BY PYE POD.
Here, brother Sancho, we may dip our hands up to the elbows in
what they call adventures. But take note, though thou seest me
in the greatest danger on earth, thou must not set thy hand to
thy sword to defend me, unless thou shouldst perceive that they
who assail me are rabble and low people, in which case thou
canst come to my aid.--_Don Quixote._
It was early evening, October 5, at Green's ranch. The somber
quiet of the place seemed to indicate a deserted estate, but a dim
light in the window invited me to knock. At once I heard feet
shuffle across the floor, and a bolt slide in the door.
"Who be you?" called a woman, distinctly.
I introduced myself through the key-hole and was admitted. Mrs.
Green extended me a left-handed greeting while holding a
sixshooter in her right hand. It was a most interesting reception.
"What are you going to do with that?" I inquired, smiling. The
idea that a frontier woman should be so easily frightened seemed
ridiculous.
"Haven't you heard?" she returned. "Why, the whole country is up
in arms looking for two desperate outlaws. They shot a sheep-herder
last night in Telegraph Canyon, and after robbing the fellow
of four dollars, left him for dead. Mr. Green went to Egan
Canyon this afternoon for the mail, and hasn't returned. He ought
to be back by now. It is only three miles away." Here the
somewhat perturbed woman glanced at the clock, which indicated
8:00.
I conversed with Mrs. Green a few moments, and she invited us men
to supper and told me to feed my animals from the hay-stack. I
said we were well provided with food and fire-arms, that she might
feel quite safe from the brigands. Now Coonskin called for me and
said our evening meal was under way. So, I bade Mrs. Green a good
night.
Coonskin, whose chief literary diet had been dime novels, listened
to the news with rapt attention, and suggested that I cook while
he prepared camp for a sudden attack.
"Gee! Wouldn't I like to capture 'em, though!" he said
enthusiastically.
"I would like to see you try it," I returned; "you have been
'spoiling' for a scrap with an Indian, or a desperado, or some
wild beast ever since we crossed the borders, and I shouldn't
wonder if this were your opportunity. Something tells me that
we'll meet these outlaws."
Supper over and dishes washed, we retired. Our bed, only separated
from the earth by a single canvas, never was more comfortable. The
night was cool and a gentle breeze was blowing, but there was no
sound, save the braying of the donks. Suddenly I heard Don, who
was on guard, growl, then a sound of wheels and a horse's whinny.
"Will your dog bite, Mr. Pod?" called Mr. Green.
I rushed out barefoot and dispelled his fears, and, after shaking
hands, questioned him how he knew who I was.
"Oh," he chuckled, "anybody would know you by your outfit;
besides, everybody along the trail has been expecting you, even
two desperadoes."
This was interesting. But I explained that his wife had told me
all, whereupon he invited us men to breakfast, and was escorted by
Don to a point which he considered the limit of his master's
domain.
While at breakfast I learned that the Salt Lake newspapers,
containing illustrated accounts of my prosperity, had subscribers
all along the trail; that the shooting at Telegraph Canyon was the
first in that section for sixteen years; that no pay-boxes were
expected at the Egan mill, where a half dozen men were working;
and that, what was of more importance than the rest, it was the
prevailing opinion that Pye Pod was the man the outlaws were
laying for.
"Griswold is the unfortunate man's name," said Green. "The outlaws
pretended to be friendly, lunched with him, and started off on
their horses. But Griswold had no sooner turned his back than the
strangers ordered him to throw up his hands. They took all his
funds, shot him, and galloped away with his good horses, leaving
their jaded ones. The poor fellow regained consciousness, and
managed by morning to crawl six miles to a ranch. Resolute men
hurriedly saddled their horses, and soon thirty were after the
outlaws. I hear Griswold is with them, he having recovered. But
they say at Egan that some of the boys this afternoon gave up the
chase, because it was getting too warm for them; they felt pretty
near the game."
Mr. Green gave me a second-handed description of the desperadoes
and their outfit, and directing me on my route, wished us
Godspeed.
