I spoke of the Indian pony.
“What colour was he?” asked the General.
“Black; with short mane, and crop ears.”
“My God! that’s my horse,” exclaimed he, “stolen four days ago. What a d——d villain that Konza is!”
At night the General furnished me with a mule, and kindly accompanied me to the garrison, which was forty miles distant, and which we reached on the following morning a little before daylight.
As I passed one of the out-houses in riding up to the cantonment, I perceived an Indian leaning against one of the door-posts. “Ugh!” exclaimed he, starting forward; and the next moment my hand was grasped in the cordial, but iron gripe of the Iotan chief.
The party had reached the garrison on the evening previous; and the whole wild band, both Pawnees and Otoes, were now under the protection of the whites.