Off to the New Mines—"God's Country"—A Shower of Sparks—The Cheyenne Maiden—Seeing is Believing—A Sharp Wail—Behind the Brush—The Leap like a Wild-cat—The Effect of Unpalatable News—Evading Cross-questioning—Three Days' Fighting—The Enemy Preparing for Victory—Advice from Experience—Two Brave Fellows—Bacon-fat and a Knife—Waiting and Hoping.
But we were destined not to return as quietly as we had proposed doing. Upon our arrival at Boice City, we were induced to join a company who were going to Jordan Creek for the purpose of prospecting. It had been made up by Jeff Stanaford and another man of the name of Jennings. After depositing our gold-dust, therefore, with Wells, Fargo and Company, one of whose branch-offices was in this place, we started with our new acquaintances for the spot named, which Stanaford asserted from his own personal knowledge, was very rich.
All told, our party numbered some twenty-seven men well armed and provided.
When some three or four days out, we camped at noon, about four o'clock, on a small rocky knoll, from the summit of which a deliciously clear and cool spring was oozing. Round the rise of this knoll there was excellent pasturage for our horses, and stretching beyond this on every side was a level plain, broken up with small sage-brush. At night-fall, our horses were brought in and picketed close to the spring. No suspicion of the slightest danger was entertained by us. Indeed, we all of us slept soundly during the first part of the night, save Jennings, who was on the watch.
Some three hour's before dawn, however, I became restless, and my slumbers were broken. A feeling of impending danger seemed to present itself to me, which I was unable to shake off.
Sitting up, I looked around. The night was as dark as pitch. Nothing could be seen by me, save the forms stretched upon the grass by the dying embers of the camp-fire, which scarcely gave light enough to detect them. I, however, managed to make out the figure of Jennings, who was sitting on the ground at a little distance. He was leaning forward upon his rifle, and was, I at once felt certain, fast asleep.
Possibly somewhat annoyed by this carelessness, I had caught up one of the half-extinguished brands from the fire, and was about hurling it at him, when I felt a light hand touch my shoulder.
The brand fell from my grasp as I rapidly turned, and the scattering sparks thrown from its burning end showed me a face which, since I had first looked on it, had never entirely passed from my memory.
How it was, my lips did not give utterance to a cry of astonishment, it is now, as it would have been then, impossible for me to say.
There were the superbly dark eyes, whose eloquence of expression I had never forgotten. There was that wealthy mass of raven hair, which had crowned the head of the Cheyenne maiden, for whom I had so nearly thrust from me the memory of the little woman I had left behind me in the East, or "God's country," as so many of the settlers and trappers call it.