I reasoned that I could not afford to make the mistake of incurring the risk to stake my life on the chance of escaping his observation.  I had started out to hunt antelopes, but now I coolly prepared myself to stalk an Indian warrior instead.  I went about it as if I were hunting a coyote.  First of all, I ascertained the direction of the wind, which was very light.  It blew from the quarter the Indian was in toward me.  Next, lying on my stomach, I dug the large flowering plant up, and holding it by its roots in front of myself, I crawled toward my quarry, as a snake in the grass.  Cautiously, stealthily, avoiding the slightest noise, and always on the lookout for snakes and thorns, I crept slowly on, making frequent halts to rest myself.  Twice the Indian turned his head and looked in my direction, but apparently he did not perceive me.  In this manner I came within easy gunshot distance.  Now I took my last rest, and with my knife dug a hole in the ground and replanted my cactus shield firmly.  Then I placed my rifle in position to fire and drew a fine bead on the nape of his neck.

“Adios, Indian brave, prepare thy soul to meet the great Spirit in the ever grassy meadows of the happy hunting grounds of eternity, for the spider of thy fate is weaving the last thread in the web of thy doom!” My finger was coaxing the trigger, when a feeling of intense shame rose fiercely in my breast.  Was I, then, like unto this Indian, to take an enemy’s life from ambush?  Up I jumped with a challenging shout, my gun leveled, ready for the fight.  “Por Dios, amigo, amigo!” cried the frightened Indian, holding up his hands.  “No tengo dinero!” (I have no money.  Don’t shoot!) he begged, speaking to me in Spanish.  Then I went to him and learned that he belonged to a wagon train, traveling just ahead of us.  He was a full-blood Navajo, who had been made captive in a Mexican raid into the Navajo country.  The Mexicans used to capture many Navajo pappooses and bring them up as bond servants or peons.  This Indian told me that he had been following the same band of antelopes as myself, and on passing a beautiful hill of red ants, he yielded to temptation and thought he would have his clothes examined and laundered by the ants.  These little insects are really very accommodating and work without remuneration.  At the same time he likewise took a sun bath on the same liberal terms.  This episode made me famous with every Spanish freighter over the Santa Fe trail, from Kansas into New Mexico.

Just before we reached the Cimarron country, which is very hilly and is drained by the Red River, and where we were out of all danger from Indians, I had a narrow escape from death.  I was in the lead of our train and had crossed a muddy place in the road.  I drove on without noticing that I was leaving the other teams far behind.  A wagon stuck fast in the mire, which caused my companions a great deal of labor and much delay.  At last I halted to await the coming of the other teams.  Suddenly