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On A Donkey's Hurricane Deck

<h3>CHAPTER L. Encounter with two desperadoes</h3> TOC BY PYE POD. <div class="poembox"> 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.<cite>—Don Quixote.</cite> </div> 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. <div class="figcenter"> larger <ANTIMG src="images/i376a.jpg" width-obs="400" height-obs="348" alt="" /> <div class="caption">"Through Devil's Gate, their panniers scraped the walls."</div> </div> <div class="figcenter"> larger <ANTIMG src="images/i376b.jpg" width-obs="400" height-obs="354" alt="" /> <div class="caption">"Fired their revolvers in the air."</div> </div> 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. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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