There was an old trapper whose only cognomen among the civilized men of the border was “Whipsaw.”  Of course he must have had another, but none ever knew of it or cared to inquire.

One day, while in his lonely camp attending to his duties, a Sioux Indian brought to him a captive Pawnee child about two years old.  The little savage was stark naked and almost frozen.  The Sioux, who was plainly marked by a horrid scar across his face, desired to dispose of the child to the trapper, and the latter, as was every one of that class now vanished forever, full of pity and kind-hearted to a fault, did not hesitate a moment, but traded a knife for the helpless baby—­all the savage asked for the little burden of humanity.

The old trapper took care of the young Pawnee, clothed him in his rough way, encased the little feet in moccasins, and with a soft doe-skin jacket the little fellow throve admirably under the gentle care of his rough nurse.

When the young Pawnee had reached the age of four years the old trapper was induced to take charge of one of the overland stations on the line of the Pony Express.  The old agent began to love the young savage with an affection that was akin to that of a mother; and in turn the Pawnee baby loved his white father and preserver.  As the little fellow grew in stature he evinced a most intense hatred for all members of his own dark-skinned race.  He never let an opportunity go by when he could do them an injury, however slight.

Of course at times many of the so-called friendly Indians would visit the station and beg tobacco from the old trapper, but on every occasion the young Pawnee would try to do them some injury.  Once, when he was only four years old, and a party of friendly Indians as usual had ridden up to the station, the young savage quietly crept to where their horses were picketed, cut their lariats, and stampeded all of them!  At another time he made an attempt to kill an Indian who had stopped for a moment at the station, but he was too little to raise properly the rifle with which he intended to shoot him.

As it is the inherent attribute of all savages to be far in advance of the whites in the alertness and acuteness of two or three of the senses, the baby Pawnee was wonderfully so.  He could hear the footsteps of a bear or the scratching of a panther, or even the tramp of a horse’s hoof on the soft sod, long before the old trapper could make out the slightest sound.  He could always tell when the Pony Express rider was approaching, miles before he was in sight, if in the daytime, and at night many minutes before the old trapper’s ears, which were very acute also, could distinguish the slightest sound.

The boy was christened “Little Cayuse” because his ears could catch the sound of an approaching horse’s foot long before any one else.

In the middle of the night, while his white father was sound asleep on his pallet of robes, the little Pawnee would wake him hurriedly, saying “Cayuse, cayuse!” whenever the Pony Express was due.  The rider who was to take the place of the one nearing the station, would rise, quickly put the saddle on his broncho, and be all ready, when the pony arrived, to snatch the saddle-bags from him whom he was to relieve, and in another moment dash down the trail mountainward.