The others passed on just the same, however, and if we had fallen to
the floor, I presume they would have stepped over us, and otherwise
been oblivious to our existence. This was my introduction to an
Indian--the noble red man!
As soon as they got to the counter they demanded powder, balls, and
percussion caps, and as these things were given them, they were
stuffed down their muzzle-loading rifles, and what could not be rammed
down the barrels was put in greasy skin bags and hidden under their
blankets. I saw one test the sharp edge of a long, wicked-looking
knife, and then it, also, disappeared under his blanket. All this time
the other Indians were on their ponies in front, watching every move
that was being made around them.
There was only the one small door to the little adobe shop, and into
this an Indian had ridden his piebald pony; its forefeet were up a
step on the sill and its head and shoulders were in the room, which
made it quite impossible for us three frightened women to run out in
the street. So we got back of a counter, and, as Mrs. Phillips
expressed it, "midway between the devil and the deep sea." There
certainly could be no mistake about the "devil" side of it!
It was an awful situation to be in, and one to terrify anybody. We
were actually prisoners--penned in with all those savages, who were
evidently in an ugly mood, with quantities of ammunition within their
reach, and only two white men to protect us.
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