Note (return) — Chapter III

These Springs form the head waters of the south fork of the River Platte. When four days' journey had been accomplished, and while they were partaking of their breakfast in camp, an alarm of Indians was given by one of the men. He had accidentally discovered the red skin rascals as they were prowling about the camp. A rush was instantly made by the trappers, with rifles in hand, to save their horses. Shots were fired and one Indian fell. The rest of the band made off as empty-handed as they came, with one exception. One brave had succeeded in capturing and mounting a horse before the white men could reach him. Notwithstanding he had a dead brother lying on the ground, he appeared to be altogether too polite to make the trappers a longer visit; at least, without a proper introduction. On the contrary, he galloped off; seemingly, quite proud of his trophy. Had it not been that the trappers had taken the precaution to hobble their horses before turning them out to graze, they would have lost them all in this attempted stampede.4