The old Indian-fighter knew full well that the Crows, though defeated for the present, might renew the attack at any moment.
The bodies of the slain Indians were rolled into the river; the emigrants, killed in the fight, were placed in a wagon until they could be given decent burial.
“A tough fight, Abe,” said Grierson, who had manfully done his part in the struggle.
“What will be the next movement do you suppose?” asked an emigrant.
“Wal, I ’spect they’ll kinder hem us in here, an’ try an’ starve us out,” said Abe.
“They can’t do that,” cried Grierson, “we have plenty of provisions.”
“For us, yes,” answered the “Crow-Killer,” “but for the cattle, no. The four-footed beasts will want fodder, an’ if we drive ’em outside our wagon-line, we’ve got to fight for it.”
“Then how to feed the cattle is the question,” said Grierson.
“That’s so, an’ that’s jist what the red skunks are cal’lating on. If they’d only stampeded our beasts last night, they’d had us.”
“That was the reason that you had ’em tied so securely,” broke in an emigrant.