“Let’s try and prise back his teeth so that he can eat, and he’ll find his way back to the station.”
With a “king-bolt” for a lever, by the united efforts of four men the teeth with the portion of the lower jaw containing them were turned back, and resumed their natural position with a snap like that of a spring-lock. The poor animal, relieved, at once began grazing.
“Come, gentlemen,” said the driver, “get aboard, and let’s make for the station. There’s been trouble, sure.”
When we reached the road again the conductor of our coach said he heard a shot in the direction of the station. The lieutenant said he thought he had heard it, but it might be imagination, our thoughts being occupied by such anticipations. All doubts were soon at an end, however, for we all heard the next shot, and then another and another.
You get within half a mile of Sandy Station before you see it. As soon as we reached the point from which it is visible, we could see that a pretty lively fight was going on between the men at the station and a mounted party on the opposite bank of the stream. The attacking party were about fifty in number, all mounted, some having remounts which they led. They rode at full speed in single file, at intervals of some paces, in a circle whose circumference at the point opposite to the station nearly reached the stream. Each horseman fired as he reached this point. The party at the station were well covered by the roof of a “dug-out” stable cut in the bank. The attacking party looked more like Mexicans than Indians. They wore wide-brimmed straw hats, and their body-covering was of a dark color.
The conductor, however, pronounced them Indians.
“They have,” said he, “the broad-brimmed straw hats, uniform coats, and six-shooters given them by the Peace Commissioners last spring.”
The drivers now dashed on with all the speed of their animals, “to have a little piece of the fight,” they said; but, no doubt, also to escape being cut off by a party who were evidently preparing to cross the creek for that purpose. Fortunately, though there was very little water in the stream, it was very wide, and full of soft, wet, treacherous sand. Half a dozen Indians galloped to the bank when they saw us, and rode up and down seeking for a crossing. One of them dashed in, and his pony soon went down to its flanks. Two snap-shots from our stage as we dashed by grazed him pretty closely. A third wounded him and caused him to abandon his pony. He was helped up the bank by the others, put on a spare pony, and, supported by an Indian on either side, was carried at full speed out of range. Luckily for the other Indians, they succeeded in doing this while we were getting out of the stage, which we did as quickly as possible after getting the ladies’ coach under the lee of the stable.
We were all anxious, of course, “to get a shot in the fight.” I was in a state of intense excitement. I received a pretty lively shock from the unexpected discharge of my gun while I was in the act of cocking it. Its position was fortunately, however, a vertical one. My friends, hearing the fire in the rear, swore, started, turned round, as if each and every one of them had received a bullet. Seeing the source of the firing, and finding nobody hurt, they laughed, but insisted I should henceforth move in advance, as they could not stand such firing as mine. After this little episode, I “got in” a couple of shots; I cannot say with what success, as for the life of me I could not tell where my bullets struck.
There were now on our side ten men and a non-commissioned officer of regular infantry, two or three station men, and our reinforcement of two drivers, two conductors, the lieutenant, the sergeant, and myself. One or two good volleys from our party soon put an end to the circus performances of the “friendly Indians.” They scattered and disappeared as if by magic. They sent us their P.P.C. compliments in some stray shots, the flash and smoke revealing whence they came, not an Indian being in sight.