“That’ll not do,” I rejoined, “for if they’re bent on robbery they can shoot us before we could get back to Blackfoot.”
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” responded Murphy, after a pause of a few moments, and as if struck by a sudden thought, added, “a mile farther down the gulch I’ll strike a familiar trail over to a ranche on the stage road, leave my horse there and take the coach to Deer Lodge. If my horse were as good as yours I’d take the chances and go on, but this little cayuse would soon be run down by the robbers.”
“I wish you had a strong horse,” said I, “for I dislike very much to take the risk alone.”
“Sorry, Langford,” he replied, “but you can see for yourself it would be madness for me to accompany you. If they should pursue us it would be impossible for us to keep together.”
We had now reached the trail leading to the ranche. Grasping his hand, “Good-bye,” said I; “if fortune favors us we shall meet at Deer Lodge.”
“Good-bye, and the Lord go with you and protect you,” was his fervent rejoinder.
I rode on at a moderate speed to the crossing of the Little Blackfoot, hoping that I might fall in with a fishing party there, as the stream was full of trout and often resorted to by the miners and ranchemen for a day’s recreation. The valley of the Blackfoot at this ford, and for a long distance above and below it, along the river, is covered with a dense willow copse, which even at the distance of a few feet would conceal a party from a passer-by. I looked and listened for friendly faces and voices after fording the stream, and while riding through the coppice. Uncheered by any sign of life, I seemed to derive a sense of immediate safety from the thought that my pursuers would be restrained from attacking me in the valley, lest they should be surprised by the sudden appearance of an impromptu rescuing party.
Ascending the plateau at the base of a long, steep hill, I cast a furtive glance backward and saw at the distance of a few hundred yards the four ruffians approaching at a gallop. My heart sank within me, and for a moment I abandoned all hope of escape.
It was, however, for a moment only. Stealing another look, I saw that the party were deceived by the leisurely manner in which I was travelling, and had reined their horses into a walk. Acting upon the belief that they intended to delay an attack until I had crossed the hill, I alighted from my horse, loosened the saddle girth, to favor his respiration, and walked beside him two miles to the summit, followed by the ruffians at a distance of about three hundred yards. I felt that if I could put a mile between us my horse would achieve the race I saw before me.
“Ned” possessed wonderful powers of endurance, and was said to be the best four-mile horse in the Bitter Root Valley, where he was raised, and, though often beaten in a race of one, two, or even three miles, had been often tried and as uniformly succeeded where the distance was extended to four miles. I had often tested his staying powers, having once ridden him eighty-five miles and once again ninety-four miles, from Virginia City to Berkin’s ranche in Boulder Valley, in one day; on another occasion, when Governor Green Clay Smith had requested me to act as messenger to convey to Colonel Howie, the commander of the militia in camp in Helena, 130 miles distant, the news of a reported Indian uprising, all telegraphic communication being suspended, he carried me ninety-seven miles in fifteen hours, from Virginia City to Barkley’s ranche, where I obtained another mount, and completed the journey within twenty hours.