No Indians had been seen in the vicinity during the day. Colonel Royal,
having posted his pickets, supposed that everything was serene for the
night. But before morning we were aroused by shots, and immediately
afterward one of the mounted pickets came galloping into camp with the
announcement that there were Indians close at hand. All the companies
fell into line, prepared and eager for action. The men were still new
to Indian fighting. Many of them were excited.
But, despite the alarm, no Indians made their appearance. Upon going to
the post where the picket said he had seen them, none were to be found,
nor could the faintest trace be discovered.
The sentinel, an Irishman, insisted that there certainly had been
redskins there.
"But you must be mistaken," said the colonel.
"Upon me sowl, I'm not. As sure as me name's Pat Maloney, wan iv them
red devils hit me on th' head with a club, so he did," persisted the
picket.
When morning came we made a successful effort to clear up the mystery.
Elk tracks were found in the vicinity, and it was undoubtedly a herd of
elk that had frightened the picket. When he turned to flee he must have
hit his head on an overhanging limb, which he supposed was the club of
a redskin, bent on his murder. It was hard, however, to convince him
that he could have been mistaken.
Three days' march brought us to Beaver Creek, where we encamped and
where scouts were sent out in different directions.
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