At the first alarm, Mr. Stuart and his comrades had seized their rifles, and attempted to cut off the Indians who were pursuing the horses.  Their attention was instantly distracted by whoops and yells in an opposite direction.

They now apprehended that a reserve party was about to carry off their baggage.  They ran to secure it.  The reserve party, however, galloped by, whooping and yelling in triumph and derision.  The last of them proved to be their commander, the identical giant joker already mentioned.  He was not cast in the stern poetical mold of fashionable Indian heroism, but on the contrary, was grievously given to vulgar jocularity.  As he passed Mr. Stuart and his companions, he checked his horse, raised himself in his saddle, and clapping his hand on the most insulting part of his body, uttered some jeering words, which, fortunately for their delicacy, they could not understand.  The rifle of Ben Jones was leveled in an instant, and he was on the point of whizzing a bullet into the target so tauntingly displayed.  “Not for your life! not for your life!” exclaimed Mr. Stuart, “you will bring destruction on us all!”

It was hard to restrain honest Ben, when the mark was so fair and the insult so foul.  “O, Mr. Stuart,” exclaimed he, “only let me have one crack at the infernal rascal, and you may keep all the pay that is due to me.”

“By heaven, if you fire,” cried Mr. Stuart, “I’ll blow your brains out.”

By this time the Indian was far out of reach, and had rejoined his men, and the whole dare-devil band, with the captured horses, scuttled off along the defiles, their red flag flaunting overhead, and the rocks echoing to their whoops and yells, and demoniac laughter.

The unhorsed travellers gazed after them in silent mortification and despair; yet Mr. Stuart could not but admire the style and spirit with which the whole exploit had been managed, and pronounced it one of the most daring and intrepid actions he had ever heard of among Indians.  The whole number of the Crows did not exceed twenty.  In this way a small gang of lurkers will hurry off the cavalry of a large war party, for when once a drove of horses are seized with panic, they become frantic, and nothing short of broken necks can stop them.

No one was more annoyed by this unfortunate occurrence than Ben Jones.  He declared he would actually have given his whole arrears of pay, amounting to upwards of a year’s wages, rather than be balked of such a capital shot.  Mr. Stuart, however, represented what might have been the consequence of so rash an act.  Life for life is the Indian maxim.  The whole tribe would have made common cause in avenging the death of a warrior.  The party were but seven dismounted men, with a wide mountain region to traverse, infested by these people, and which might all be roused by signal fires.  In fact, the conduct of the band of marauders in question, showed the perseverance of savages when once they have fixed their minds upon