As Henry dashed away, an Indian fired an arrow after him, which went through his arm and remained fixed there. This did not stop the young pioneer. He raced onward, and breaking off the handle of the arrow, pulled it out,—then stopped and listened. The fight was still going on, the Indians were yelling and the carbines in the hands of the soldiers still continued to pop. Some of the Indians seemed to be endeavoring to make their escape into the cane-brake, so the terrified Henry continued his flight, determined to make his way back to the fort, without waiting for the soldiers.
As young Shane made off, he saw four redskins fall before the bullets of the troops. He pressed forward and came to a wide creek which it was impossible to cross. He followed it all day and, when night came, climbed into a tree to spend the evening. A mountain lion began to screech and call near by and this kept him awake for some time. Finally he fell into deep slumber.
When daylight came, the fleeing pioneer dropped down from his perch and continued towards the fort. This he eventually reached. He had been forty-eight hours without food, except for the little piece of burnt meat which the savages had given him. He was very weak, and was welcomed like a long lost brother. The soldiers had completely annihilated the redskins, and, after the fight, had looked everywhere for the young pioneer. As they could not find him they had given him up for lost and had returned to the fort. When they saw the lost frontiersman, they gave three long cheers for the “young cuss who got away. Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!”
Not long after this exciting affair Henry Shane settled upon a broad creek, called Chicon Creek, which ran near the Anna Catchi Mountains. A few settlers were near him and the Indians were quite numerous. They were also very hostile to the whites, and the young pioneer soon had a very serious affair with them.
One day he was riding by the San Miguel ranch, which was an old-time Mexican ranch with a rock wall around it and an entrance through a gate. When he arrived at this place he could see no one stirring. The gate was open, so he dismounted and went in. He saw no signs of life. A little dog barked at him,—that was all.
Upon a smooth piece of sheet-iron, which lay near two rocks, were several cakes of bread. They had been turned and were burned upon the under side. As the fire still gleamed beneath them, the pioneer was sure that something was wrong. He could see no one,—so continued upon his way.
His horse trotted slowly along, and Henry soon crossed a creek where he found a dead Mexican. It was evident that the “Greaser” had been killed by Indians, for his body was full of arrows, and near by was his horse, lying motionless upon the ground. The Mexican had been endeavoring to get to the ranch when the Indians caught up with him. They first killed his horse and then killed him.
Shane rode onward. As he came upon the top of a ridge he saw a broncho tied some distance off. He knew enough about Indians to keep well away from the animal. So—riding around him—he continued upon his journey. He soon saw the wisdom of his move, for as he rode onward he beheld an Indian crouching near his pony. Soon five others came into view and started after him at a hard gallop.
The plainsman pushed rapidly along and came to a ranch where there was a crowd of excited Mexicans, some of whom were from the place where the dead Mexican had been employed. The murdered vaquero, they said, had been away from the ranch when it was attacked. The Indians had headed him off and had killed him, after he had made a run to get inside the walls of the adobe house.