Firing began again on the other side. The Utes were caught between the rangers to the left and the soldiers to the right. Bob could see them breaking through the willows toward the river. It was an easy guess that their horses were bunched here and that they would be forced to cross the stream to escape.
Five minutes later Harshaw broke through the saplings to the pit. “Either of you boys hurt?” he demanded anxiously.
“Not a scratch on either of us,” Dud reported.
The boss of the Slash Lazy D wrung their hands. “By Godfrey! I’m plumb pleased. Couldn’t get it outa my head that they’d got you lads. How’s Houck?”
“He’s right sick. Doc had ought to look after him soon. He’s had one mighty bad day of it.”
Houck was carried on a blanket to the riverbank, where camp was being made for the night. The Utes had been routed. It was estimated that ten or twelve of them had been killed, though the number could not be verified, as Indians always if possible carry away their dead. For the present, at least, no further pursuit of them was feasible.
Dr. Tuckerman dressed the wounds of the Brown’s Park man and looked after the others who had been hurt. All told, the whites had lost four killed. Five were wounded more or less seriously.
The wagons had been left on the mesa three miles away. Houck was taken here next day on a stretcher made of a blanket tied to willow poles. The bodies of the dead were also removed.
Two days later the rangers reached Bear Cat. They had left the soldiers to complete the task of rounding up the Utes and taking them back to the reservation.