They made three desperate charges
for me before dark, but as luck would have it I was always loaded
for them. I piled up rocks as I could get them loose in a manner
to give me protection from every quarter, but expected they would
reinforce and attempt to starve me out.
Just as it was getting dark, two of the Indians crawled up to
within thirty feet of my rock pen. I was watching them, and just
as they rose up to fire I fired and brought one of them to the
ground, thereby making another good Apache. The other one ran
away, and it being somewhat dark, I did not get him.
This made the fifth Indian I had killed since I had been in my
little rock pen and I had fired eleven shots. After it was good
and dark I made up my mind that I would get out of there sometime
during the night, for to remain there till the morrow only meant
death, and I might as well lose my life in trying to get away that
night as to remain there and be killed the next day. I felt sure
they had a guard around me, but I made up my mind to make a
desperate effort to get away. I crawled to where my dead horse was
laying, which was only a few feet from my rock house, cut the
latigo, removed my saddle from the dead horse, lashed it to my
back, taking the mochilar or covering for a saddle, which I have
described heretofore, I took my knife and cut a hole in the front
portion of the mochila where the pommel of the saddle protrudes,
so that I was able to stick my head through.
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