He replied a little angrily, “I am a Mohave.  My people own this country.  I shall kill whoever I please.”  I had not any doubt that the shawl and the shears came from the party they had massacred.  I pointed to the shawl and said: 

“Where did you get that?”

“I bought them,” he replied, evidently annoyed.  “I bought them from the Piute Indians.”

“My brother,” I replied, “does not talk with a straight tongue.  It is forked, and his words are crooked.”  He now added, with considerable warmth: 

“Go to your own camp, and prepare for war.  I will not kill you.  Your guns are short.  I will take your horses, and my men shall have a big feast.  Your horses are fat and good.  I have many men many braves.  You have but few.  Go to your camp and prepare for war.”

“Indian,” said I, “I go, but remember that our short guns kill an Indian every time.  We never stop to load them.”

I turned to go back to the camp.  It is not etiquette on such an occasion to back out, watching your opponent, as though you were a coward and feared an attack.  I turned squarely round, with my back to the Indian, when I saw the boys at the fort suddenly raise their rifles with their muzzles directed towards us.  At that moment, an arrow whizzed through my buckskin shirt, just making a flesh wound on the shoulder.  I had slightly turned as the arrow left the bow, otherwise I should probably have received my death-wound.  Instantly, with my revolver already in my hand, I discharged in quick succession, two shots at the savage, who was distant but a few feet from me.  The first bullet broke his arm; the second passed through his heart.  I instantly seized the shawl and shears and taking a little of his hair to remember him by, started on a jump towards our men, who were rushing towards me as fast as possible.  The arrows flew so thick and fast, that you would have thought it was hailing.  Night soon came on, and the Indians retired, probably to get recruits and to renew the battle in the morning with the certainty of our destruction.  We doubled our guard for the night, during which I was awakened but once.  Joe Walker and I slept together.  So much used were we both to such little affairs, that I do not believe we should have awakened at all, had we not been called.

About twelve o’clock, a sentry came to where we were sleeping, and touching me, said: 

“Guide, I believe there is an Indian creeping up behind a bush.”  Joe says, “Bill, get up and see what it is.  My eyes are not as good in the night as yours.”

So out of my blanket I got, grabbed my revolver and went towards the bluff.  The sentinel accompanying me, pointed out the bush.  I did not like to fire into it, lest I should give a false alarm.  I watched it about ten minutes, and there was not the least movement.  “I guess,” I said, “it is nothing but a bush.”  But at that moment, I perceived a very slight agitation of the branches.  It proved that there must be somebody there.