Having been brought up by one of the bravest frontiersmen that
traversed the plains at that time, and who always taught me to
respect a brave man and hate a coward, I made up my mind to make
the attack alone, provided the Indians did not put out guards that
night.
After I had finished my lunch I examined both my single-shot
pistols--I still having the one presented to me by my old friend
Joe Favor, three years before at Bent's Fort, also the knife,
which the reader will remember weighed two and one-fourth pounds--
and creeping back to the top of the hill I watched them cook and
eat the jack-rabbit. As it grew dark I drew nearer, and when it
was about as dark as it was likely to be that night, I crept up to
within a few yards of them. They had a little fire made of
sagebrush and did not lie down until very late.
I was so near that I could hear them talking, but I could not
understand their language, as I had never been among them, but I
was confident they were Pah-Utes, because I was in their country.
After they had smoked and talked matters over, which I supposed
was in regard to the next day's scouting, they commenced to make
preparations to sleep. In the crowd, apparently, were three
middle-aged warriors and two young ones, not yet grown. The three
older ones laid down together, while the two young ones made their
beds about fifteen feet away from the other three.
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