our exposed position instantly. Leading Chiquita, and telling
Frank to follow, I dashed down the stream in the direction of the Fort
Wingate road.

As we flew along, feeling positive that the Indians would overtake us,
I eagerly surveyed the rocky wall on our left, hoping to find a break
in which we could shelter ourselves and hold the enemy in check until
our friends arrived. But no opening appeared, and it seemed impossible
for us to reach Laguna alive.

On we went into the dense bushes, a hail of bullets and a rush of
arrows about our ears. But at this moment the clear notes of a cavalry
trumpet sounded "deploy," and the California cavalry crashed through
the willows and we were saved. They broke into a skirmish-line behind
us, but only a few shots were fired and the Navajos were gone.

Being an escort, we could not delay for further operations against the
enemy. Our duty was to return at once to the train. Frank and I were
both uninjured, but a bullet had raised the chevron on the boy's
sleeve, and another had shattered the ivory hilt of his revolver.

The volunteers dismounted for a rest, and I took the opportunity to
make a further search for Vic, my faithful companion and friend.
Leaving my horse with Frank, I started towards the place where I had
last seen her.

As I descended a shallow ravine to the willow-clad brook I came upon
an unexpected sight, and paused to witness it. On his knees, close to
the water, his back towards me, was Corporal Henry. Extended at his
left side was Vic, held closely under his left arm, her plumy tail
hanging dejectedly in my direction. An occasional dispirited wag
showed that she appreciated the kindness being shown her. The boy was
evidently busy at something that elicited from the animal, every now
and then, faint cries of pain. I heard something snap, and saw him lay
two parts of an arrow on the ground to his right; then he drew a
handkerchief from his pocket, dipped it in the brook, and apparently
washed a wound.

All the time the boy could be heard addressing his patient in soothing
tones, occasionally leaning his face against her head caressingly.
"Poor little Vicky! Nice, brave doggie! There, there; I will not hurt
you more than I can help. They can't shoot you again, girlie, for lots
of your friends are here now. You shall ride back to the train on
Chiquita with me. We'll own Chiquita together after this."

I felt a little delicacy about breaking in upon this scene