An aged Indian of the Nevada desert, of Pony Express days, with his bow and arrows.
Just a little before dark we could see a big dust over towards the mouth of the canyon about six miles from the station. We knew they were coming. Neece thought it would be a good thing to go out from the station a hundred yards or so and surprise them as they came up. When we got there he had us lie down a little way apart.
“Now,” he said, “when you fire, jump to one side, so if they shoot at the blaze of your gun, you will not be there.”
You bet I lay close to the ground. Pretty soon we heard the thumping of their horses’ hoofs. It seemed to me there were hundreds of them. And such yells as they let out, I never heard before. They were coming straight for us, and I thought they were going to run right over us. It was sandy where we lay, with little humps here and there and scrubby greasewood growing on the humps.
When the Indians got close enough, Pete shot and jumped away to one side. I had two pistols, one in each hand, cocked and ready to pull the trigger, and was crawling on my elbows and knees. Each time he would shoot I saw him jump. Soon they were all shooting but me. I got so excited that I forgot to fire, but I kept jumping.
After I had jumped a good many times, I happened to land in a little wash, or ravine, that the water had made. My back came up nearly level with the top of the banks. Anyway I pressed myself down in it. I was badly scared. My heart was beating like a triphammer.
As I lay there, the shooting ceased. After a while I raised my head and looked off towards the desert. Those humps of sand covered with greasewood looked exactly like Indians on horses, and I could see several of them near the wash. I crouched down again and lay there a long time; it seemed hours.
Finally everything was so still I decided to go and see whether my horse was where I had staked him. If he was, I intended to jump on him and strike back for the Deep Creek station, and tell them that the boys were killed; but as I went crawling around the house on my elbows and knees with my revolvers ready to shoot, I saw a light shining through the cracks. It must be full of Indians, I thought; and I lay there quietly to watch what they were doing.
Suddenly I heard one of the men a little distance from the house say, “Did you find anything of him?”
Another answered: “No, I guess he is gone.”