But the redskins had got too far the start of me, and
being on good animals they beat to the pack horses, and before I
got in gunshot of them they had killed both the boy and his horse.
Had the poor boy kept his presence of mind he might have saved
himself, but I think he got excited and did not try to get away.
I got one of them, but the other having the fastest horse, outran
me and made his escape. I think he had the fastest horse I ever
saw under an Indian in my life. Jim Bridger killed one of the
remaining three, and the others got away. Three out of nine
escaped, and had it not been for Jim's horse getting scared I
don't think they would have killed our Mexican boy.
We dug a grave and buried the poor fellow as best we could under
the circumstances, scalped the Indians, packed up and pulled out,
leaving the poor unfortunate lad to rest on the lonely banks of
the Arkansas river. The Indians we left a prey to the many wild
animals that roamed the hills and valleys.
We traveled on with heavy hearts, expecting at any time to be
attacked again by another band of these "noble red men," fearing
that we might not be so successful the next time.
In the afternoon we came to where the Indians had had another
fight with what we supposed, and which afterwards proved to have
been emigrants, returning from Pike's Peak. Here we saw four fresh
graves, and from the general appearance of things we concluded
that the fight had been in the morning, which also proved to be
the case.
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