“I’ll go and get him,” I said.  “I’ll leave my gun here.”

This, I fancied, would convince them that I intended to return, but it didn’t.

“Jim and I will go with you,” said one of the thieves.  “You can leave your gun here if you want to.  You won’t need it.”

I saw that if I was to get away at all I would have to be extremely alert.  These were old hands, and were not to be easily fooled.  I felt it safer, however, to trust myself with two men than with six, so I volunteered to show the precious pair where I had left the horse, and led them to my camp.

The animal was secured, and as one of the men started to lead him up the stream I picked up the two sage-hens I had intended for my evening meal.  The more closely we approached the dugout the less I liked the prospect of reentering it.  One plan of escape had failed.  I was sure the ruffians had no intention of permitting me to leave them and inform the stage people of their presence in the country.

One more plan suggested itself to me, and I lost no time in trying it.  Dropping one of the sage-hens, I asked the man behind me to pick it up.  As he was groping for it in the darkness, I pulled one of my Colt’s revolvers, and hit him a terrific blow over the head.  He dropped to the ground, senseless.

Wheeling about, I saw that the other man, hearing the fall, had turned, his hand upon his revolver.  It was no time for argument.  I fired and killed him.  Then, leaping on my horse, I dug the spurs into his sides, and back down the trail we went, over the rocks and rough ground toward safety.

[Illustration:  It was no time for argument.  I fired, and killed him]

My peril was far from past.  At the sound of the shot the six men in the dugout tumbled forth in hot haste.  They stopped an instant at the scene of the shooting, possibly to revive the man I had stunned and to learn from him what had happened.

They were too wise to mount their horses, knowing that, afoot, they could make better time over the rocky country than I could on horseback.  Steadily I heard them gaining, and soon made up my mind that if I was to evade them at all I must abandon my horse.

Jumping off, I gave him a smart slap with the butt of my revolver which sent him down the valley.  I turned and began to scramble up the mountainside.

I had climbed hardly forty feet when I heard them pass, following the sound of my horse’s feet.  I dodged behind a tree as they went by, and when I heard them firing farther down the trail I worked my way up the mountainside.

It was twenty-five miles to Horseshoe Station, and very hard traveling the first part of the way.  But I got to the station, just before daylight, weary and footsore, but exceedingly thankful.

Tired as I was, I woke up the men at the station and told them of my adventure.  Slade himself led the party that set out to capture my former hosts, and I went along, though nearly beat out.