. The white Indian boy : the story of Uncle Nick among the Shoshones. hen trail-ing our other wagon behind, his old mules he thoughtcould haul us into South Pass. It looked like our onlychance, but Webb thought he had a better plan. The Indians, he said, must make their way out of thecountry through a certain pass. There was no otherroute they could escape by. If we three would take themules and boys horse and ride hard through the night, wemight get ahead of the thieves and retake our horses. Anything for the best, said the old man; but theboy objected. We shouldnt take his horse. He startedt
. The white Indian boy : the story of Uncle Nick among the Shoshones. hen trail-ing our other wagon behind, his old mules he thoughtcould haul us into South Pass. It looked like our onlychance, but Webb thought he had a better plan. The Indians, he said, must make their way out of thecountry through a certain pass. There was no otherroute they could escape by. If we three would take themules and boys horse and ride hard through the night, wemight get ahead of the thieves and retake our horses. Anything for the best, said the old man; but theboy objected. We shouldnt take his horse. He startedto untie his animal, but we stopped him. Our situationwas a desperate one; he had to give in. We unhitched the mules, and strapped quilts on theirbacks. Donaldson and I jumped on them; Webbtook the horse. Then we struck the trail single file, myold mule on lead with Jim to whip him up and Webbbehind him to whip Jims mule. It was a funny never meet Jim but he calls up that circus parade lopingalong over the hills out on the Big Sandy. 214 The White Indian Boy. S. N. Leek, Jackson, tVi/omingUncle Nick (E. N. Wilson, author of this book), landing a big trout outof Jackson Lake, Wyoming. The old mules were slow, but they were tough. Theykept up their steady gait mile after mile through the couldnt see any trail — just the gap in the mountainsagainst the sky to guide us as we loped and jogged andjogged and loped through the long night. When dayhght came to light our way, we found our-selves at the place where the trail took up over the it forked, the two branches of the trail going up two Frontier Troubles 215 ravines which were separated by a low, narrow saw no fresh tracks on either trail, so we knew theIndians had not passed this point. It looked as if we hadgot ahead of them as vWebb hoped. We rode up one ravine about a mile from the forks,keeping out of the trail so as to leave no tracks to alarmthe thieves if they came our way. Here we stop
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