harged. Their shots killed the two mules and my
horse. But we gave it to them right and left, and had the satisfaction
of seeing three of them fall to the ground not more than fifty feet
away.

When we had been cooped up in our little fort for about an hour we saw
the cavalry coming toward us, full gallop, over the prairie. The
Indians saw the soldiers almost as soon as we did. Mounting their
horses, they disappeared down the canon of the creek. When the cavalry
arrived we had the satisfaction of showing them five Indians who would
be "good" for all time. Two hours later we reached the camp with our
meat, which we found to be all right, although it had a few bullets and
arrows imbedded in it.

It was while I was hunting for the railroad that I became acquainted
with Kit Carson, one of the most noted of the guides, scouts, and
hunters that the West ever produced. He was going through our country
on his way to Washington. I met him again on his return, and he was my
guest for a few days in Hays City. He then proceeded to Fort Lyon,
Colorado, near which his son-in-law, Mr. Boggs, resided. His health had
been failing for some time, and shortly afterward he died at Mr.
Boggs's residence on Picket Wire Creek.

Soon after the adventure with Scotty I had my celebrated buffalo
shooting contest with Billy Comstock, a well-known guide, scout, and
interpreter. Comstock, who was chief of scouts at Fort Wallace, had a
reputation of being a successful buffalo hunter, and his friends at the
fort--the officers in particular--were anxious to back him against me.

It was arranged that I should shoot a match with him, and the
preliminaries were easily and satisfactorily arranged. We were to hunt
one day of eight hours, beginning at eight o'clock in the morning. The
wager was five hundred dollars a side, and the man who should kill the
greater number of buffaloes from horseback was to be declared the
winner. Incidentally my title of "Buffalo Bill" was at stake.

The hunt took place twenty miles east of Sheridan. It had been well
advertised, and there was a big "gallery." An excursion party, whose
members came chiefly from St. Louis and numbered nearly a hundred
ladies and gentlemen, came on a special train to view the sport. Among
them was my wife and my little daughter Arta, who had come to visit me
for a time.

Buffaloes were plentiful. It had been agreed that we should go into the
herd at the same time and make our "runs," each ma