1 30 The Rough Riders 



C. J. Stevens, of the Ninth, as they ran at the head 

 of their troops, will always stay in my mind. As 

 soon as I was in the line I galloped forward a few 

 yards until I saw that the men were well started, 

 and then galloped back to help Goodrich, who was 

 in command of his troop, get his men across the 

 road so as to attack the hill from that side. Cap- 

 tain Mills had already thrown three of the other 

 troops of the regiment across this road for the same 

 purpose. Wheeling around, I then again galloped 

 toward the hill, passing the shouting, cheering, fir- 

 ing men, and went up the lane, splashing through 

 a small stream; when I got abreast of the ranch 

 buildings on the top of Kettle Hill, I turned and 

 went up the slope. Being on horseback I was, of 

 course, able to get ahead of the men on foot, except- 

 ing my orderly, Henry Bardshar, who had run 

 ahead very fast in order to get better shots at the 

 Spaniards, who were now running out of the ranch 

 buildings. Sergeant Campbell and a number of the 

 Arizona men, and Dudley Dean, among others, were 

 very close behind. Stevens, with his platoon of the 

 Ninth, was abreast of us; so were McNamee and 

 Hartwick. Some forty yards from the top I ran 

 into a wire fence and jumped off Little Texas, turn- 

 ing him loose. He had been scraped by a couple of 

 bullets, one of which nicked my elbow, and I never 

 expected to see him again. As I ran up to the hill, 



