Ike Bonham, who won
him, took him to Wyandotte, Kansas, where he soon added fresh laurels
to his already shining wreath. In the crowning event of a tournament he
easily outdistanced all entries in a four-mile race to Wyandotte,
winning $250 for his owner, who had been laughed at for entering such
an unprepossessing animal.
I lost track of him after that. For several years I did not know what
had become of him. But many years after, while in Memphis, I met Mr.
Wilcox, who had once been superintendent of construction on the Kansas
Pacific. He informed me that he owned Brigham, and I rode out to his
place to take a look at my gallant old friend. He seemed to remember
me, as I put my arms about his neck and caressed him like a long-lost
child.
When I had received my appointment as guide and scout I was ordered to
report to the commandant of Fort Larned, Captain Daingerfield Parker. I
knew that it would be necessary to take my family, who had been with me
at Sheridan, to Leavenworth and leave them there. This I did at once.
When I arrived at Larned, I found the scouts under command of Dick
Curtis, an old-time scout of whom I have spoken in these reminiscences.
Three hundred lodges of Kiowa and Comanche Indians were encamped near
the fort. These savages had not yet gone on the warpath, but they were
restless and discontented. Their leading chief and other warriors were
becoming sullen and insolent.
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