“It’s a rough night’s work, Tom,” said Southmayd, “but the worst is to come. If they attack us in the cañon, there is no possible chance for escape.”
“They’ll do it, sure,” replied Caldwell. “It’s only driving into their hands to attempt to go on to-night. Let’s leave the coach here and take to the brush. We may then avoid them; or if we meet, it will be where the chances are equal.”
Buck Stinson, who had been on the watch for some new arrangement, overheard this conversation. Anxious as he was that the robbery and murder should take place, he knew that if the men escaped, as they assuredly would by the means contemplated, they would bring the whole community of Virginia City on the track of himself and his fellow ruffians. This must be avoided, even though they were frustrated in their design. So he stepped forward, and said to Southmayd and Caldwell in his blandest manner,
“Gentlemen, I pledge you my word, my honor, and my life, that you will not be attacked between this place and Virginia City.”
“If you mean that,” replied Southmayd, “we will go on; but if we are attacked, we will certainly make it hot for some of you.”
Soon after the horses started, Stinson commenced singing in a very loud voice, and continued to do so without intermission until nearly exhausted. Then, at his request, Ray took up the chorus and kept it up until their arrival in Virginia City. This was a signal to the robbers to keep away. Had the singing ceased, the attack would have been made. Ray called on Southmayd the next day, and warned him, as he valued his life, to mention the names of none of those among the ruffians whom he had recognized, as the ones who robbed him while on his way to Bannack.
CHAPTER XXVI
JOURNEY TO SALT LAKE CITY
Dr. A. J. Oliver had been running a letter express between Bannack and Salt Lake City during the year, and early in the autumn had substituted for a single saddle horse and pack-animal, a small lumber wagon, with conveniences for the transportation of a few passengers. It was at best, a very precarious mode of conveyance; but as it was the only public one, it was always full. Mr. Samuel T. Hauser (afterwards appointed Governor of Montana by President Cleveland) and I had been for some time contemplating a trip to the States, and being now ready, I left Virginia City for Bannack, expecting to find the express on my arrival, and make arrangements for our passage to Salt Lake City on its return trip. The day before I left, one Ed French had shot at me. The bullet slightly grazed an eyeball, doing no further damage than that of shaking the eye in its socket, and inflicting considerable pain. I contracted a severe cold on the ride to Bannack, which settled in the eye, producing inflammation and temporary blindness. For two weeks I shut myself in a dark room, ulceration in the meantime bringing relief and restoring sight.
While thus confined, friends occasionally called upon me, and one day I was informed that Ned Ray was in town, and had been making particular inquiries after me. The next day I was told that Buck Stinson was there on the same errand. When I left Virginia City, both of these ruffians were at that place. I was convinced that they had left there to pursue me on the road to Salt Lake City. Ray was observed to watch my boarding-house, on repeated occasions, very closely.
Upon applying to Mr. Oliver for transportation, that gentleman informed me that snow was falling on the Pleasant Valley divide, and that he should abandon the wagon and return to Salt Lake City with a pack-mule. Disappointed in my expectation of finding a conveyance, I wrote to Mr. Hauser, who came over immediately.