But he was very careful, never allowing
the boys or stock to wander off alone, and keeping guards out at
night. Knowing that the Indians were growing dangerous, Bro. Butcher
had insisted on lending him a rifle for his later trips. One day they
were traveling along the Platte River bottoms, the river half a mile
to one side, the bluffs a mile or two back on the other. It seemed
impossible for anything to hide in the low grass around them; but
father knew that here and there in the grass were wet-weather gullies,
deep enough for an Indian to lie in; and his watchful eye detected the
grass moving occasionally, here and there. He halted, telling the men
there were Indians in the grass. At first they made light of it,
saying they knew no Indian could hide in that low grass. But he told
them that he had been watching for some time, and thought the Indians
were creeping up on them from the river. He took Bro. Butcher's rifle
out of the wagon, saying, "I am going down there to see; who will go
with me?" But none of them offered to go, except a boy of sixteen,
who, seeing the rest would not go, shouldered another gun, saying,
"For shame! I wont see the old man go alone!" The two went down
through the grass, and when they reached the river, they saw a number
of Indians running away under shelter of the bank.
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