The Indians Take Revenge.
They were coming in a cloud of dust.
We were riding in a thundering rush.
Only a mile to the safety of the fort.
I wanted to hear their rifles report.
They would turn back the insane.
Once in range, with rifles aflame.
Those Indians were insane with rage.
They would scalp us if we engaged.
We had come upon their tepee camp.
They saw us and began to chant.
Just squaws and kids. Braves were gone.
A hunting trip. Won’t be gone long.
We raped pillaged and burned it all.
One young buck escaped the fall.
He took off on horseback fast.
We couldn’t catch his ass.
He made it to the hunting party.
Told them and they got gnarly
He showed them which way we went.
Seeing their village, their clothes they rent.
They chased us double time.
We thought that all was fine.
Till we saw that cloud of dust.
We knew it would be the end of us.
We had to make it to the fort.
Or we would never make a report.
We thought we had a chance.
Then, we saw the cloud in fast advance.
A bunch cut us off from the side.
They were wild and wanted our hide.
We were killed to the last man.
Except for me, but I never ran.
I, the youngest, was tortured and spared.
I was barely alive. No one cared.
They tied me on my horse.
Sent it toward the fort, of course.
I reported all that took place.
Said that the chief got right in my face.
Said tell them this is revenge.
They come again and it will be the end.
————————–R.W. Johnson—–(2017)