By the time I got to Croppy I could see the Indians coming, full tilt, and some of the men had already fired upon them.  I got back to camp as fast as I could get Croppy to go, and when in a few yards of the camp, I took a rest off of his back and fired, but I missed my Indian.  I reloaded as quickly as possible and laid my gun on Croppy’s back again, for another shot, and just then it struck me that the reason I missed the first time was because I didn’t take good aim.

Uncle Kit had always taught me that it was not the fastest shooting in an Indian fight that did the most execution, and that it was better to fire one shot with good aim than four at random.

When I went to shoot the second time, Uncle Kit was near me, and he said: 

“Take good aim, Willie, before you fire.”

I did take good aim and had the satisfaction of seeing the Indian tumble to the ground.  But whether I killed him or some one else did, I could not say, for an absolute certainty, but I have always thought he belonged to my list.

The Indians were no match for Col.  Fremont’s men, being only armed with bows and arrows, and they beat a hasty retreat, closely followed for a distance by the soldiers, who, however, did not get any Indians on the run.

When the men returned to camp, and, as usual, after a scrap with Indians, were telling how many red-skins they had killed, Uncle Kit turned to me and asked how many I had got.  I said, “one.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Well,” I said, “I took a rest off of Croppy’s back; with a good aim, at the crack of my rifle, the Indian came down.”

The crowd went with me to where I had seen the Indian fall, and there he was, as useless for Indian work as Powhattan is.

Col.  Fremont then asked the soldiers where were their dead Indians, and Uncle Kit said: 

“I reckon Willie is the only one that got his man.  Didn’t I tell you, Colonel, that he could shoot Injuns?”

However, after looking around awhile, he found five more dead Indians, and, doubtless, more were killed but were carried away by their companions.

The only harm the Indians did our party was to wound two of Fremont’s men, slightly.

This was the last trouble we had with the Utes on the trip.

The second day from this little brush we struck a village of Goshoot Indians, and there Uncle Kit bought enough furs to make out his cargo.

We went into camp here for the night, but Uncle Kit and I did not sleep much, as we were up very late as we did not expect to meet again until the next spring, and he had a great deal to tell me before we parted.

The following morning Johnnie West, Juan and I loaded up and started for Santa Fe, and Uncle Kit went on to Los Angeles with Col.  Fremont, as guide.

Before I left camp that morning, Col.  Fremont, unbeknown to Uncle Kit, came to me and said: