A Little Compassion—white Folly and Red Treachery—A Squeak for Life—Making Tracks—Female Society—A Taste of Western Civilization—Deferring a Honey-moon—The Army Officer—Trailing and Spotting—A Chance to look at a little Indian Fighting—Wrathful and Righteous Buncombe—Forced to Bend One's Head—Mirth even at the Point of Death.
We had not to wait long for the red-skins to attempt carrying out their late threats. On this occasion, we also had a good example afforded us of their gratitude, and keen sense of obligation for kindness.
About ten o'clock on the following day, I discovered some thirty-five or forty of them descending the side of the mountain near the Ranch, on their ponies. Tom Harvey was at the moment standing by me. He recognized an Indian at their head whom he had almost, as he himself expressed it, raised. He had lived with Tom for several years, and on one occasion, had saved Tom's life. Naturally enough, old love for the lad, who was now barely eighteen years of age, moved Harvey's bowels strongly with compassion.
Being, as my readers already know, a largely fat man, his compassion for the young Pah-ute was as oilily large and full-sized.
To state matters briefly, he wished to save him, and applied to me for permission to go out and warn him to leave.
"If I grant it, you must keep your tongue still, upon our being here."
"In course I will, Cap!"
"Not one word must you utter about our presence at the Ranch."
"D'yer think I'm a fool, Cap?"