As soon as supper was over we
started. The dispatch bearer thought it was at least sixty miles,
but we had supposed it was not more than fifty, each of us having
two saddle horses.
At one place on the road the cayotes turned loose, and it sounded
as if there must have been a hundred, all barking at once, and
George Jones remarked: "Above all things that I have dreaded while
in this business is being shot down and left on the plains for my
bones to be picked up by those sneaking wolves, and now Cap, I
will make this agreement with you; in case that either of us
happen to be killed, which is liable to happen any day, the
surviving one is to see that the other is buried if in the bounds
of possibility."
I said: "George, we will shake hands on that," which we did, and I
added: "You can also rest assured that if ever you are shot down
while in company with me, no Indian will ever scalp you as long as
I have the strength to stand over your body, nor shall the cayotes
ever pick your bones if I live long enough to see that you are
buried," and the reader will see later on that I kept my promise.
CHAPTER XLI.
WE LOCATE A SMALL BAND OF RED BUTCHERS AND SEND THEM TO THE HAPPY
HUNTING GROUNDS.--EMIGRANTS MISTAKE US FOR INDIANS.--GEORGE JONES
WOUNDED.
Just at sunrise we made our appearance at the Lieutenant's
quarters, and he informed us that the Indians had made an attack
on the settlement on the east side of the San Antonio desert; had
killed two families, taken two little girls prisoner and captured
a lot of stock from the settlers.
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