They told us that thirteen Indian prisoners had already been eaten, but
no white people. The Comanche prisoners armed themselves with the
lances, bows, and arrows left in the camp, and in an hour after the
passage of the buffaloes, but two of the twelve Indians were alive;
these, giving the war-whoop to recall their party, at last discovered
that their comrades had been killed.
At that moment the prairie became animated with buffaloes and hunters;
the Cayugas on horseback were coming back, driving another herd before
them. No time was to be lost if we wished to save our scalps; we gave
one of our knives (so necessary an article in the wilderness) to the
Comanches, who expressed what they felt in glowing terms, and we left
them to their own cunning and knowledge of the localities, to make their
escape. We had not overrated their abilities, for some few days
afterwards we met them safe and sound in their own wigwams.
We galloped as fast as our horses could go for fifteen miles, along the
ravine which had impeded our journey during the preceding day, when we
fell in with a small creek. There we and our horses drank incredible
quantities of water, and as our position was not yet very safe, we again
resumed our march at a brisk trot. We travelled three or four more miles
along the foot of a high ridge, and discovered what seemed to be an
Indian trail, leading in a zigzag course up the side of it.
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