yards of the camp, I took a rest off of his back and fired, but I
missed my Indian. I reloaded as quickly as possible and laid my
gun on Croppy's back again, for another shot, and just then it
struck me that the reason I missed the first time was because I
didn't take good aim.

Uncle Kit had always taught me that it was not the fastest
shooting in an Indian fight that did the most execution, and that
it was better to fire one shot with good aim than four at random.

When I went to shoot the second time, Uncle Kit was near me, and
he said:

"Take good aim, Willie, before you fire."

I did take good aim and had the satisfaction of seeing the Indian
tumble to the ground. But whether I killed him or some one else
did, I could not say, for an absolute certainty, but I have always
thought he belonged to my list.

The Indians were no match for Col. Fremont's men, being only armed
with bows and arrows, and they beat a hasty retreat, closely
followed for a distance by the soldiers, who, however, did not get
any Indians on the run.

When the men returned to camp, and, as usual, after a scrap with
Indians, were telling how many red-skins they had killed, Uncle
Kit turned to me and asked how many I had got. I said, "one."

"Are you sure?" he asked.