We traveled as fast as possible, while the four old gray-headed Navajo friends guarded our front and rear. They often asked us to leave the dying man, as he was no longer of any use; that the one who shot him would follow to obtain his scalp, and that if we stopped to bury him they would leave, for our enemies would have his scalp if they had to dig his body up.
About sun-down George A. asked me to stop, and said that everything looked dark to him, and he was dying.
Our Navajo friends again said if we stopped they would go on. I said to Brother George A., "It will not do to stop now."
He asked, "Why?"
When I told him, he said, "Oh, well, go on then; but I wish I could die in peace." These were the last words that he said.
A few minutes afterwards, the Navajo friends said, "The man is dead. If you will leave him, we will take you to Spaneshanks' camp, where you will have friends."
Our last ray of hope for getting the body of George A. where we could lay it safely away in the rocks, was now gone. I said to the company, "What shall we do?" The answer was, "What can we do, only lay the body on the ground and leave it?"
I replied that such was my mind, for we would only risk our lives by making an effort to bury the dead, in which we would probably be unsuccessful.
We wrapped the body in a blanket, and laid it in a hollow place by the side of the trail, and then rode on as fast as our jaded animals could well carry us, until late in the night.
We halted on a patch of grass, held our animals by the lariats, and also put out a guard.