The move was evident. They lay in ambuscade to capture us. We got out our arms, but eight or nine weapons in all, the emigrants being unarmed, and began withdrawing slowly to Big Sandy.
The children wept and screamed. The women howled that they would be taken by the Indians. They scolded and lamented by turns. The men said nothing. They were not in a talking mood, nor was anybody just then—except the ladies. We effected our retreat in good order, the unarmed men driving the teams, the armed protecting “the movement.” Some Indians followed us, just out of range, and one whom I shall always see in my mind’s eye, on a white pony, followed on at the same distance until we reached Big Sandy Station once more.
The next day we again got tired of smoking, talking, and reading novels. The lieutenant succeeded in getting a coach, and he and I with three men and the sergeant, all armed this time, started once more for Welcome Spring Station—the next on our route West.
We had a good driver and a splendid team of mules. Arrived at about six miles west of Big Sandy, we saw some Indians, twelve or fifteen, coming toward us from a distance. A judicious use of mule power soon put them out of sight. We had no further trouble until we came within five or six miles of Welcome Station. There, after we had almost entirely dismissed Indian dangers from our minds, we suddenly discovered three parties in uncomfortably close proximity. They were coming towards us at a good round pace. Two of the parties numbered about fifty each, the third about half that number. The last mentioned was evidently trying to cut us off from the station, while the other two were closing in upon us from the right and left.
The curtains were thrown up. The coach bristled with needle-guns on every side.
“Now go it,” said the lieutenant.
And we went it!
“If the wheels don’t take fire,” said the driver tremulously, “we may make it!”
On we went!—good Springfield breech-loaders, loaded and cocked, thrust out behind, before, and on each side of the coach. On came the Indians! Rather chary, however, of the breech-loaders, but looking for something to turn up. Their sudden dash had failed. There was now the chance of our being cut off by the third party. The driver plied whip and voice. The mules almost flew to gain the turning-point.
We passed the important point without breaking anything. Then our mules were brought down to a less expeditious, though by no means contemptible pace. The Indians slackened their speed and gave up the job. They still followed us, however, at a respectful distance, until we came in sight of the station.