Though he had an hour and a half’s start his track lay through a country covered with prickly pear.  We knew that with a bare foot he could make little progress.  We could see, however by the long jumps he was taking, that he was making excellent time.  Soon the trail became spotted with blood, where the thorns of the prickly pear had pierced his shoeless foot.

After a run of twelve miles we saw Bevins crossing a ridge two miles ahead.  We reached the ridge just as he was descending the divide toward the South Platte, which at this point was very deep and swift.

If he got across the stream he stood a good chance of escape.  We pushed our horses as fast as possible, and when we got within range I told him to halt or I would shoot.  He knew I was a good shot, and coolly sat down to wait for us.

“Bevins, you gave us a good chase,” I said, as we rode up.

“Yes,” he returned calmly, “and if I’d had fifteen minutes’ more start and got across the Platte you’d never have caught me.”

Bevins’s flight was the most remarkable feat of its kind I have ever heard of.  A man who could run barefooted in the snow through a prickly-pear patch was surely a “tough one.”  When I looked at the man’s bleeding foot I really felt sorry for him.  He asked me for my knife, and when I gave it to him he dug the thorns out of his foot with its sharp point.  I consider him the gamest man I ever met.

I could not suffer a man with such a foot to walk, so I dismounted, and he rode my horse back to camp, while Green and I rode the other horse by turns.  We kept a close watch on our prisoner.  We had had plenty of proof that he needed it.  His injured foot must have pained him fearfully, but never a word of complaint escaped him.

After breakfasting we resumed our journey.  We had no further trouble till we reached the Arkansas River, where we found a vacant cabin and took possession of it for the night.

There was no fear that Bevins would try to escape.  His foot was swollen to a great size, and was useless.  Believing that Williams could not get away from the cabin, we unbound him.

The cabin was comfortably warmed and well-lighted by the fire.  We left “Long Doc” on guard and went to sleep.

At one o’clock Williams asked “Doc” to allow him to step to the door for a minute.  “Doc” had his revolver in hand, and did not think it necessary to waken us.  He granted the request.  With “Doc,” revolver in hand, watching him, Williams walked to the outer edge of the floor.  Suddenly he made a spring to the right and was out of sight in the black darkness before his guard could even raise his revolver.

“Doc” leaped after him, firing just as he rounded the corner of the cabin.  The report brought us all to our feet.  I at once covered Bevins with my revolver, but, seeing that he could barely stir, I lowered it.

Then in came “Doc,” swearing a blue streak and announcing that Williams had escaped.  Nothing was left us but to gather our horses close to the cabin and stand guard the rest of the night to prevent the possibility of our late prisoner sneaking in and getting away with one of them.  This was the last I ever saw or heard of Williams, but we got back to Fort Lyon with Bevins.