buffalo hunter, Goddard Brothers, who had the contract for feeding the men, made me a good offer to become their hunter.  They said they would require about twelve buffaloes a day—­twenty-four hams and twelve humps, as only the hump and hindquarters of each animal were utilized.  The work was dangerous.  Indians were riding all over that section of the country, and my duties would require me to journey from five to ten miles from the railroad every day in order to secure the game, accompanied by only one man with a light wagon to haul the meat back to camp.  I demanded a large salary, which they could well afford to pay, as the meat itself would cost them nothing.  Under the terms of the contract which I signed with them, I was to receive five hundred dollars a month, agreeing on my part to supply them with all the meat they wanted.

Leaving Rose to complete our grading contract, I at once began my career as a buffalo hunter for the Kansas Pacific.  It was not long before I acquired a considerable reputation, and it was at this time that the title “Buffalo Bill” was conferred upon me by the railroad hands.  Of this title, which has stuck to me through life, I have never been ashamed.

During my engagement as hunter for the company, which covered a period of eighteen months, I killed 4,280 buffaloes and had many exciting adventures with the Indians, including a number of hairbreadth escapes, some of which are well worth relating.

One day, in the spring of 1868, I mounted Brigham and started for Smoky Hill River.  After a gallop of twenty miles I reached the top of a small hill overlooking that beautiful stream.  Gazing out over the landscape, I saw a band of about thirty Indians some half-mile distant.  I knew by the way they jumped on their horses they had seen me as soon as I saw them.

My one chance for my life was to run.  I wheeled my horse and started for the railroad.  Brigham struck out as if he comprehended that this was a life-or-death matter.  On reaching the next ridge I looked around and saw the Indians, evidently well mounted, and coming for me full speed.  Brigham put his whole strength into the flight, and for a few minutes did some of the prettiest running I ever saw.  But the Indians had nearly as good mounts as he, and one of their horses in particular, a spotted animal, gained on me steadily.