And my arms ached from the
strain of hanging onto my horse, for, hobbled as he was, he did his best
to get up and quit Canada in a gallop when the fireworks began. To make
it even more pleasant, when the clouds fell apart and the little stars
came blinking out one by one, a chill wind whistled up on the heels of
the storm, and I spent the rest of that night shivering forlornly in my
clammy clothes.
Still a-shiver at dawn, I saddled up and loped for the crest of the
nearest divide to get the benefit of the first sun-rays. But alas! the
hoodoo was still plodding diligently on my trail. I topped a little
rise, and almost rode plump into the hostile arms of a half-dozen
breech-clout warriors coming up the other side. I think there were about
half a dozen, but I wouldn't swear to it. I hadn't the time nor
inclination to make an exact count. The general ensemble of war-paint
and spotted ponies was enough for me; I didn't need to be told that it
was my move. My spurs fairly lifted the dun horse, and we scuttled in
the opposite direction like a scared antelope. The fact that the average
Indian is not a master hand with a gun except at short range was my
salvation. If they'd been white men I would probably have been curled in
a neat heap within two hundred yards.
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