I arose immediately and fled, the squaw pursuing me. The chief attempted to interfere, but her rage was too great, and he struck her, at which she sprang like an infuriated tiger upon him, stabbing him in several places. Her brother, who at a short distance beheld the fray, and deeming me the cause, fired six shots, determining to kill me. One of these shots lodged in the arm of the chief, breaking it near the shoulder. I then ran until I reached the outskirts of the village, where I was captured by a party who saw me running, but who knew not the cause. Thinking that I was endeavoring to escape, they dragged me in the tent, brandishing their tomahawks and threatening vengeance. After the lapse of half an hour some squaws came and took me back to the lodge of the chief, who was waiting for me, before his wounds could be dressed. He was very weak from loss of blood. I never saw the wife of the chief afterward. Indian surgery is coarse and rude in its details. A doctor of the tribe had pierced the arm of the chief with a long knife, probing in search of the ball it had received, and the wound thus enlarged had to be healed. As soon as I was able to stand, I was required to go and wait on the disabled chief. I found his three sisters with him, and with these I continued to live in companionship. One of them had been married, at the fort, to a white man, whom she had left at Laramie when his prior wife arrived. She told me that they were esteemed friendly, and had often received supplies from the fort, although at heart they were always the enemy of the white man. “But will they not suspect you?” asked I. “They may discover your deceit and punish you some day.” She laughed derisively. “Our prisoners don’t escape to tell tales,” she replied. “Dead people don’t talk. We claim friendship, and they can not prove that we don’t feel it. Besides, all white soldiers are cowards.” Shudderingly I turned away from this enemy of my race, and prepared to wait on my captor, whose superstitious belief in the healing power of a white woman’s touch led him to desire her services. The wounds of the chief were severe, and the suppuration profuse. It was my task to bathe and dress them, and prepare his food. Hunting and fishing being now out of the question for him, he had sent his wives to work for themselves, keeping the sisters and myself to attend him. War with our soldiers seemed to have decreased the power of the chief to a great extent. As he lay ill, he evidently meditated on some plan of strengthening his forces, and finally concluded to send an offer of marriage to the daughter of a war-chief of another band. As General Sully’s destructive attack had deprived him all ready offerings, he availed himself of my shoes, which happened to be particularly good, and, reducing me to moccasins, sent them as a gift to the expected bride.