Hearing my horse's retreating footsteps toward the hills, and thus becoming aware that there had been an enemy in their camp, they mounted their steeds and started for me.
I urged my horse to his full speed, taking the chances of his falling into holes, and guided him up the creek bottom.

The Indians followed me as fast as they could by the noise I made, but I soon distanced them; and then crossed the creek.
When I had traveled several miles in a straight course, as I supposed, I took out my compass and by the light of a match saw that I was bearing two points to the east of north.

At once changing my course to the direct route, I pushed rapidly on through the darkness towards Smoky Hill River.
At about three o'clock in the morning I began traveling more cautiously, as I was afraid of running into another band of Indians.

Occasionally I scared up a herd of buffaloes or antelopes, or coyotes, or deer, which would frighten my horse for a moment, but with the exception of these slight alarms I got along all right.
After crossing Smoky Hill River, I felt comparatively safe as this was the last stream I had to cross.

Riding on to the northward I struck the old Santa Fe trail, ten miles from Fort Hays, just at break of day.
My horse did not seem much fatigued, and being anxious to make good time and get as near the post as possible before it was fairly daylight as there might be bands of Indians camped along Big Creek, I urged him forward as fast as he could go.