The
other two dropped to their knees, and looked all around, and I
suppose the only thing that saved me was the wind was coming from
them to me and blew the smoke from my gun down the canyon, so that
they did not see where the shot came from.
I heard Uncle Kit tell of lying on his back and loading his rifle,
when in a close place, so I did likewise and crawled up to my log
again. The remaining two Indians, having looked all around and
seeing no one, had got on their feet again, and were standing with
bow and arrow in hand, each having a quiver full of arrows on his
back, and if they had got sight of me that would have been the
last of Young Kit. But I took aim at one of them and fired, with
the same result as before. As my second Indian fell, the third one
started back up the ridge, in the direction from which they had
come, and if I ever saw an Indian do tall sprinting, that one did.
I watched him until he was out of sight, and then loaded my gun,
shouldered my deer and went to where the two Indians were lying.
They were both as dead as dried herring.
I had never seen an Indian scalped, but had often heard how it was
done, so I pulled my hunting-knife and took their top-nots, and
again started for the dug-out, a great hunter and Indian fighter,
in my own estimation.
I hung the scalps up inside the dug-out, directly in front of the
door, so that Uncle Kit and Mr.
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