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Swinging his wife lightly to his shoulders Acantow set off at a run and he had almost reached his horse when his foot caught in a root and he fell headlong. Then, with a yell, one of the gamblers pointed to the receding forms, and straightway the fifteen made an onset. So engrossed were the Indians in the contest that the snake-like approach of Acantow was unnoticed until he had cut the thongs that bound Manetabee’s wrists and ankles - she did not cry out, for she had expected rescue - and both had imperceptibly slid away from them.

There were fifteen of the Arapaho, and they were gambling to decide the ownership of Manetabee, who sat bound beneath a willow near them. Getting on their trail, he rode over it furiously and at night had reached Oak Canyon, along which he traveled until he saw the gleam of a small fire ahead.Ī squall was coming up, and the noise of it might have enabled him to gallop fairly into the group that he saw huddled about the glow but it is not in the nature of an Indian to do that, and, tying his horse, he crawled forward. On his return, he found neither wife nor lodge, but footprints and hoof prints on the ground showed to his keen eye that it was the Arapaho who had been there. He left his wife–Manetabee (Rosebud) - in the lodge while he went across the mountains to attend a council and was gone four sleeps. Acantow, one of the chiefs of his tribe, usually placed his lodge beside the spring that bubbled from a thicket of wild roses in the place where Rosita, Colorado, stands today. The canyon of Oak Creek is choked by a mass of rock, shaped like a keystone, and wedged into the jaws of the defile.