Young oxen, when stampeded, are sometimes lost by the Indians.  When not killed by wolves they usually join with the herds of buffalo and soon become wild.  In this state, they are represented as being quite fleet of foot.  More generally, they fall a prey to the wolves, and sometimes, again into the hands of the savages.  A party was crossing the plains in the year 1854; the advance of the party sent back word that the first buffalo was in sight.  Many amateur hunters eagerly volunteered for the chase, and soon, quite a squad of men were traveling at a good round gallop towards the supposed game.  On approaching the game, it was found to be an old lame ox, which had been turned out by some caravan to die.  The disappointment which prevailed in this crowd of neophyte hunters, on discovering this mistake, can be better imagined than described.  The poor ox, apparently, had no idea of giving up the ghost quite yet.  He was in good health and spirits, and showed signs of being pleased to see a white man again.  The little birds of the prairies had used him as a perch.  This office he appeared quite accustomed to perform, for he did not disturb the flock that was then occupying his back.  How he had escaped the wolves is a miracle.

From signs discovered after the Indians had decamped, it became evident that several of the thieves had been mortally wounded; but, being tied on their horses, they were carried out of sight before they died.  This is a fair sample of many of the Indian fights which have occurred, and are yet not unfrequent, on the prairies; the object of the savages is to plunder; therefore, an unguarded moment is selected for their attacks.  In this instance, by the time the whites had got their firearms and men ready to commence the contest, the Indians had perpetrated their intended assault and were off.

[Illustration:  CAMANCHE WARRIOR.]

The Camanches are excelled by no men in the world in their horsemanship, not excepting the famous Cossacks of Europe.  The level prairies are beautiful fields for them to act on.  It is in a skirmish similar to the one we have endeavored to describe, that they put these qualifications to the test.  The arena where these scenes are enacted is a very undesirable place for a mere spectator.  Kit Carson and party resumed their march the same day, and arrived safely at Santa Fe, without meeting with any other adventures.  At this town he left his escort of fifty volunteers, and hired sixteen other men with which to perform the remainder of his journey.  This was in obedience to the orders he had received at Fort Leavenworth.  Pursuing his route on Muddy Creek, a tributary of Virgin River, he came upon a village of some three hundred Indians, so suddenly, as his route twisted about among the hills, that he had to make a bold matter of it, and go into camp, for the purpose of having a “talk.”  Kit Carson had learned some time before that these very red men had massacred