I did take good aim and had the satisfaction of seeing the Indian tumble to the ground. But whether I killed him or some one else did, I could not say, for an absolute certainty, but I have always thought he belonged to my list.
The Indians were no match for Col. Fremont's men, being only armed with bows and arrows, and they beat a hasty retreat, closely followed for a distance by the soldiers, who, however, did not get any Indians on the run.
When the men returned to camp, and, as usual, after a scrap with
Indians, were telling how many red-skins they had killed, Uncle
Kit turned to me and asked how many I had got. I said, "one."
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Well," I said, "I took a rest off of Croppy's back; with a good aim, at the crack of my rifle, the Indian came down."
The crowd went with me to where I had seen the Indian fall, and there he was, as useless for Indian work as Powhattan is.
Col. Fremont then asked the soldiers where were their dead
Indians, and Uncle Kit said:
"I reckon Willie is the only one that got his man. Didn't I tell you, Colonel, that he could shoot Injuns?"
However, after looking around awhile, he found five more dead Indians, and, doubtless, more were killed but were carried away by their companions.
The only harm the Indians did our party was to wound two of
Fremont's men, slightly.