at the enemy. They still continued well to the south on the western
side of the brook. They had dismounted and appeared to be carrying on
an animated consultation.

After a considerable interval of time, four of their number mounted,
and, collecting the ten beeves, mule, and burro, which had been
grazing near by, drove them up and down in front of the camp, beyond
rifle range. They made gestures for us to come and take them--an
invitation which, for obvious reasons, I declined to accept. I quite
agreed with Private Tom Clary, who, as he placed his brawny shoulder
to a big log to roll it up the slope, remarked to his "bunky," Private
George Hoey, "That's an invitation, begorra, I don't fale loike
acciptin'."

"Ye'd niver make yer t'ilet for anither assimbly if ye did, Tom. I
don't think the lutinint will risk the comp'ny's hair in that way,"
replied Hoey.

To have attempted to recover our stock would have necessitated a
division of our force, and the main body of the Navajos stood ready to
dash in and cut off a party making such a reckless move.

This was what they had originally attempted to accomplish, as I heard
years afterwards from a chief who took part in the raid.

Failing to draw us out in pursuit of our lost stock, the Navajos moved
slowly away in the deepening dusk to a point close against the forest
on the eastern side of the valley and nearly opposite our camp. There
they built a row of five fires, which soon became, in the darkness,
the only evidence of their presence.