It so happened that just as we came on to the ridge that the
Indians had passed over a few minutes before, they came in sight
of the train, which was then not more than half a mile away. They
stopped and were looking at the train.
Jim Bridger's quick eye had caught sight of them, and not knowing
but it was the big band coming, he had the wagons corralled to
prepare for an attack.
When we came to the top of the ridge mentioned we were not more
than three hundred yards away from them and I immediately ordered
a charge.
I was on Pinto, and he knowing what was up, was ready for a chase.
In fact, I could not have held him had I been so disposed.
The warriors were so engrossed looking at the train, no doubt
thinking what a picnic they would have with them, that they did
not see us until I was almost ready to fire. I was somewhat in
advance of the rest, my horse being the fleeter, and when within
about a hundred yards I raised in my stirrups, brought my rifle to
my shoulder and fired, killing one Indian, and the boys claimed
that I killed a horse from under another one at the same time.
They were sure the same bullet killed both, for both fell at the
crack of my rifle.
As soon as I had fired I drew my pistol and told them to do
likewise, also telling them to be sure and make every shot count.
If ever I saw a horse that enjoyed that kind of sport--if I might
call it such--it was old Pinto.
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