I employed the leisure afforded me by my assignment as an extra rider in hunting excursions, in which I took a keen delight.  I was returning home empty-handed from a bear hunt, when night overtook me in a lonely spot near a mountain stream.  I had killed two sage-hens and built a little fire over which to broil them before my night’s rest.

Suddenly I heard a horse whinny farther up the stream.  Thinking instantly of Indians, I ran quickly to my own horse to prevent him from answering the call, and thus revealing my presence.

Filled with uneasiness as to who and what my human neighbors might be, I resaddled my horse, and, leaving him tied where I could reach him in a hurry if need be, made my way up-stream to reconnoiter.  As I came around a bend I received an unpleasant shock.  Not one horse, but fifteen horses, were grazing just ahead of me.

On the opposite side of the creek a light shone high up the mountain bank—­a light from the window of a dugout.  I drew near very cautiously till I came within, sound of voices within the place, and discovered that its occupants were conversing in my own language.  That relieved me.  I knew the strangers to be white men.  I supposed them to be trappers, and, walking boldly to the door, I knocked.

Instantly the voices ceased.  There ensued absolute silence for a space, and then came-whisperings, and sounds of men quietly moving about the dirt floor.

“Who’s there?” called someone.

“A friend and a white man,” I replied.

The door opened, and a big, ugly-looking fellow stood before me.

“Come in,” he ordered.

I accepted the invitation with hesitation, but there was nothing else to do.  To retreat would have meant pursuit and probably death.

Eight of the most villainous-appearing ruffians I have ever set eyes upon sat about the dugout as I entered.  Two of them I recognized at once as teamsters who had been employed by Simpson a few months before.  Both had been charged with murdering a ranchman and stealing his horses.  Simpson had promptly discharged them, and it was supposed that they had left the country.

I gave them no sign of recognition.  I was laying my plans to get out of there as speedily as possible.  I was now practically certain that I had uncovered the hiding-place of a gang of horse-thieves who could have no possible reason to feel anything but hostility toward an honest man.  The leader of the gang swaggered toward me and inquired menacingly: 

“Where are you going, young man, and who’s with you?”

“I am entirely alone,” I returned.  “I left Horseshoe Station this morning for a bear hunt.  Not finding any bears, I was going to camp out till morning.  I heard one of your horses whinnying, and came up to your camp.”

“Where is your horse?”

“I left him down the creek.”

They proposed going for the horse, which was my only means of getting rid of their unwelcome society.  I tried strategy to forestall them.