The store was the first building met with in the town if a person came from the railway station.  As I went toward the next house, which was a short distance away, I was hailed by a tall, broad-shouldered man with long hair, who commanded me to halt.  I kept right on, however, meaning to tell him about my gruesome discovery.  As I advanced toward him he retreated, and I called to him to have no fear, as I did not intend to shoot.  The big man shook with laughter and cried, “Hold, boy, stop there a minute until I tell you something.  They say that ‘Wild Bill’ never feared man, but I fear you, a mere boy.  Did you come out of that store?” “Yes, sir,” I said.  “And did you see the Jew?” “Yes, sir,” I answered; “Mr. Dreifuss is dead.”  “How do you know that?” he questioned.  “His hands feel cold as ice,” I said, “and there is a black spot on his nose.”  Again the man laughed and said, “Do you know what killed him?” “I do not know, sir,” I answered, “but I was going uptown to inquire.”  “Well,” said the scout, “Mr. Dreifuss had the cholera.”  “That’s too bad,” said I; “let us go back and see if we can be of any assistance.”  “No, you don’t,” said the long-haired scout; “I have been stationed here, as marshal of the town, to warn people away from the place.  You take my advice and go to the creek and plunge in with all your clothes and play for an hour in the water, then dry yourself, go back to camp, and keep mum!” This was the year of the cholera.  It started somewhere down south, and many people died from it in the city of St. Louis, and it followed the railway through Kansas to the end of the track.  Many soldiers died also at Fort Harker, which was farther out West on the plains.

At last we started on our perilous journey, an imposing caravan of one hundred and eighty wagons, each drawn by five yoke of oxen.  Our force numbered upward of two hundred and fifty men, the owners, teamsters, train masters or mayordomos and the herders of the different outfits; all were Mexicans except myself.

Several days were spent in crossing the little stream formed by the confluence of two creeks.  The water was quite deep and had to be crossed by means of a ferryboat.  Here I met with my first adventure, which nearly cost me my life.  My wagon was loaded with supplies and provisions and with several pieces of oak timber, intended for use in our train.  When I drove down the steep bank on to the ferryboat, the timbers, which were not well secured, slid forward and pushed me off my seat, so that I fell right under the mules just as they stepped on the ferry.  The frightened mules trampled and kicked fearfully.  I lay still, thinking that if I moved they would step on me, as their hoofs missed my head by inches only.  I thought of my mother and how sorry she would be if she could see me now, but I was thinking, ever thinking and lay very still.  Then my guardian angel, in the person of a Mexican, crawled under the wagon from the rear end and pulled me by my heels, back to safety under the wagon.  When I came out from under I threw my hat in the air and gave a whoop and cheer, at which the Mexicans were greatly enthused.  They yelled excitedly and our mayordomo exclaimed:  “Caramba, mira que diablito!” (Egad, see the little devil!)