As the interpreter turned to go, the two Indian women we had brought with us wept aloud, and accused me of bringing them along to be murdered. I went a little way off by myself and asked the Lord to be merciful, and pity us in our miserable and apparently helpless condition, and to make known to me what to do and say to extricate us from our difficulties. I returned to camp and told the company that we would leave as soon as possible. Some thought it was certain death whether we went or remained where we were. I told them, however, that there would not be another one of us injured. Our four Navajo friends who had come to us the day before, had remained, and now helped to gather our animals and pack up. We were soon on our way. I told Brother George A. that we must return home to save our lives, for we could not go any farther, as the Navajos were guarding the pass. "Well," said he, "leave me; it will make but very little difference with me; it may make much with you. You cannot go very fast if you take me." We put him in a saddle upon a mule, with Brother Jehiel McConnell behind him, to hold him on. We left our camp kettles over the fire containing our breakfast, untouched, and all our camp outfit that we could possibly do without. The Navajos who had been guarding our trail beyond the camp, started after us, coming down like a whirlwind. Some of our party predicted that in ten minutes there would not be one of us left, but there was no flinching, no wilting in the emergency. I again predicted that there would not be one of us hurt, for so the Spirit whispered to me. The Navajos came almost within range of our rifles, and then turned suddenly to the right. As they passed, the mule that carried our supplies went after them; but, to our surprise, it was brought back to us by a friendly Navajo. We traveled as fast as possible, while the four old gray-headed Navajo friends guarded our front and rear. They often asked us to leave the dying man, as he was no longer of any use; that the one who shot him would follow to obtain his scalp, and that if we stopped to bury him they would leave, for our enemies would have his scalp if they had to dig his body up. About sun-down George A. asked me to stop, and said that everything looked dark to him, and he was dying. Our Navajo friends again said if we stopped they would go on. I said to Brother George A., "It will not do to stop now." He asked, "Why?" When I told him, he said, "Oh, well, go on then; but I wish I could die in peace." These were the last words that he said. A few minutes afterwards, the Navajo friends said, "The man is dead. If you will leave him, we will take you to Spaneshanks' camp, where you will have friends." Our last ray of hope for getting the body of George A. where we could lay it safely away in the rocks, was now gone. I said to the company, "What shall we do?" The answer was, "What can we do, only lay the body on the ground and leave it?"