Having been brought up by one of the bravest frontiersmen that traversed the plains at that time, and who always taught me to respect a brave man and hate a coward, I made up my mind to make the attack alone, provided the Indians did not put out guards that night.
After I had finished my lunch I examined both my single-shot pistols--I still having the one presented to me by my old friend Joe Favor, three years before at Bent's Fort, also the knife, which the reader will remember weighed two and one-fourth pounds-- and creeping back to the top of the hill I watched them cook and eat the jack-rabbit. As it grew dark I drew nearer, and when it was about as dark as it was likely to be that night, I crept up to within a few yards of them. They had a little fire made of sagebrush and did not lie down until very late.
I was so near that I could hear them talking, but I could not understand their language, as I had never been among them, but I was confident they were Pah-Utes, because I was in their country.
After they had smoked and talked matters over, which I supposed was in regard to the next day's scouting, they commenced to make preparations to sleep. In the crowd, apparently, were three middle-aged warriors and two young ones, not yet grown. The three older ones laid down together, while the two young ones made their beds about fifteen feet away from the other three.
After they had become quiet I commenced crawling closer, as there was some fire yet and I wanted to get their exact location before I made the attack.
I felt confident that I could kill one of them the first