I felt that my route forced me to overtake rather than to meet by
chance two men who set but little value on other men's lives, and
even less on their own; therefore having everything to gain and
nothing to lose, they put up the best kind of a fight.
We soon arrived at Egan, where we were kindly received. The men
showed us about the works, allowing me to take photographs, and
gave me a more accurate description of the outlaws, and the long
trail of a hundred miles to Eureka. At three points only should we
find water, at Nine Mile Spring, Thirty Mile and Pinto Creek, the
latter being seventy miles away. No habitation would we see; only
an occasional coyôte, or a band of wild horses, or possibly some
prairie schooner, or the outlaws, or some of the possès.
By trailing through Egan Canyon we cut the backbone of the
mountain range and now, at an altitude of several hundred feet
above the plain, were climbing higher and higher the rugged
plateau, until we reached Nine Mile, and unpacked. The spring was
in a grassy spot, and Coonskin first replenished our canteens,
then released the donkeys.
It was noon. Accustomed as we were to travel on two meals a day, I
could set no regular hour for them. It was twenty-one miles to
Thirty Mile Spring. So we cooked here.
The desperadoes formed the chief topic of discussion, even Don
showed the bloodhound in him, and, ever since leaving Egan, showed
unusual excitement and was more vigilant. We must have crossed the
tracks of the outlaws, or were following them unwittingly. Taking
everything into consideration, we were in a fair mood to be
startled when the dog sprang to his feet, and growled. Then three
men, heavily armed, galloped up and dismounted. I was relieved
when I saw one of the riders wearing a bandage round his head; it
must be Griswold.
The strangers left their steeds standing, each tying a rein to a
stirrup, then introduced themselves. We had just finished lunch
and were smoking when the possè arrived; but now Coonskin cooked
for our friends, while I did all the honors and gleaned all the
information essential to our interests. They were affable fellows
and resolute, but had set out hardly equipped for the chase. One
picked up a two-quart canteen, saying good-naturedly that he
reckoned he would have to rustle it. I said they were welcome to
anything I could spare.
Before separating on our several missions, Coonskin photographed
the party, and Griswold repeated his description of the outlaws.
Couriers had been dispatched to Ely, Hamilton, Eureka, and other
points; these men were bound for Hunter, seven miles over the
mesa. Before leaving they asked me if I would blaze a sage-brush
fire that night should I reach Thirty Mile and discover any
evidence of the bandits. They also admonished me to hold up and
shoot without considering an instant any two mounted men of the
description given, else we two would never live to tell how it
happened.
With this parting injunction, unofficial though it was, the riders
loped away, and my nervous troop, at half-past two, "hit the
trail" in lively form. I was glad the country was clear and open.
Only an occasional dwarf cedar stood in dark relief against the
sage. About midnight the grade began perceptibly to grow steeper,
and in consequence of the clouds which had gathered the darkness
was dense. I felt we must be near to Thirty Mile. The idea of
passing the spring and having to trace our steps next morning was
not to be entertained. Seeing a bunch of cedars some distance to
the right, I headed for them. And there we camped. Behind the
screen of three small trees and the darkness we spread our
blankets, lunched on bread and cold meat, and went to sleep. The
donkeys were picketed still another hundred yards back, so as not
to be seen from the trail; we did not light a fire.
By ten o'clock next morning we had breakfasted, and were trailing
toward the summit of the plateau. Three miles further on was
Thirty Mile. Here again I unpacked the animals for an hour's
grazing on the grass by the spring.
The noon hour found us weary travelers reclining on a heap of
blankets. To the east, some fifty feet away, stood a tub, obscured
by pussy willows, and brimming with cool water furnished by a
cedar trough which reached from the bubbling spring. The overflow
streamed down a tiny gorge in the hard soil, under cover of the
willows, and finally sank in the earth.
"I'm afraid the fellows ain't going to bother us after all," said
Coonskin disappointedly, at length. "I'd give a farm to get a
whack at them."
