I hung the scalps up inside the dug-out, directly in front of the door, so that Uncle Kit and Mr. Hughes would see them the first thing on entering the cabin.  Then I set about getting supper, all the while thinking what a mighty deed I had done in saving our cabin, which was probably true.

The two men did not return until after dark and they were very tired and hungry, having walked forty miles that day, carrying on the return trip a hundred pounds each.  That is a heavy load for a man to carry twenty miles, but they did it, and it was no uncommon thing for the hardy frontiersmen of that day to perform like feats of strength and endurance.

When they pushed open the heavy log door, the scalps were almost in their faces.

“Who did this?” said Uncle Kit, as he threw his heavy pack on the dirt floor.

I told him and he was very much astonished.

“How was it, Willie?” he asked, and I told him the whole story.

While I was telling him the story, as briefly as I could, he showed more agitation than I had ever seen him exhibit.

During all the time I had been with him, he had never spoken a harsh word to me, up to this time.  But while we were at supper he said to me: 

“My boy, don’t let me ever hear of you taking such chances again.  Not that I care for you killin’ the Injuns, but you took great chances for losing your own hair, for had them redskins got sight of you, by the time they had got through with you, your hide wouldn’t have held corn shucks.  And it’s a mystery to me that they didn’t see you.”

The following morning after breakfast we all took a trip up the canyon, where I had gone the morning before, and we took with us twelve beaver traps that they had brought up from the cache, and these we set at different places along the stream.

After they were set Uncle Kit asked me if I thought I could find all of them again, and I said I thought I could.

“All right then,” he said.  “It will be your job to tend these traps, until Jim and me get the balance of the stuff packed up from the cache.  Now le’s go and see your Injuns.”

I took them to where I had shot the two Indians, and Uncle Kit, as soon as he saw them, said: 

“They are Utes, and the wust hoss-thieves on the waters of the Colorado.  Willie, I’m dog-goned glad you killed ’em.  I would a give the best boss I’ve got to a been here with you, for I think Old Black Leg would a caught the other feller, afore he got to the top o’ the mountain.”

“Black Leg” was Uncle Kit’s pet name for his rifle.

That night, before going to bed, Uncle Kit said we must be up early next morning, as he and Hughes would have to make another trip to the cache, and that I must tend to the traps and keep a sharp lookout for Indians “But whatever happens,” he said, “don’t ever be taken prisoner.”

They started very early the next morning, and as soon as it was light I struck out to examine the traps.  From the twelve I took nine beaver, skinned them, reset the traps, returned to the dug-out and stretched the skins.