I knew then it was the boys. When I heard them go into the house and shut the door, I slipped up and peeped through the cracks. The three of them were in there all right. I was almost too ashamed to go in; but I finally went around and opened the door.
“Hello!” Neece called out; “here he is! How far did you chase them, Nick? I knew you would stay with them.”
Several Indians had been killed and the rest of the bunch had run when the surprise attack was made on them. They did not bother us any more just then, but they got plenty of revenge later. The next morning I went back to Deep Creek.
Shortly after this I was making my ride through one of the canyons on the trail when suddenly four Indians jumped out of the rocks and brush into the road just ahead of me. I whirled my pony and started to run back, when I found three other Indians standing in the trail. I couldn’t climb the sides of the canyon; the devils had me trapped, and they began to close in on me with their bows and arrows ready. Only one of them had a gun.
I did not know what else to do, so I sat still on my horse. As they came up I recognized old Tabby among them. This gave me some hope. Their leader, a one-eyed, mean-looking old rascal, grabbed my horse’s rein, and ordered me to get off. I tried to get old Tabby’s eye, but he wouldn’t look my way nor speak to me. Two Indians led my horse about a hundred yards up the canyon and held it there, while the one-eyed Indian talked to me.
He said I had no right to cross their country. The land belonged to the Indians, and they were going to drive the white men out of it. He took his ramrod out of his old gun and marked a trail in the road. “We will burn the stations, here and here and here,” he went on, jabbing the rod in the dirt. “And we will kill the pony men.”
With this threat he left me standing in the road, while he, with old Tabby and the rest, walked away into the brush and began to talk. I could not hear what they were saying. I was badly scared. Then they made a fire.
“Joe Dugout’s” well on old Pony Express trail, about ten miles northeast of Camp Floyd. “Joe” kept a “way station” here for the express.
My soul! I thought. Are they going to burn me? I was just about to make a dash for the two Indians and fight for my horse; but that would have been a fool thing to do.