Frontier and pioneer life -- West (U.S.); Hunting -- United States; West (U.S.) -- Description and travel
Loosening their girths, they permitted their tired animals to feed
on the scanty herbage which presented itself, whilst they refreshed
themselves with a pipe of tobacco--for they had no meat of any
description with them, and the country afforded no game. As the first
streak of dawn appeared in the east, they mounted their horses, after
first examining their rifles, and moved cautiously towards the Indian
village. As it was scarcely light enough for their operations, they
waited behind a sandhill in the vicinity until objects became more
distinct; and then, emerging from their cover with loud war-whoops, they
charged abreast into the midst of the village.
As the frightened Indians were scarcely risen from their beds, no
opposition was given to the daring mountaineers, who, rushing upon
the flying crowd, discharged their rifles at close quarters, and then,
springing from their horses, attacked them knife in hand, and only
ceased the work of butchery when nine Indians lay dead upon the ground.
All this time the women, half dead with fright, were huddled together on
the ground, howling piteously; and the mountaineers, advancing to them,
whirled their lassos round their heads, and, throwing the open nooses
into the midst, hauled out three of them, and securing their arms in the
rope, bound them to a tree, and then proceeded to scalp the dead bodies.
Whilst they were engaged in this work, an old Indian, withered and
grisly, and hardly bigger than an ape, suddenly emerged from a rock,
holding in his left hand a bow and a handful of arrows, whilst one was
already drawn to the head. Running towards them, and almost before the
hunters were aware of his presence, he discharged an arrow at a few
yards' distance, which buried itself in the ground not a foot from La
Bonté's head as he bent over the body of the Indian he was scalping; and
hardly had the whiz ceased, when whirr flew another, striking him in his
right shoulder. Before the Indian could fit a third arrow to his bow, La
Bonté sprang upon him, seized him by the middle, and spinning his pigmy
form round his head as easily as he would have twirled a tomahawk, he
threw him with tremendous force on the ground at the feet of one of
his companions, who, stooping down, coolly thrust his knife into the
Indian's breast, and quickly tore off his scalp.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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