But the Indians were about as well-mounted as I was, and one of their horses in particular--a spotted animal--was gaining on me all the time.

Nearly all the other horses were strung out behind for a distance of two miles, but still chasing after me.
[Illustration: DOWN WENT HIS HORSE.] The Indian who was riding the spotted horse was armed with a rifle, and would occasionally send a bullet whistling along, sometimes striking the ground ahead of me.

I saw that this fellow must be checked, or a stray bullet from his gun might hit me or my horse; so, suddenly stopping Brigham, and quickly wheeling him around, I raised old "Lucretia" to my shoulder, took deliberate aim at the Indian and his horse, hoping to hit one or the other, and fired.

He was not over eighty yards from me at this time, and at the crack of my rifle down went his horse.

Not waiting to see if he recovered, I turned Brigham, and in a moment we were again fairly flying towards our destination; we had urgent business about that time, and were in a hurry to get there.
The other Indians had gained on us while I was engaged in shooting at their leader, and they sent several shots whizzing past me, but fortunately none of them hit the intended mark.