Another Indian
then made a dash at Meyers with his bow and arrow in hand, so I
charged after him and made a slash at him with my knife, but he
saw me in time to slide off on the opposite side of his horse. I
could not stop the blow so I struck his horse in the back and
brought him to the ground, and the Indian ran for dear life.
About this time a soldier came riding along, and I knew from his
actions that his pistol was empty (the soldiers had no firearms in
this engagement except pistols), and I asked him why he did not
draw his sabre and cut them down. He said he had no orders to do
so.
To that I did not reply, but I thought this a queer way of
fighting Indians, when a soldier had to stop in the midst of a
battle, fold his arms and stand there to be shot down while
waiting orders to draw his sabre. A moment later they received
orders to use their sabres, and they went to hewing the Indians
down.
I saw an Indian with two or three feathers in his hair, and I took
him to be the war chief. He was coming direct for me with bow and
arrow in hand, and I made a desperate rush for him and made a
strike at him with my knife, but he threw up his arm and knocked
off my lick, at the same time a measly redskin shot me through the
calf of my leg, pinning me to the mochila of my saddle.
The mochila is a large covering for a saddle made of very heavy
leather and comes low on the horse's side, thereby affording great
protection to horses in cases like this.
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