This, however, was all an open country, excepting immediately along the stream, where was an immense growth of underbrush.  After making several attempts to cross and being driven back, Jim Beckwith proposed that we put spurs to our horses and ride as fast as they could carry us for three or four miles up the river, that we might be able to cross before the Indians would be able to get there, “For,” said he, “this brush seems to be full of redskins.”

This being agreed to, we all started at full speed up the river, and after running some distance we saw a large buffalo trail leading across the river.  Jim Bridger being in the lead, said:  “Here is a big buffalo trail, let’s try crossing on it.”  We were about one-fourth of a mile from the river, and Uncle Kit, who from some cause had dropped behind, sang out:  “All right, let’s hurry and get across and out of the brush on the other side before them redskins get here.”

At this we all made a rush for the river, and just as we were going out on the other side the Indians attacked us from the brush.  They shot Uncle Kit’s hindmost horse down before he was out of the mud and water, and he had to get off in two feet of mud and water to cut his dying horse loose from the string of horses.  We killed two Indians here.  Uncle Kit, while he was down cutting his horse loose, shot one who was just in the act of striking him with a tomahawk.  We made our way to open ground as quick as possible, rode about a half a mile and then stopped and loaded our pistols.

Uncle Kit said:  “Boys, how in the world are we to get out of this?  The whole country is alive with Indians.”

Jim Bridger said:  “Kit, you are the man that got us in here, and we will look for you to get us out.”

“All right,” said Kit, “mount your horses and let’s be off.”  And he gave orders to ride abreast when the ground would permit.

By riding in this manner we could corral quicker.  What is meant by corralling is that each man has his string of horses as we have before stated, and when attacked each man rides to the center, and the horses are a great protection to the men in time of battle.  We traveled some four or five miles without seeing an Indian, but all this time we were on open ground.

Finally we came to a little stream, a tributary to the Madison river, and when crossing this we were again attacked by the Indians, who were secreted in the brush.

This was a surprise, for we had not seen an Indian since we left the West Gallatin.  Here we had a fight that lasted full twenty minutes.  We were about the middle of the stream when they opened fire on us.

Uncle Kit said:  “Come ahead, boys;” at the same we commenced firing at the Indians, and every foot of that stream had to be contested, from the middle, where they first opened fire on us, to the shore.  I saw two dead Indians in the water, and there might have been more, but I did not have time to stop and look for Indians, either dead or alive.  I had seen the time that I was hunting for Indians, but at this particular time I didn’t feel as though I had lost any.