On the following day, Don Emillo Cortez came again and asked me to
ride with him as a scout. He had brought a young man to drive the
team in my stead. Gladly I accepted his invitation. He arranged a
pillion for his saddle and mounted me behind him, facing the horse's
tail. Then he passed a broad strap around his waist and my body and
armed me with a Henry repeating rifle, then a new invention and a
very serviceable gun. In this manner I had both hands free and made
him the best sort of a rear guard. We cantered toward a sandy hill on
our left. A coyote came our way, appearing from the crest of the
hill. The animal was looking back over its shoulder and veered off
when it scented us. Don Emilio halted his horse. "That coyote is
driven by Indians," said he; "do you think you can hit it at this
distance?" I thought I could by aiming high and a little forward. At
the crack of my rifle the coyote yelped and bit its side, then
rolling on the grass, expired. "Carajo! a dead shot, for Dios!"
exclaimed Don Emilio. "That will teach the heathen Indians to keep
their distance; they will not be over-anxious to meet these two
Christians at close quarters!"
We were not molested on this day nor on the next, but on the day
thereafter we were in terrible danger.
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