Sweat was running down the small of his back and his forehead was damp and sticky as a bullet whizzed past his head. Peter wiped his brow with his sleeve and gave a low whistle. That was close. He peeked over the log, which he was crouched behind, trying to get a better view of the marauding Indians. He raised his head up slightly and then a little further and before he knew what was happening, six shots were fired directly at Peter, one ball after another. Before he could duck down, he felt a ball shave past him. The whistle of it startled him as it stung and blistered his cheek. Peter slapped his hand to his face and quickly ducked down behind the log and groaned. His heart throbbed and beads of sweat formed upon his brow as he realized what a close call he just had.

"Captain Conover? Are you all right?" asked Bill.

Peter gave a little groan and looked at the blood on the palm of his hand. "I'll live."

He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped away the blood and shook his head in dismay. Peter Wilson Conover was between a rock and a hard place. How did he get his troop into such a mess in the first place? He had tried so hard to keep peace with these proud people until February, but all was in vain. The warriors would vehemently call them "old women" and "cowards," taunting them and trying to get a fight out of the troop.

Now he and his troop were cowering behind boulders and trees. Peter tried to figure out what had gone wrong. Why hadn't he seen it coming? His memory went back to the decision he had made. When a bunch of marauding warriors had come down from the hills and stolen four head of cattle, and then killed them all, that was all it took for Peter to make up his mind. He had gotten his men together, and early that morning they took off after them. While tracking them down, he just happened to see their camp down in a ravine near a small grove of trees. A few horses were tied to a rope, which was fastened between two trees near the river.

Peter only had sixty men in his troop and he needed a plan, so that was when he had motioned for Lieutenant Williams to come forward. Pointing to the camp below, he had told him to take thirty men and go over to the east side of the river. Peter would take thirty men and stay on the west side and head toward the warriors' camp. If all went well, they would have them surrounded on both sides of the river and hopefully take prisoners.

As they neared the camp, Peter had noticed that the Utes were nowhere in sight. It was quiet and that bothered him a great deal. When Peter decided to let the warrior's ponies go, that was when all hell broke loose. He realized that he should have seen this coming. He shook his head in dismay. He should have listened to his feelings. Why hadn't he realized that was a bad sign? He had had an uneasy feeling about the whole situation but had not been careful enough. Now his troop was fighting to stay alive.

His eyes slowly scanned his troop, hiding behind stumps and boulders, and he could see the weariness in their eyes and he hoped that someone from the fort would come looking for them and relieve them. It had been a long day and his men were weary and hungry. They had been fighting now for most of the day and they had only had breakfast early that morning before the sun rose.

He dabbed his cheek once again with his handkerchief and then stuffed it in his pocket. Peter had been used to outwitting his enemies. He had been a Captain of the Illinois Militia of Light Infantry, had fought in the Black Hawk War in Illinois and Iowa, and had aided in the capture of Black Hawk, thus ending the Indian War in the east. After leaving Illinois, he ended up in Utah Territory, fighting another war and a Ute by the name of Black Hawk. What a coincidence!

Peter shook himself back to reality. He needed to have his senses about him so he could give the right orders to his men. He peered over the log again and noticed in the distance an old Ute who had been trying to get a good shot at him. Knowing that Peter was the captain, this brave warrior was determined to kill him. The warrior had kept him pinned down for some time. He watched the Ute slowly climb up the tree for a better shot. This made Peter feel uneasy as he watched him climb higher into the tree. After getting in position, the brave took aim directly at Peter, but something went wrong and he lost his footing and fell to the ground, headfirst.

Peter chuckled and turned to Bill with a grin. "Did ya see that? I believe that 'ole Ute forgot how to climb a tree and fell head first to the ground." As he lay behind the log for protection, he sobered a bit and looked over at Bill and said, "I'm real sorry about this."

Bill looked surprised. "About what?"

"O-o-h, gettin' us into this mess. I should have realized they were hiding and waiting for us."

"Captain Conover, you're a great leader. You did your best. None of us saw it coming."

Peter shook his head. "How about the time when I took the troop from one watering hole to another and found each one dried up? After having no water for twenty-four hours, our tongues were swollen so badly we could scarcely keep 'em in our mouths. The thirst was driving us crazy."

Bill grinned. "What happened?"

An amusing look appeared on Peter's face. "Oh, what a sight for perishing men! When I noticed some green willows in the distance, I knew there had to be water there. When we arrived, I went up to the spring and jumped right in and commenced drinking and throwing water on my horse and myself. It seemed as though I had never in my whole life tasted anything half as good. After quenching my thirst, I turned my attention to the men. When they bent down and commenced drinking, I threw water on 'em and everyone laughed except for Dave Canfield. I was going to throw some water on him when he turned on me with his hand resting on the butt of his pistol and said, 'If you throw water on me, I'll shoot you.'

"I laughed at him, 'Why Dave, you'll kill yerself if you drink that much water.' He said, 'It is none of your business if I do.'

"He was in an ornery mood and he was not to be trifled with. He drank until he could drink no more, then turned and crawled around on the ground. Oh, the pain he was in!

"I called one of the boys to come and help me drag him up the hill. We each took a leg and started up the bank while he kicked and tried to get away. As we dragged him to the top of the bank, water commenced running out of his mouth like a hole in a barrel.

