For a moment Joseph was too stunned to move. Shaking all over with anguish he stood still and looked at the blood-stained trophy fastened at the Indian’s belt. The hair was exactly the color of Robert’s, and Joseph felt sure that his brother had fallen a victim to this redskinned warrior. A great sob rose in the boy’s throat and the tears welled up into his eyes, as he stood on the prairie and gazed at what he considered the proof of his brother’s death.
“The only one left,” thought Joseph. “My whole family wiped out by Black Hawk. Thank goodness, I am still here and I swear I’ll have revenge.” He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth as he thought of all he had suffered at the hands of the savages.
How long he stood in this place he did not know. It might have been seconds and it might have been hours, as far as he was concerned, for the young pioneer had lost all sense of time. He was completely wrapped up in his own thoughts. A coyote barked and at the sound Joseph raised his head. He looked about him, but the only sign of life he saw was the two ponies browsing quietly nearby.
“I’d better get out of here,” exclaimed the young volunteer suddenly. “There’s no telling how soon those other savages may be on my trail if that fellow whose horse I shot only gives the alarm.” He started to remove the scalp from the Indian’s belt, but suddenly drew back. “I can’t! I can’t touch it!” he moaned. He turned and walked toward the place where his horse was feeding. The animal raised its head and watched Joseph’s approach, but made no effort to escape.
The young pioneer grasped the bridle and was about to climb into the saddle when a sudden idea struck him. “Why not take the other pony, too?” he thought. Surely it was a beautiful animal and much faster than any horse Joseph had seen among the volunteers. A few moments later he was seated astride the spotted pony on his way to Dixon’s Ferry. With one hand he led his own horse and at a good rate of speed jogged forward on his way.
His new mount had a remarkable gait, which Joseph could not help admiring. Joseph’s heart was heavy and his spirits were low, but in spite of his sorrowful feelings, he did not fail to realize that the pony which had fallen into his hands was a prize. “The kind of a horse I’ve always wanted to own but never expected to,” he thought.
Hour after hour he jogged across the prairie until at last he spied Dixon’s Ferry in the distance. No sign of the enemy had appeared throughout the day, though Joseph had taken pains to search the horizon every few moments. The end of his journey was in sight, though this knowledge gave but little pleasure to the young volunteer. He kept wondering what he should do now that he was left alone, bereft of parents, sisters and brother.
Coming into Dixon’s Ferry, Joseph met a large force as it was departing from the little settlement. General Whiteside was in command and the object of the expedition was to bury the dead left on the battlefield by Major Stillman. General Atkinson had now arrived with his troops and Dixon’s Ferry presented a busy scene. The fight of the previous day was the main topic of conversation and consternation and bewilderment had taken possession of the men.
Joseph rode quietly through the camp, searching eagerly for a familiar face. He did not arouse any particular comment as he came in with his two horses, for more than a thousand men were departing with General Whiteside at just that time and the young volunteer was overlooked in the crowd. Suddenly he spied Deerfoot, seated under a large tree smoking his long pipe. His back was toward Joseph, so that he approached close to the Indian without being seen.
“Deerfoot!” Joseph called, as he stopped his horses under the tree where the Pottowattomie was seated.