sheep on a mutton farm. But, boy-like, I wandered off up the
canyon about two miles before I found a deer that just suited me,
and I wanted to see the country, anyway.

At last I found a little deer that I thought about the right thing
and I killed and dressed it--or rather undressed it--threw it on
my shoulder and pulled for camp.

Instead of going the way I had come, I climbed out on the ridge to
avoid the down timber, that was so thick in the creek bottom. When
I was near the top of the ridge, I looked off a short distance and
saw three Indians, on foot, going down the ridge in the direction
of our dug-out.

I had often heard Uncle Kit tell how the Indians robbed the camps
of trappers and that they invariably burned the cabins.

As soon as I got sight of the Indians, I dropped back over the
ridge, for, luckily, they had not got sight of me. In a few
seconds I did some powerful thinking, and I came to the conclusion
that it would never do to let them find our dug-out, for while it
would hardly burn, they might carry off our bedding, or destroy
it. So I crawled up to a log, took good aim at the leader and
fired, striking him just under the arm, bringing him down. The
other two dropped to their knees, and looked all around, and I
suppose the only thing that saved me was the wind was coming from
them to me and blew the smoke from my gun down the canyon, so that
they did not see where the shot came from.

I heard Uncle Kit tell of lying on his back and loading his rifle,