<HTML><FONT FACE=arial,helvetica><FONT SIZE=2>Each night, when it came time to camp, the lead wagon would swing out and around, the others following in turn, till the very last wagon had become a part of the completed circle. Then at a given signal each driver would stop his team. They were always quite ready and willing to stop when the day's travel was done. Each wagon came into position so that its tongue rested against the wagon just ahead, the lead wagon stopping just behind the one that had been last in the line during the day's march.
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<BR> Then the tents were pitched within the big circle and a guard fire was kindled in the very center. I think of it now as a queer place for a guard fire.
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<BR> One night in the wee hours, when everything was as quiet as a prairie night could be, everyone was brought to his feet by the bang of a big musket. On the still night air, it sounded like a cannon. Hearts pounded, women and children screamed and cried, men scrambled in the darkness for boots and guns. We were in a bad Indian country and Indians, it undoubtedly was. Everyone waited for the answering volley or rain of arrows. The camp was in an uproar before the sound had died away. Every man and boy, who owned a gun held it cocked and ready. Women and children were told to get behind whatever protection they could find.
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<BR> We waited, But nothing happened except what had already happen to Zander's old black mule. He had somehow slipped his tether rope and being sociably inclined had attempted to join the group around the guard fire. A lad on guard, seeing the poor blundering fellow, had mistaken him for an Indian and shot him square between the eyes, when he failed to answer the challenge. The gentle old beast had crumpled in his tracks without making a sound.
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<BR> Zanders was furiously angry, but no one was sorry for him. He was as mean as a man could be and no one liked him. No one was sorry for the old mule, for Zanders was cruel to everything that belonged to him. our men had already had trouble with him. He was arbitrary and quarrelsome.
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<BR>Walt Davies
<BR>Monmouth, OR</FONT></HTML>