"Then I said, 'Dave, you have nearly killed yerself now.'

"We put him in the shade of a cedar where he lay like a log until night. After that he was all right."

Bill chuckled. "He's one ornery ole coot when he's hungry or thirsty."

In the distance, Peter heard the pounding of hooves and his spirits lifted. Colonial Grant was arriving to relieve Peter's troop. Famished and tired, Peter and his men took their wounded and headed toward the fort. After they had ridden for sometime, Peter felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Something bothered him. What it was, he was not sure. He turned around, surveying the land and their situation. Noticing movement among the bushes, he saw a group of Utes that had followed them.

Peter's troop was exhausted and they were in the open with nowhere to hide to defend themselves. He did not want a confrontation with the condition of his men, so he commanded his troop to move quickly toward the fort. As they started down the hill, the Utes came out from hiding and galloped toward them, shooting at them with their arrows and guns. Eight of Peter's men were wounded during the skirmish. Just as they approached the fort, the Utes quickly disappeared.

The following morning, Peter came up with a fantastic idea. They would go over the same ground as they did the day before but with a new maneuver. He noticed a lot of sleds that were made of two-inch planks, which had been stored at the fort. As he eyed the sleds and rubbed his chin with his hand, he conjured up a plan. With the help of his men, they fastened the sleds together and made breastworks of them and then fastened thick blankets on the side of the sled next to their body.

By noon, Peter was ready. His troop slowly trudged along, holding the sleds in front of them and heading toward the Utes who were prepared for battle in front of the fort. But the Utes were not prepared for what was about to happen. When they shot at the soldiers, the balls would go through the two-inch planks and strike the blankets and fall to the ground. The warriors did not seem to understand this kind of tactic and could not figure out why the soldiers did not fall down to the ground wounded or even dead. Again and again, they shot through the sleds, and before long, they became spooked. They were so frightened that they turned and ran away as fast as they could.

Peter grinned. His plan had worked, but he did not expect it to work so well. He didn't think the warriors would be so frightened by such a trick. He didn't expect them to run as they did. He chuckled at his ingenuity and looked at his men and noticed they were amused, also.

A few of the Utes were curious, though, and stayed to watch from a distance. When Peter and his troop headed back to the fort, the warriors followed them, yelling and screaming, "Cowards! Old Women!" Over and over again, they taunted the soldiers, yelling, "Cowards!"

About half way to the fort, Peter had had enough of their taunting and yelling. The heat in his face intensified with exasperation as he turned quickly about, facing them straight on. He gave a signal and his men immediately gave them a volley and before he could blink an eye, they scampered back in a hurry among the grove of trees.

As the troop watched the Utes leave, they chuckled and headed wearily back to the fort, not realizing that one headstrong young warrior by the name of Black Hawk had stayed behind.

Black Hawk had told his men to go on ahead and he would catch up. He had a score to settle with this Captain. At the edge of the woods, he left his pony and stealthily crept back toward the troop. Hiding behind a boulder, he took two arrows out of his pouch. He knew that these two arrows must count or this encounter would be useless. He had been after Captain Conover for some time and now was his big chance.

Pulling his bowstring back as far as it could go, he aimed carefully and let the arrow fly at great speed, hoping that he would be able to hit the Captain with a strong blow. The arrow flew swiftly through the air with faster speed than he had ever shot before.

The arrow hit Peter in the waist and jolted him hard and he fell to his knees. He grunted as he felt a strong wrenching pain at his waist and felt confused at what had just happened. Again, Black Hawk aimed carefully and let go of a second arrow in the same manner. The second arrow hit Peter in the thigh. Feeling triumphant, he howled a victorious cry and ran into the woods toward camp.

Bill quickly knelt beside Peter with worry lacing his eyes. "Are you all right, Captain?"

Peter groaned and then looked down at his waist and thigh. One arrow had struck his leather buckle and cut half way through. The other one had struck his scabbard.

He breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. "My time has not come. I don't think I was born to be killed by an Indian."

After months of fighting, Peter found the Utes had broken camp and had gone to the mountains. With curiosity, he and his cavalry rode to their camp to see what they had left behind. What he saw was not what he had expected. He was appalled at the sight before him.

Peter found that they had left their wounded and dead lying in the snow in every direction. Peter's heart sank as he looked upon these brave warriors. His heart went out to them and he quickly told his men to attend to the wounded. Peter knelt down on the ground and gently lifted the head of a brave warrior and gave him a few sips of water from his canteen. He took some strips of cloth and washed and bandaged the warrior's wounds.

Sadness filled Peter's heart as he looked upon these courageous warriors and he wondered, "Why did it have to come to this? Why do we have to fight one another? Why can't we live in peace together?"

Peter looked at the warrior beside him. He noticed the warrior's depthless eyes were cold and proud. His jaw was firm as he stared into Peter's eyes. His hard and unrelenting expression told Peter that this brave warrior truly believed in the cause he was fighting for. How Peter wished they could get along!

Maybe some day it would happen, he hoped. Attentively, the soldiers took care of the warriors' wounds and then took them to the fort so a doctor could attend to the wounded. Then Peter sent his troop home. Perhaps this futile war had ended for a while.