When finally the ponies had been corralled, he vaulted on one, and galloping with the speed of the wind, set out in pursuit of the robbers who had mulcted him of his wealth.  All the day he ranged the country, until his horse, completely exhausted, refused to move another step.  His own excited passion had calmed down somewhat, so hobbling his horse, he threw himself on the open prairie and sank into a deep slumber.

During his absence a strange procession rode up to the ranche.

A large band of Cherokee Indians and half-breeds, headed by a chief of the tribe, loped up the trail, and dismounting, asked for Swanson.

The angry tones and flashing eyes of the red men portended a storm, and suspicious of coming danger to the master of the ranche, a cowboy mounted his pony and galloped off to warn Swanson.

For several months previous the Indians had been missing stock from their herds of cattle.  Steers and yearlings had mysteriously disappeared, even under the keen eyes and sharp ears of the Cherokees themselves.  All efforts to discover the thieves had proved fruitless, until chagrined and mortified by their ill success, the Indians resolved to let nothing escape nor a stone unturned which would lead to the detection of the parties making away with their cattle.

Relays of scouts were detailed, and a few days previous to their appearance at Swanson’s ranche the first trail had been found, which they followed with all the skill and cunning that have made the red men of America peculiarly famous.  Day and night the pursuit had been followed, and it led them direct to Swanson’s.

He had long been suspected of such methods of procuring his stock, but so cunningly had he managed to cover his tracks that he had escaped being caught lip to this time.

His day of punishment had arrived, and his executioners were gathered around the ranche awaiting his return.

The cowboy had failed to find him, and the early morning found Swanson returning home.  The Indians had posted scouts in all directions, and when one of them galloped in, conveying the intelligence that Swanson was coming, the temporary camp was awakened, and with their blankets over their heads, the Indians patiently waited for their victim.

All unsuspicious of danger, he came at a hard gallop over the range, nor did he discover his visitors until he wheeled around the corner of the house and found himself in their midst.

A dozen hands immediately grappled him, dragging him from the saddle and pinioned his arms behind him.  Not a word had been spoken, their silence and his own guilty conscience told him that he had no mercy to hope for.  As husband of a Cherokee squaw, he was looked on as a member of their tribe, and as such would be tried by their methods, found guilty or not guilty; and if guilty, he knew he would be shot at once.

His reckless, bold spirit asserted itself at this critical period, and holding his head erect, he asked, speaking the Cherokee tongue: