Two Cheyenne Dog Soldiers, members of Tall Bull's band, were whipping their ponies to gain speed up the north slope of a draw. As they crested, I was west-bound, riding fast. I didn't see them. It was mutual-they didn't see me either. In a violent clash of horseflesh, we all three went air-born. I hit the ground hard and rolled several times. Shaken, I gathered what strength I could muster and come to a knee. I asked myself, "Where did they come from?" My horse was having difficulty getting up on all fours. I wasn't doing all that well either. Struggling to get on my feet, I grabbed the reins and pull myself up to both knees. My horse was in bad shape by the way it was acting. Carefully not to get a wild kick or stomp by the hooves, I reached and removed the Henry rifle from the scabbard. Shaking my head to clear the cobwebs, I stood wobbling. Blinking several times to clear my vision I felt a welt above my left eye. And, something wet running down my shoulder. Pulling off my left glove with the help of my teeth. I and reached inside my shirt with my hand and I knew right away what it was. "Blood." Raising my shoulder and arm up and down, I didn't seem to have any difficulty in movement or pain. I'm lucky there. My horse has a broken leg and kicking up dust, I'm having a hard time focusing, I can see an Indian lying in such a way that his neck's broken. I see, one, no two Indian ponies down. I looked for the second Indian and spot him the same time he releases an arrow. I was a dead man at that close range. But. my horse, in his last fatal, try to stand, caught the arrow in its neck. I heard the scream from the Cheyenne. One of the two Indian pony's was standup. Apparently just stunned. The Dog Soldier leaped on the pony's back waving his war club and they attack. I had no time to aim and I fired from the hip, hitting pony. The pony's legs buckled and went down. Throwing the Dog Soldier to the ground. For a few vital seconds, I could not see the rider in a thick cloud of dust. I injected another round in the chamber. The dust cloud rolled my way. "Where was he?" He came out of the cloud of dust so close, the distance between us, I could see the hatred in his eyes. His war-club above his head, he screams and leaps. It's said, "the purpose of a Cheyenne Dog Soldier's scream, is to put fear in your mind, that death is near." I believe it. The first shot I almost missed, I hit too high on the right shoulder. He lost his grip on his war-club. My second shot, the barrel was flush against his chest. The impact of a 216-grain rim-fire-44, one inch above the heart, "Mercy." I quickly did a 180-degree turn, checking for Indians, there's none. It was quiet. Eerie quiet. The only thing left standing was me with my Henry. I began to shake. I dropped to a knee. "Lord, if you had a hand in this, "thanks?" I've never killed before. I dropped my arm and hand to the ground and sat down. I was exhausted.