an advantage, they were made welcome.  Our winter camp at Bosque Grande was passed with but a single glance as we dropped down the Pecos valley at the rate of forty miles a day.  Little or no travel was encountered en route, nor was there any sign of Indians until the afternoon of our reaching Horsehead Crossing.  While passing Dagger Bend, four miles above the ford, Goodnight and a number of us boys were riding several hundred yards in advance of the wagon, telling stories of old sweethearts.  The road made a sudden bend around some sand-hills, and the advance guard had passed out of sight of the rear, when a fresh Indian trail was cut; and as we reined in our mounts to examine the sign, we were fired on.  The rifle-shots, followed by a flight of arrows, passed over us, and we took to shelter like flushed quail.  I was riding a good saddle horse and bolted off on the opposite side of the road from the shooting; but in the scattering which ensued a number of mules took down the road.  One of the two men picked up at the post was a German, whose mule stampeded after his mates, and who received a galling fire from the concealed Indians, the rest of us turning to the nearest shelter.  With the exception of this one man, all of us circled back through the mesquite brush and reached the wagon, which had halted.  Meanwhile the shooting had attracted the men behind, who charged through the sand-dunes, flanking the Indians, who immediately decamped.  Security of the remuda and wagon was a first consideration, and danger of an ambush prevented our men from following up the redskins.  Order was soon restored, when we proceeded, and shortly met the young German coming back up the road, who merely remarked on meeting us, “Dem Injuns shot at me.”

The Indians had evidently not been expecting us.  From where they turned out and where the attack was made we back-trailed them in the road for nearly a mile.  They had simply heard us coming, and, supposing that the advance guard was all there was in the party, had made the attack and were in turn themselves surprised at our numbers.  But the warning was henceforth heeded, and on reaching the crossing more Indian sign was detected.  Several large parties had evidently crossed the river that morning, and were no doubt at that moment watching us from the surrounding hills.  The canon of Castle Mountain Gap was well adapted for an Indian ambush; and as it was only twelve miles from the ford to its mouth, we halted within a short distance of the entrance, as if encamping for the night.  All the horses under saddle were picketed fully a quarter mile from the wagon,—­easy marks for poor Lo,—­and the remuda was allowed to wander at will, an air of perfect carelessness prevailing in the camp.  From the sign which we had seen that day, there was little doubt but there were in the neighborhood of five hundred Indians in the immediate vicinity of Horsehead Crossing, and we did everything we could to create the impression