Those Indians used to break out from their reservations, swoop
down on some settlement, kill everything in sight and then loot and burn
to their heart's content. There was no warning--just a few shots, then a
shrill war-whoop, and a perfect horde of yelling and shooting red devils
would be upon you. Precautions were taken and some of the larger
settlements were able to stand them off until some of the small army
could come and scatter them. Blue Field had pickets posted every night,
chosen from among the four hundred toughs that lived there, and was
pretty well protected.
They gave us a wide berth for a while, but one night, I was sitting
dozing in my chair about eleven-thirty, when I was awakened by the
sharp crack of a rifle, followed in quick succession by others, until it
was a regular fusillade. Then I heard the short shrill Apache war-whoop,
and mentally I thought my time had come. I tried to breathe a prayer,
but the high and unusual position of my heart effectually prevented any
articulation. The window had been closed on account of a high wind
blowing, or I fancy I should have gone out that way.
Pages:
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288