He had no sooner uttered the words than he turned pale, and I
turned to behold two small moving dots on the horizon, some two
miles down the trail. "Jove!" he added, "I believe the outlaws are
coming."
Indeed, I could make out two men, mounted on a dark and a
light-colored horse respectively, slowly approaching. Assigning to
my valet the shot-gun and the Smith & Wesson double-action
revolver, I loaded two extra shells with buckshot, tested the
locks of my Winchester and single-action Colt revolver, gave
Coonskin explicit instructions, and awaited events.
When the strange riders rode to within a half mile of us they
stopped and dismounted. It was plain they were cinching their
saddles, probably preparing to do some rough riding. The dark
horse appeared to be somewhat darker than the one described by
Griswold, but I was cautioned that they might exchange a horse for
one on the range in order to mislead their pursuers. They and
their outfit in all other respects tallied with the description
given to me.
My companion in arms, who of late had evinced such courage, now
showed signs of weakening. He protested that it would be better
not to attempt to hold up the fellows until we were sure we were
right, and when I said that I proposed to get the drop on them the
first opportunity offered, and to shoot if necessary, and should
count on him to aid me, he was speechless. Don seemed to
understand, and stationing himself some ten feet before us,
watched the strangers eagerly. I assured Coonskin that if our dog
allowed those horsemen to enter camp, we could rest easy, but if,
when I hailed them, Don uttered a protest, we could mark them as
the outlaws. "Don't let them corral us," I cautioned; "if they get
us between them, the game is up."
Those were anxious moments for me, as well as for the young man
who was ten years my junior. I was seated on our packs, my
Winchester lying across my knees, cocked; Coonskin sat on the
ground at my right, with shot-gun in hand. Our revolvers were in
our belts. Our bearded and sun-burned faces, long hair, and
generally rough attire, added to our unfriendly attitude, must
have puzzled the approaching horsemen. When they had come to a
hundred feet from us, I called roughly, "Helloa, boys! come in.
You're just in time for grub."
Instantly Don leaped to his feet, and with tail straight out and
body trembling from rage he uttered a savage growl of defiance. He
identified the desperadoes.
Instantly reining their steeds, one of them slung some simple
questions at me, designed, no doubt, to throw us off guard.
"Purty nice lot of burros you've got," he began.
"Pretty fair," I replied disinterestedly.
"Which way you traveling?"
"West. Where 're you bound?" I inquired.
"Just lookin' round. Which is the trail to Hamilton?"
I did not answer. Then the man asked: "How far is it?"
"I don't know, and I don't care a d----," I answered coarsely,
with bravado, as if I considered it wasting time to talk.
The smiling outlaw now looked grave, and turning to his comrade
asked, loud enough for me to hear: "Shall we go in and cook?"
"No, better water our horses and go on," said the partner.
Then, quite as I anticipated, while the more slender man rode
direct to the tub of water, to the right of us, the other guided
his horse to our left, to hem Coonskin and me in between them.
Instantly I rose to my feet, and trailing the rifle over my wrist
strode, eyeing him defiantly, in a line at a right angle with the
course of his horse, but the rogue did not go far before turning
his steed in the direction of the tub. There both men dismounted
behind their steeds, took off the bridles with spade bits that
their horses might drink, and regarded us tenderfeet with some
respect and concern. They handled their bridles with their left
hands, which left their right hands free to use the revolvers I
had seen in their belts; in view of which fact, Coonskin and I
took shelter behind our donkeys, three of which were lying down
after rolling, and, aggressive as well as defensive, awaited our
opportunity.
[Illustration: "_Through Devil's Gate, their panniers scraped the
walls._"]
[Illustration: "_Fired their revolvers in the air._"]
Presently the spokesman of this bandit party, inquired: "Say,
fellows, have you seen three armed men mounted, looking for two
fellows riding a grey horse, bare-foot, and a sorrel with a bald
face, they claimed shot a man in Telegraph Canyon?"
