The buffalo made an excellent meal, and the men proceeded in good cheer, ribbing Beckwourth about his eyesight and cautioning him to be careful not to mistake the horses for deer. Beckwourth laughed along and enjoyed the comradery.
Not many days later, Beckwourth’s horse stepped in a gopher hole and shattered its leg. It was a hard thing to see such a faithful companion suffer and not be able to help. With great regret, Beckwourth shot his horse. The available replacements were all Indian ponies; smaller than the fine mount his father had given him, and with less stamina.
It was late winter now in the high desert, cold and hostile. Beckwourth was wracked by headaches due to the altitude and the dry air gave him nosebleeds. Buffalo robes they had obtained in trade from the Osage and Pawne
