While this scene was taking place, Bridger left the main body of
trappers and rode slowly toward the group of smokers, with his rifle
resting across the pommel of his saddle. The chief of the Blackfeet
stepped forward to meet him. From some unfortunate feeling of distrust
Bridger cocked his rifle just as the chief was extending his hand in
friendship. The quick ear of the savage caught the click of the lock; in
a twinkling he grasped the barrel, forced the muzzle downward, and the
contents were discharged into the earth at his feet. His next movement
was to wrest the weapon from the hand of Bridger and fell him with it to
the earth. He might have found this no easy task had not the unfortunate
leader received two arrows in his back during the struggle.
The chief now sprang into the vacant saddle and galloped off to his
band. A wild hurry-skurry scene ensued; each party took to the banks,
the rocks and trees, to gain favorable positions, and an irregular
firing was kept up on either side, without much effect. The Indian girl
had been hurried off by her people at the outbreak of the affray. She
would have returned, through the dangers of the fight, to her husband
and her child, but was prevented by her brother. The young Mexican
saw her struggles and her agony, and heard her piercing cries. With a
generous impulse he caught up the child in his arms, rushed forward,
regardless of Indian shaft or rifle, and placed it in safety upon her
bosom.
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