"Not exactly," I said with a faint smile. "Don't think I ever saw
THREE armed men." I waited a few seconds for my levity to produce
the desired effect, then added: "There were three determined-looking
fellows armed with double-barreled shot-guns who stopped
here. They were man-hunting."
"That so?" queried the outlaw, quite excitably. "How long ago were
they here? Where'd they go?"
"Oh just a little while ago. They took in a few cans of water," I
here pointed in their direction, and said: "They were going to
cook over there behind that knoll."
At once, as I hoped they would, the desperadoes were thrown off
their guard and looked behind them. And as they did so I raised my
rifle and whispered to Coonskin to pull on them. But "Sancho"
never budged, his courage had left him. The outlaws turned their
eyes upon us so quickly I think they must have overheard my
whispered command. They hastily bridled, mounted, and rode
southwesterly in the direction we were bound, while turning in
their saddles and watching us until they were beyond range of our
guns.
I was in the mood to "jump" Coonskin for not aiding me to hold up
the outlaws. Our one great opportunity to distinguish ourselves on
the journey was lost. "Think of the receptions we would have had
if we had captured and disarmed those desperadoes, and marched
them handcuffed into Ely, the county seat! And think of the
handsome reward," I said.
The thought of a forfeited reward seemed to stagger the boy. I
concluded my lecture with the emphasized mandate that henceforth I
must not detect any unusual display of courage or prowess on his
part, unless it should be solicited by me, and furthermore, I did
not wish to hear any expressions of desire to attack anything more
formidable than a jack-rabbit.
Our donkeys were soon packed for a twenty-mile evening tramp
toward Pinto Creek. I pinned a penciled message on paper to the
tub before departing, for the benefit of the possè, and my caravan
was on the move again. About midnight we made a dry camp at a
discreet distance from the trail, where without building a fire we
made a cold lunch serve for our second meal that day, and retired.
Next morning early we resumed the journey. By two o'clock we had
crossed the Long Valley Mountains and were on the margin of a
sage-covered plain, still probably twenty miles to Pinto. Several
times we were puzzled by forking trails, and were in doubt whether
we were on the right one to Eureka.
I judged the valley to be ten miles wide. On we rode, the plucky
animals swinging slowly along in that awkward yet amusing
hip-movement characteristic of the burro, until I distinguished
across the plain what looked to be a house. I decided to head for
it. We arrived there at five o'clock, to find the place
temporarily deserted, to discover a fine spring and plenty of hay.
Here we cooked our evening meal and were enjoying a smoke when two
men rode up with an air of conscious proprietorship. They were Mr.
Robinson, proprietor of Newark Mines, and his superintendent. Both
were very hospitable. Mr. Robinson invited me to help myself to
anything I or my party needed, regretted that we had not waited to
dine with him, and asked us to spend the evening at his house and
breakfast with him.
When I told them the story of our experience with the outlaws,
they were greatly interested, and it called forth many tales of
adventure from both those frontiersmen. We were treated to a
heaping plate of delicious apples, and it was a late hour before
we sought our tents. It was a relief to feel myself well beyond
the outlaws' domain.
Next day my good host directed his superintendent to guide us over
Chihuahua Pass, which would save us a fifteen-mile journey around
the extremity of the mountain by way of Pinto.
The climb over the pass was rich with beautiful views. After
rising several hundred feet and looking back, the vista between
the summits and the plains glistening in the sun was superb. The
mines were a mile or two up the canyon, and to this point my kind
host accompanied us, after which his man on horseback led us over
the roughest and most puzzling part of the trail.
So narrow was the passage through Devil's Gate that two animals
could not walk abreast, and their panniers often scraped the rough
walls of the winding and rocky gate-way. Having once gained the
summit, a great oval of bench-land spotted with buffalo-grass, we
rested and grazed the donkeys while we lunched; then we shook
hands with the good-hearted guide, and trailed down the long,
pine-covered slope to Eureka.