At
our captain's signal we rushed pell-mell through their camp. Had we
dropped from the clouds the Indians could not have been more
astonished. At the sound of our shots they scattered in every
direction, yelling warnings to each other as they fled.
Once clear of the camp we circled to the south and came back to make
sure that we had done a thorough job. A few parting shots stampeded the
stragglers. Then, with one hundred captured ponies--most, if not all of
them, stolen from the Express and State stations--we rode back to
Sweetwater Bridge.
The recovered horses were placed on the road again, and the Express was
resumed. Slade, who was greatly pleased with our exploit, now assigned
me as special or supernumerary rider. Thereafter while I was with him I
had a comparatively easy time of it, riding only now and then, and
having plenty of opportunity for seeking after the new adventures in
which I delighted.
Alf Slade, stage-line superintendent, frontiersman, and dare-devil
fighting man, was one of the far-famed gunmen of the Plains. These were
a race of men bred by the perils and hard conditions of Western life.
They became man-killers first from stern necessity. In that day the man
who was not quick on the trigger had little chance with the outlaws
among whom he had to live. Slade and "Wild Bill," with both of whom I
became closely associated, were men of nerve and courage.
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