Benson’s ability at disguising was not forgotten. So every man and woman leaving the town was subjected to an examination.
It was bad for the business of the town, but it brought results.
Benson had really fled into Blossom Range, stopping on the way only long enough to remove his Indian paint and feathers and assume his ordinary clothing, which he had kept with him in the Ute village and brought out of it.
For a day or two he hid with a friend, who fed him and kept him secluded.
But this friend was soon suspected and arrested. Benson had to leave his house.
The few friends left now in the town became afraid to harbor him.
At last a day came when Benson, grown desperate, hungry, wearied with hiding like a terrified wolf, came boldly out into the street. Yet he had taken the care to give himself a change of clothing, which he stole during the previous night, so that he was not now the dapper gambler and desperado, but appeared as a miner in rough clothing and clay-stained boots.
“There are miners going in and out of the town to their work every day, and I’ll try that trick,” he said to himself. “I can’t get away during the night, for no man is permitted to go out who is not known, so I’ve got to make the try in broad daylight. If I fail——”
He walked boldly down the street, passing dozens of men, who gave him not a second glance.