A week after making this trip, and while passing over the route again, I was jumped on by a band of Sioux Indians who dashed out from a sand ravine nine miles west of Horse Creek.  They were armed with pistols, and gave me a close call with several bullets, but it fortunately happened that I was mounted on the fleetest horse belonging to the express company, and one that was possessed of remarkable endurance.  Being cut off from retreat back to Horseshoe, I put spurs to my horse, and lying flat on his back, kept straight for Sweetwater, the next station, which I reached without accident, having distanced my pursuers.  Upon reaching that place, however, I found a sorry condition of affairs, as the Indians had made a raid on the station the morning of my adventure with them, and after killing the stock-tender had driven off all the horses, so that I was unable to get a remount.  I therefore continued on to Ploutz’ Station—­twelve miles farther—­thus making twenty-four miles straight run with one horse.  I told the people at Ploutz’ what had happened at Sweetwater Bridge, and went on and finished the trip without any further adventure.

About the middle of September the Indians became very troublesome on the line of the stage-road along the Sweetwater.  Between Split Rock and Three Crossings they robbed a stage, killed the driver and two passengers, and badly wounded Lieutenant Flowers, the assistant division agent.  The redskinned thieves also drove off the stock from the different stations, and were continually lying in wait for the passing stages and Pony Express riders, so that we had to take many desperate chances in running the gauntlet.

The Indians had now become so bad and had stolen so much stock that it was decided to stop the Pony Express for at least six weeks, and to run the stages only occasionally during that period; in fact, it would have been impossible to continue the enterprise much longer without restocking the line.

While we were thus all lying idle, a party was organized to go out and search for stolen stock.  This party was composed of stage-drivers, express-riders, stock-tenders, and ranchmen —­forty of them all together—­and they were well armed and well mounted.  They were mostly men who had undergone all kinds of hardships and braved every danger, and they were ready and anxious to “tackle” any number of Indians.  Wild Bill, who had been driving stage on the road and had recently come down to our division, was elected captain of the company.  It was supposed that the stolen stock had been taken to the head of the Powder River and vicinity, and the party, of which I was a member, started out for that section in high hopes of success.

Twenty miles out from Sweetwater Bridge, at the head of Horse Creek, we found an Indian trail running north toward Powder River,