I did not
propose to be left alone, on foot, on that prairie.
Before I had traveled three miles the horse, sure enough, stepped into
a prairie dog's hole. Down he went, throwing me over his head. He
sprang to his feet before I could catch the bridle, and galloped away
into the darkness. But when he reached the end of his lariat he
discovered that he was picketed to Bison William. I brought him up
standing, recovered my gun, which had fallen to the ground, and was
soon in the saddle again.
Twenty-five miles from Fort Larned the country became rougher, and I
had to travel more carefully. Also I proceeded as quietly as possible,
for I knew I was in the vicinity of the Indians who had been lately
encamped on Walnut Creek. But when I came up near the creek I
unexpectedly rode in among a herd of horses. The animals became
frightened, and ran off in all directions. Without pausing to make any
apology, I backed out as quickly as possible. But just at that minute a
dog, not fifty yards away, set up a howl. Soon I heard Indians talking.
They had been guarding the horses, and had heard the hoofbeats of my
horse. In an instant they were on their ponies and after me.
I urged my mount to full speed up the creek bottom, taking chances of
his falling into a hole. The Indians followed me as fast as they could,
but I soon outdistanced them.
I struck the old Santa Fe trail ten miles from Fort Hays just at
daybreak.
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