Whenever the bridle would slip inadvertently from my hand, the chief’s blasphemous language would all be English; a sad commentary on the benefits white men confer on their savage brethren when brought into close contact. Drunkenness, profanity, and dissolute habits are the lessons of civilization to the red men, and when the weapons we furnish are turned against ourselves, their edge is keen indeed. Feeling that I had forfeited the good will of the Indians, and knowing that the tenure of my life was most uncertain, I dared make no complaint, although hunger and devouring thirst tortured me. The way still led through dry and sandy hills, upon which the sun glared down with exhausting heat, and seemed to scorch life and moisture out of all his rays fell upon. As far as my eye could reach, nothing but burning sand, and withering sage brush or thorny cactus, was to be seen. All my surroundings only served to aggravate the thirst which the terrible heat of that long day’s ride increased to frenzy. When, in famishing despair I closed my eyes, a cup of cool, delicious drink would seem to be presented to my lips, only to be cruelly withdrawn; and this torture seemed to me like the agony of the rich man, who besought Lazarus for one drop of water to cool his parched tongue. I thought of all I had been separated from, as it seemed to me, forever, and the torment of the hour reduced me to despair. I wished to die, feeling that the pangs of dissolution could not surpass the anguish of my living death. My voice was almost gone, and with difficulty I maintained my seat in the saddle. Turning my eyes despairingly to my captors, I uttered the word “Minne,” signifying water in their language, and kept repeating it imploringly at intervals. They seemed to hurry forward, and, just at sunset, came in sight of a grassy valley through which flowed a river, and the sight of it came like hope to my almost dying eyes. A little brook from the hills above found its way into the waters of this greater stream, and here they dismounted, and, lifting me from my horse, laid me in its shallow bed. I had become almost unconscious, and the cool, delightful element revived me. At first I was not able to drink, but gradually my strength renewed itself, and I found relief from the indescribable pangs of thirst. The stream by which the Indians camped that night was Powder River; and here, in 1866, Fort Conner was built, which in the following year was named Fort Reno. CHAPTER VII. POWDER RIVER—ANOTHER ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE—DETECTION AND DESPAIR—A QUARREL—MY LIFE SAVED BY “JUMPING BEAR.”