Occasionally the brave who was riding this fleet horse would send a bullet whistling after me.  Soon they began to strike too near for comfort.  The other Indians were strung out along behind, and could do no immediate damage.  But I saw that the fellow in the lead must be checked, or a stray bullet might hit me or the horse.  Suddenly stopping Brigham, therefore, I raised old “Lucretia” to my shoulder and took deliberate aim, hoping to hit either the horse or the rider.  He was not eighty yards behind me.  At the crack of the rifle down went the horse.  Not waiting to see if he regained his feet, Brigham and I went fairly flying toward our destination.  We had urgent business just then and were in a hurry to attend to it.

The other Indians had gained while I stopped to drop the leader.  A volley of shots whizzed past me.  Fortunately none of them hit.  Now and then, to return the compliment, I wheeled and fired.  One of my shots broke the leg of one of my pursuers’ mounts.

But seven or eight Indians now remained in dangerous proximity to me.  As their horses were beginning to lag, I checked Brigham to give him an opportunity to get a few extra breaths.  I had determined that if the worst came to the worst I would drop into a buffalo wallow, where I might possibly stand off my pursuers.  I was not compelled to do this, for Brigham carried me through nobly.

When we came within three miles of the railroad track, where two companies of soldiers were stationed, one of the outposts gave the alarm.  In a few minutes, to my great delight, I saw men on foot and on horseback hurrying to the rescue.  The Indians quickly turned and galloped away as fast as they had come.  When I reached my friends, I turned Brigham over to them.  He was led away and given the care and rub-down that he richly deserved.

Captain Nolan of the Tenth Cavalry now came up with forty men, and on hearing my account of what had happened determined to pursue the Indians.  I was given a cavalry horse for a remount and we were off.

Our horses were all fresh and excellent stock.  We soon began shortening the distance between ourselves and the fugitives.  Before they had fled five miles we overtook them and killed eight of their number.  The others succeeded in making their escape.  Upon coming to the place where I had dropped the spotted horse that carried the leader of my pursuers I found that my bullet had struck him in the forehead, killing him instantly.  He was a fine animal, and should have been engaged in better business.

On our return we found old Brigham grazing contentedly.  He looked up inquiring, as if to ask if we had punished the redskins who pursued us.  I think he read the answer in my eyes.

Another adventure which deserves a place in these reminiscences occurred near the Saline River.  My companion at the time was Scotty, the butcher who accompanied me on my hunts, to cut up the meat and load it on the wagon for hauling to the railroad camp.