But the West of the old times, with its strong characters, its stern battles and its tremendous stretches of loneliness, can never be blotted from my mind.

My first plan of escape having failed, I now determined upon another.

Major North and myself went out in advance of the command several miles and killed a number of buffaloes.

I had the best buffalo horse that ever made a track.

If Wild Bill could have made his successful dash into our lines earlier in the day, the attuck would have been made sooner, and greater results might have been expected. The Confederates had suspected him of being a spy for two or three days, and had watched him too closely to allow an opportunity to get away from them sooner.

With the help of a friend I got father into a wagon, when the crowd had gone. I held his head in my lap during the ride home. I believed he was mortally wounded. He had been stabbed down through the kidneys, leaving an ugly wound.

Quick as lightning Wild Bill pulled his revolver. The stranger fell dead, shot through the brain.