"It is sick," she said, "or hurt," and she tossed it a bone.
"Quick," I called out to her, "get it! Tame it. It is worth more than
riches to us, that dog."
So she, coaxing it, at last got her hands upon its head, though it would
not wag its tail or make any sign of friendship. It was a wolfish
mongrel Indian dog. One side of its head was cut or crushed, and it
seemed that possibly some squaw had struck it, with intent perhaps to
put it into the kettle, but with aim so bad that the victim had escaped.
To savage man, a dog is of nearly as much use as a horse. Now we had a
horse and a dog, and food, and weapons, and shelter. It was time we
should depart, and we now were well equipped to travel. But whither?
"It seems to me," said I, "that our safest plan is to keep away from the
Platte, where the Indians are more apt to be. If we keep west until we
reach the mountains, we certainly will be above Laramie, and then if we
follow south along the mountains, we must strike the Platte again, and
so find Laramie, if we do not meet any one before that time." It may be
seen how vague was my geography in regard to a region then little known
to any.
"My father will have out the whole Army looking for us," said Ellen
Meriwether to me.
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