I was riding my old Pinto that day
and he was also feeling fine.
About one o'clock I mounted Pinto and started south, striking for
a high mountain, from which if I could once reach the top, I
could, with the aid of my glasses, see all over the entire
country. While climbing this mountain I ran on to a bear cub.
Seeing that he was very fat, I shot him and lashed him behind my
saddle, and was soon climbing the mountain again, which was, in
places, steep and very rocky, with scattering pine trees here and
there. After going about a half a mile and just as I came to the
top of a steep little pitch, I came face to face with a band of
Apache Indians. I did not take time to count them, but thought
there were about eighteen or twenty of them, I fired four shots in
quick succession. The first two shots I killed two Indians, but
the other two I could not tell whether I got my men or not, as I
was just in the act of turning my horse when I fired. They fired a
perfect shower of arrows at me. To run back down the mountain the
way I came was a matter of impossibility, as it was both steep and
rocky, so I took around the side of the mountain, thinking that I
would be able in a few moments' run to reach the top of the
mountain, where I could have a better show to defend myself.
I had to ride all over my horse to avoid the arrows, first on one
side, hanging by one foot and one hand, then on the other side.
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