I was mounted on a roan California horse--the fleetest steed I had.

Putting spurs and whip to him, and lying flat on his back, I kept straight on for Sweetwater Bridge--eleven miles distant--instead of trying to turn back to Horse Creek.

The Indians came on in hot pursuit, but my horse soon got away from them, and ran into the station two miles ahead of them.

The stock-tender had been killed there that morning, and all the stock had been driven off by the Indians, and as I was therefore unable to change horses, I continued on to Ploutz's Station--twelve miles further--thus making twenty-four miles straight run with one horse.

I told the people at Ploutz's what had happened at Sweetwater Bridge, and with a fresh horse went on and finished the trip without any further adventure.
[Illustration: ATTACK ON STAGE COACH.] About the middle of September the Indians became very troublesome on the line of the stage road along the Sweetwater.