Only seven or eight Indians now remained in dangerous proximity to me, and as their horses were beginning to lag somewhat, I checked my faithful old steed a little, to allow him an opportunity to draw an extra breath or two.  I had determined, if it should come to the worst, to drop into a buffalo wallow, where I could stand the Indians off for a while; but I was not compelled to do this, as Brigham carried me through most nobly.

The chase was kept up until we came within three miles of the end of the railroad track, where two companies of soldiers were stationed for the purpose of protecting the workmen from the Indians.  One of the outposts saw the Indians chasing me across the prairie, and gave the alarm.  In a few minutes I saw, greatly to my delight, men coming on foot, and cavalrymen, too, came galloping to our rescue as soon as they could mount their horses.  When the Indians observed this, they turned and ran in the direction from which they had come.  In a very few minutes I was met by some of the infantrymen and trackmen, and jumping to the ground and pulling the blanket and saddle off of Brigham, I told them what he had done for me; they at once took him in charge, led him around, and rubbed him down so vigorously that I thought they would rub him to death.

Captain Nolan, of the Tenth Cavalry, now came up with forty of his men, and upon learning what had happened he determined to pursue the Indians.  He kindly offered me one of the cavalry horses, and after putting my own saddle and bridle on the animal, we started out after the flying Indians, who only a few minutes before had been making it so uncomfortably lively for me.  Our horses were all fresh and of excellent stock, and we soon began shortening the distance between ourselves and the redskins.  Before they had gone five miles we overtook and killed eight of their number.  The others succeeded in making their escape.  On coming up to the place where I had killed the first horse—­the spotted one—­on my “home run,” I found that my bullet had struck him in the forehead and killed him instantly.  He was a noble animal, and ought to have been engaged in better business.

When we got back to camp I found old Brigham grazing quietly and contentedly on the grass.  He looked up at me as if to ask if we had got away with any of those fellows who had chased us.  I believe he read the answer in my eyes.

Another very exciting hunting adventure of mine which deserves a place in these reminiscences occurred near Saline river.  My companion at the time was a man called Scotty, a butcher, who generally accompanied me on these hunting expeditions to cut up the buffaloes and load the meat into a light wagon which he brought to carry it in.  He was a brave little fellow and a most excellent shot.  I had killed some fifteen buffaloes, and we had started for home with a wagon-load of meat.  When within about eight miles of our destination, we suddenly ran on to a party of at least thirty Indians who came riding out of the head of a ravine.