Cautiously through the darkness we proceeded for a couple of miles, Pod walking to prevent taking cold, he said. Then we were steered to an old cedar stump, where we camped. Bridget's alarming voice had made a fearful impression upon me. Several times on the way to camp I imagined a demon was after me, and shied into the sage. Why, I've seen roosters and hens chase all over a half acre lot and jump a fence after losing their heads, simply from nervousness.
The cedar stump was set ablaze, and as soon as Pod had pitched the tent, he began walking around it dressed in his only suit of clothes, trying to get thoroughly dry. He was not in a good mood to talk with, so I kept aloof.
Next morning the valley and the mountains hemming it in revealed a beautiful and bountiful nature. Although alfalfa seemed to be the chief crop, fields of wheat and oats waved in the breeze. It was August; the harvest had hardly begun. The vendure on the mountains was not less lavish in its rare autumnal tintings than were the internal colorings of the hills with metals—copper, lead, silver and gold. Now the trail would hug the river so closely I could hear the roaring flood, and again the current would sink beyond reach of ear or eye, suddenly to burst upon us later.
The sun grew hotter with every hour's travel; the trail became more dusty; the prickly sage looked more browned and withered.
One evening, under the screen of darkness, the men pitched camp conveniently near to an alfalfa field, hay-stack, and potato cellar. The sage, while much seared by the sun, was yet too young and green to burn, so when Coonskin dropped two large boards in front of the tent Pod was elated. The fellow said he had unroofed a tater cellar. In view of the shady deed, Pod kindled the fire on the shady side of the tent and proceeded to cook the supper. We hadn't time to make our escape next morning before we heard the rattle of a wagon approaching. Presently a team of horses, driven by a short, morose-looking, black-whiskered farmer, stopped right in front of camp. Instinct told me he was the owner of the property we had "squatted on" and intended to make trouble. Pod was seldom embarrassed, but when so he appealed to Coonskin's wit and gall for the desired relief. The man climbed out of the wagon and walked toward the tent, until he saw Don, and stopped short.
Coonskin winked slyly at Pod and me under his hat-brim, and said to our caller, "Walk right in, sir, and make yourself miserable; the dog won't hurt you;" then Pod said a "Good morning" sweet and juicy. The stranger's sharp eyes surveyed the remaining board and the cremation ashes of the departed, and nodded sourly.
I was now saddled, and Coonskin was buckling on his belt with revolvers and hunting knife. Said he to our guest, "This traveling round the world on a bet ain't what it's cracked up to be."
"Reckon not," returned the stranger. And he asked, "Big bet."
"N-o-o, only fifteen thousand dollars."
The stranger grunted, as he mentally appraised the value of his lumber, and then regarded the men as if he wanted to put a price on their heads.