Within the succeeding days the travelers saw Indians, but they did not come near enough to make trouble. Confident of no disturbance or hinderance to their journey, the happy emigrants journeyed on fearless (comparatively) of the red skins, and boasting of their power. But the evil hour at last approached. When the column had reached Sand Creek, and was in the act of crossing, suddenly the wild yells of Indians fell upon their ears, and soon a band of Cheyennes charged down upon them. Two wagons had already got into the stream, and, instead of hastening the others across, and thus putting the creek between themselves and their pursuers, the whites drove the two back out of the water, and, entangled in the others, threw every thing in confusion. This confusion is just what the Indians like, and they began whooping, shouting, and firing furiously, in order to cause a stampede of the live-stock. In five minutes all was accomplished; all the animals, except those well fastened to the wagons, were dashing over the prairie. The Indians then circled around and fired a volley of bullets and arrows. Mr. Blynn was killed at the second fire, while standing before the wagon in which were his wife and child. “God help them!” was all he said, as, firing his rifle at the Indians for the last time, he sank down dead. The men returned the fire for awhile, then fled, leaving their wounded, all their wagons, and the women and children in the hands of the relentless victors. Santana, who led the band, sprang in first, followed by his braves, whom he ordered to let the cowardly pale faces run away without pursuit. The dead and wounded were scalped, and the women and children taken captive. All were treated with brutal conduct; and, having secured all the plunder they could, the savages set fire to every wagon, and, with the horses they had taken from the train, set out in the direction of their villages. Mrs. Blynn’s child, Willie, two years old, cried very much, which so enraged Santana that he seized him by the heels, and was ready to dash out his brains, but the poor mother, in her agony, sprang forward, caught the child, and fought so bravely with the infuriated murderer, that he laughed, and told her to keep it; for he feared she would fret if he killed it. Mounted on a pony, her child in her arms, she endeavored to please her savage captor by appearing satisfied, dwelling on the hope that some event would occur, whereby she might be rescued and restored to her friends. It was for her darling child that she endeavored to keep up her heart and resolve to live. When they arrived at Santana’s village, Mrs. Blynn was left alone of all the seven who were taken. Group after group dropped away from the main body, taking with them the women whom they had prisoners.