Charlie Goodnight owned a horse that he contended
could scent an Indian five hundred yards, and I have never questioned
the statement. He had used him in the Ranger service. The horse by
various means would show his uneasiness in the immediate presence of
Indians, and once the following summer we moved camp at midnight on
account of the warnings of that same horse. We had only a remuda with
us at the time, but another outfit encamped with us refused to go, and
they lost half their horses from an Indian surprise the next morning
and never recovered them. I remember the ridicule which was expressed
at our moving camp on the warnings of a horse. "Injun-bit,"
"Man-afraid-of-his-horses," were some of the terms applied to us,--yet
the practical plainsman knew enough to take warning from his dumb
beast. Fear, no doubt, gives horses an unusual sense of smell, and I
have known them to detect the presence of a bear, on a favorable wind,
at an incredible distance.
The night passed quietly, and early the next morning we rode to
recover the remainder of the cattle. An effort was also made to rescue
the bogged ones. On approaching the river, we found the beeves still
resting quietly on the sand-bar. But we had approached them at an
angle, for directly over head and across the river was a brake
overgrown with thick brush, a splendid cover in which Indians might be
lurking in the hope of ambushing any one who attempted to drive out
the beeves.
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