"At last, Mose!" said Le Roy, who happened to be near me, "we have the blood-thirsty devils! and may God not spare me, if I fail to kill, while a single one of them is left alive."
He scarcely seemed to be aware of the meaning of his muttered words. But I knew of what he was thinking. It was of the death of Al. Simmons.
In some forty minutes the necessary orders had been given, and we had advanced nearly within gun-shot of them. We had moved into our position with the most complete silence. What had startled the Indians, I was and still am unable to imagine. They had, however, discovered our approach, and yelling out their war-whoop, dashed towards us, on our centre. It was just light enough for them to make out our strength. When they found this, they recoiled, and, almost at the same instant, made a charge upon our left. For some few minutes the boys and soldiers on that side of our position had lively work, and then, finding out that there also we were too strong for them, the red-skins started out on the desert.
We pursued them leisurely for some six miles. Then putting the spur to our horses, we galloped up and surrounded them.
It was now daylight. We could see the work before us.
Justice must be done even to such a rascally set of murdering thieves as Smoke-creek Sam's gang. When caught, they did fight, as I honestly believe no Pah-utes have ever before done. However, the blue-coated servants of Uncle Sam and the Buckskin Rangers fought better. The soldiers rode amongst the red-skins, hewing them down with their sabres, while our boys were equally busy with revolver and knife.
This had scarcely been going on for as many minutes as we had covered miles of the desert, when I marked one Indian. From descriptions of Smoke-creek Sam, which we had almost all of us heard, I determined that this must be the scoundrel, and rode up to him. I was lying on the side of my horse when he saw me. Lifting his revolver, he fired three or four shots at me as rapidly as he could.
The last of these crashed through the skull of the noble brute, that had borne me so well and gallantly for so many years. I felt, even at the moment in which he fell—in spite of the enemy who were in the front and on all sides of me—a cruel pang.
It so happened that when I fell, Arnold was near me and had seen the shot take effect on the animal I was mounted on. He knew how greatly I valued the gift of Jack Bird, not simply on account of the giver, but on its own account. I heard his voice, as the report of his own pistol rang on the ear, almost immediately following that of the red-skin's. Giving utterance to a fierce cry, he yelled out:
"You have killed the Tipton Slasher. Take that, you red devil!"