Leaving Hurley's Gulch to its enraged rival factions, let us turn to the west and see how it fared with Sam Willett and his friends.
In the wild excitement of battle, soldiers, who hitherto may have secretly doubted their own courage, have been known to perform deeds of the most heroic valor, of which they retained not the slightest memory when the conflict was over.
This was Sam's case.
His manner of freeing Ulna was bold to the verge of madness; but the instant he saw the young Ute vanishing at the head of the rift, he forgot all about the manner by which his release had been effected.
The anger of the chief, Blanco, was so great when he saw what Sam had done that he would have slain that daring youth without doubt had he not feared that in so doing he might lose his own life.
"What you do them for?" roared the chief, as he pointed after the fugitive.
"He was my friend," was all Sam could say, for by this time he had only the haziest conception of what he had actually done.
"He was the foe of my tribe."
"You did not know him."
"You do me bad," said the enraged chief. "You take Ute's place. My people no stand what you do. I like be your friend. You friend of Ute's. No my friend."