I thought of my dying horse who had been such a faithful servant
and carried me out of so many tight places, and when I would think
of him I could fancy that I could see him raise his head and
whinny at me as he had done that evening in his dying moments,
seemingly asking me for help, and I could not keep the tears from
my eyes. As soon as it was light I started for camp, arriving
there about ten o'clock that morning. The men in camp had given me
up and did not expect to ever see me any more, thinking that the
Apaches had got me. I told the men that we would have to leave
this part of the country now, and that too, just as soon as I
could get a bite to eat and get my saddle repaired. While the boys
pulled up and started to move camp I saddled up another horse and
took my back track, traveling very cautiously, thinking they would
try to follow me out, and I wanted to watch their movements and
see whether they had reinforced or not. I told the boys to move
northeast and where to camp, the place being ten miles from where
we were then, and not to build any fire that night, also that I
would be in camp some time before morning this time, I was very
cautious not to be surprised the second time. I rode back within a
mile of where my dead horse lay, but could not see any Indians, so
I finally concluded that it had been a small hunting party, and
seeing that they could not scare me out of my rock pen by their
ferocious charges, accompanied by a war-whoop that would make the
hair stand on the bravest mountaineer's head, they had abandoned
the idea altogether and had no doubt left the ground before I
started to crawl away from my rock pen, which had been the means
of saving me from falling their victim.
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