Otero Junior College Chinook

he was sleeping. I cut my Pa loose and we were on our way.

      About then the camp sprang into action; the screaming began and figures were running everywhere. I knew we’d been spotted when an arrow hit the dirt right by me. I grabbed my gun and started blasting away.

      One Indian came running up with a bone handled knife clutched in his hand and tried to scalp me. I deflected his attack and threw a punch that landed on his chin. He went down like a pile of bricks and stayed there. Another one came at me; we wrestled for a couple of minutes. I soon knocked him out, ran to my horse, and led him back to my Pa. I threw him up on the horse and was about to jump on when I heard a sharp crack that was followed by a white-hot pain. I had been shot in the arm.

      I managed to jump on behind Pa and kicked the horse, just trying to put distance between us and those Indians. When we found the trail and finally managed to get back to the camp we were greeted like heroes and given food and medical care.

      After a day’s rest, we continued on to Wyoming with no more trouble and sold the cows for a better price than we expected. It was a weary bunch that started back down the trail. We slowly headed for home with a story to tell and wounds to prove our tale.

      I’ll never forget the words Pa spoke as we rode over that last hill before home.

      “Son,” he said, “I’m right proud of you, you handled yourself real good and proved to be a true cowboy. If this adventure didn’t make a man out of you, nothin’ will!”

      —Brandon Mosher
Cheraw Eighth–Grader