Being anxious to return to the Missouri river, I joined with two others, named Scott and Charley, who were also desirous of going East on a visit, bought three ponies and a pack-mule, and we started out together.  We made rapid progress on our journey, and nothing worthy of note happened until one afternoon, along the banks of the Little Blue River, we spied a band of Indians hunting on the opposite side of the stream, three miles away.  We did not escape their notice, and they gave us a lively chase for two hours, but they could find no good crossing, and as evening came on we finally got away from them.

We traveled until late in the night; when upon discovering a low, deep ravine which we thought would make a comfortable and safe camping-place, we stopped for a rest.  In searching for a good place to make our beds, I found a hole, and I called to my companions that I had found a fine place for a nest.  One of the party was to stand guard while the others slept.  Scott took the first watch, while Charley and I made a bed in the hole.

While clearing out the place we felt something rough, but as it was dark we could not make out what it was.  At any rate we concluded that it was bones or sticks of wood; we thought perhaps it might be the bones of some animal which had fallen in there and died.  These bones, for such they really proved to be, we pushed one side and then we lay down.  But Charley, being an inveterate smoker, could not resist the temptation of indulging in a smoke before going to sleep.  So he sat up and struck a match to light his old pipe.  Our subterranean bed-chamber was thus illuminated for a moment or two; I sprang to my feet in an instant for a ghastly and horrifying sight was revealed to us.  Eight or ten human skeletons lay scattered upon the ground.

The light of the match died out, but we had seen enough to convince us that we were in a large grave, into which, perhaps, some unfortunate emigrants, who had been killed by the Indians, had been thrown; or, perhaps, seeking refuge there, they had been corraled and then killed on the spot.  If such was the case, they had met the fate of thousands of others, whose friends have never heard of them since they left their eastern homes to seek their fortunes in the Far West.  However, we did not care to investigate this mystery any further, but we hustled out of that chamber of death and informed Scott of our discovery.  Most of the plains-men are very superstitious, and we were no exception to the general rule.  We surely thought that this incident was an evil omen, and that we would be killed if we remained there any longer.

[Illustration:  CAMPING IN A SEPULCHRE.]

“Let us dig out of here quicker than we can say Jack Robinson,” said Scott; and we began to “dig out” at once.  We saddled our animals and hurriedly pushed forward through the darkness, traveling several miles before we again went into camp.  Next morning it was snowing fiercely, but we proceeded as best we could, and that night we succeeded in reaching Oak Grove ranch, which had been built during the summer.  We here obtained comfortable accommodations and plenty to eat and drink—­especially the latter.