Beachy resumed his search for the animals. In a few days a man came in from some point above Lewiston, and reported having seen, on his ride down the river, a party of four men encamped in a solitary nook on the opposite bank. The thought flashed through Beachy’s brain that they were the murderers, who, thwarted in their effort to leave the country at Walla Walla, had returned by a circuitous route, in search of a point more favorable.
In Tom Farrell, a harum-scarum dare-devil of the town, Beachy found one man who shared his suspicions. He consented to go with him and aid him in arresting these men. It was freezing weather, and the trail was rough and mountainous. Both men were well armed and of undoubted courage. Urging their horses to their utmost speed, they rode on till past the hour of noon, when Tom descried a thin column of smoke ascending from the camp of the supposed freebooters. Securing their horses in a thicket, they crept to a point where, concealed by the willows, they could observe all parts of the camp. Alas for their hopes! The suspected robbers developed into a hunting party of honest miners, who were enjoying a little holiday sport in the mountains. Worn down with fatigue and anxiety, they returned to Lewiston, to encounter afresh the gibes and sneers of the people at the failure of this sorry expedition.
Another day of patient search was rewarded with the discovery of the rancheman who had possession of the animals. Beachy returned from a visit to his ranche, bringing with him one horse and seven mules, and the saddles, bridles, and other accoutrements, which he submitted to the inspection of the citizens. Not an article was identified as the property of Magruder. One man thought an old saddle resembled one that he had seen in Magruder’s possession, but, as old saddles were plenty, this one, without any distinctive marks, was valueless as evidence.
Thus far Beachy’s investigations had only involved the subject in deeper mystery; but as day after day passed, bringing no tidings of his friend, he felt an increasing conviction of the great evil that had befallen him. Reflecting upon the partial identification of the saddle, “Perhaps,” thought he, “this may furnish a clew. If the saddle ever belonged to Magruder, some of his family will identify it. I have it. Jack will certainly know it. I can but try him.” He suspended the saddle on a small peg attached to the stall occupied by his pacing-horse.
HILL BEACHY
Lloyd Magruder’s avenger
Jack was an Indian boy who had been Magruder’s hostler for several years. Late in the afternoon Beachy met him.
“Jack,” said he, accosting him, “don’t you want to take a ride?”
“I am always ready for that, Mr. Beachy.”
“Well, our cows haven’t come home to-night. I’ll have my pony in the stable in ten minutes, and you can saddle him, and have a good time hunting them. Will you go?”