was passed with but a single glance as we dropped down the Pecos
valley at the rate of forty miles a day. Little or no travel was
encountered en route, nor was there any sign of Indians until the
afternoon of our reaching Horsehead Crossing. While passing Dagger
Bend, four miles above the ford, Goodnight and a number of us boys
were riding several hundred yards in advance of the wagon, telling
stories of old sweethearts. The road made a sudden bend around some
sand-hills, and the advance guard had passed out of sight of the rear,
when a fresh Indian trail was cut; and as we reined in our mounts to
examine the sign, we were fired on. The rifle-shots, followed by a
flight of arrows, passed over us, and we took to shelter like flushed
quail. I was riding a good saddle horse and bolted off on the opposite
side of the road from the shooting; but in the scattering which ensued
a number of mules took down the road. One of the two men picked up at
the post was a German, whose mule stampeded after his mates, and who
received a galling fire from the concealed Indians, the rest of us
turning to the nearest shelter. With the exception of this one man,
all of us circled back through the mesquite brush and reached the
wagon, which had halted. Meanwhile the shooting had attracted the men
behind, who charged through the sand-dunes, flanking the Indians, who
immediately decamped. Security of the remuda and wagon was a first
consideration, and danger of an ambush prevented our men from
following up the redskins. Order was soon restored, when we proceeded,
and shortly met the young German coming back up the road, who merely
remarked on meeting us, "Dem Injuns shot at me."

The Indians had evidently not been expecting us. From where they
turned out and where the attack was made we back-trailed them in
the road for nearly a mile. They had simply heard us coming, and,
supposing that the advance guard was all there was in the party, had