Our casualties were few. Sergeant Cunningham's scalp had been grazed
along the left side, Private Tom Clary had the lobe of an ear cut,
Privates Hoey and Evans were wounded along the ribs, and Corporal
Frank Burton had a bullet wound in the right shoulder.

The Indians had gathered in a compact body about three miles to the
southward, evidently holding a council of war. Reflecting that they
would not be likely to repeat their attack immediately, I walked out
with the first sergeant and a few of the men to note what casualties
had befallen the enemy, and learn if there were any wounded men in
need of assistance.

As I neared the place where the charge had been checked, I met
Corporal Frank Burton leading a black pony, gently stroking his nose
and talking soothingly to him, while the animal seemed half divided
between fear and newly awakened confidence.

"Oh, isn't he a beauty, sir!" exclaimed the boy--"isn't he just a
perfect beauty!"

"He certainly is a very handsome horse," I answered, after walking
around him and taking in all his graces and points. "Take him to the
stable and we will see to what use we can put him."

"Do you think it would be possible for me to own him, sir?" inquired
the boy, in an anxious voice.

"As spoil of war, corporal?"