My gun, which was lying across the saddle, was snatched from its place.

Finally two Indians, laying hold of the bridle, started off in the direction of the Arkansas River, leading the mule, which was lashed by the other Indians who followed along after.
The whole crowd was whooping, singing, and yelling as only Indians can.
Looking toward the opposite side of the river, I saw the people of a big village moving along the bank, and made up my mind that the redmen had left the Post, and were on the warpath in dead earnest.
My captors crossed the stream with me, and as we waded through the shallow water they lashed both the mule and me.

Soon they brought me before an important-looking body of Indians, who proved to be the chiefs and principal warriors.

Among them I recognized, old Satanta and others whom I knew.

I supposed that all was over with me.
All at once Satanta asked me where I had been, and I suddenly had an inspiration.
I said I had been after a herd of cattle or "Whoa-haws" as they called them.