"Oh," he chuckled, "anybody would know you by your outfit; besides, everybody along the trail has been expecting you, even two desperadoes."
This was interesting. But I explained that his wife had told me all, whereupon he invited us men to breakfast, and was escorted by Don to a point which he considered the limit of his master's domain.
While at breakfast I learned that the Salt Lake newspapers, containing illustrated accounts of my prosperity, had subscribers all along the trail; that the shooting at Telegraph Canyon was the first in that section for sixteen years; that no pay-boxes were expected at the Egan mill, where a half dozen men were working; and that, what was of more importance than the rest, it was the prevailing opinion that Pye Pod was the man the outlaws were laying for.
"Griswold is the unfortunate man's name," said Green. "The outlaws pretended to be friendly, lunched with him, and started off on their horses. But Griswold had no sooner turned his back than the strangers ordered him to throw up his hands. They took all his funds, shot him, and galloped away with his good horses, leaving their jaded ones. The poor fellow regained consciousness, and managed by morning to crawl six miles to a ranch. Resolute men hurriedly saddled their horses, and soon thirty were after the outlaws. I hear Griswold is with them, he having recovered. But they say at Egan that some of the boys this afternoon gave up the chase, because it was getting too warm for them; they felt pretty near the game."
Mr. Green gave me a second-handed description of the desperadoes and their outfit, and directing me on my route, wished us Godspeed.
I felt that my route forced me to overtake rather than to meet by chance two men who set but little value on other men's lives, and even less on their own; therefore having everything to gain and nothing to lose, they put up the best kind of a fight.
We soon arrived at Egan, where we were kindly received. The men showed us about the works, allowing me to take photographs, and gave me a more accurate description of the outlaws, and the long trail of a hundred miles to Eureka. At three points only should we find water, at Nine Mile Spring, Thirty Mile and Pinto Creek, the latter being seventy miles away. No habitation would we see; only an occasional coyôte, or a band of wild horses, or possibly some prairie schooner, or the outlaws, or some of the possès.
By trailing through Egan Canyon we cut the backbone of the mountain range and now, at an altitude of several hundred feet above the plain, were climbing higher and higher the rugged plateau, until we reached Nine Mile, and unpacked. The spring was in a grassy spot, and Coonskin first replenished our canteens, then released the donkeys.
It was noon. Accustomed as we were to travel on two meals a day, I could set no regular hour for them. It was twenty-one miles to Thirty Mile Spring. So we cooked here.
The desperadoes formed the chief topic of discussion, even Don showed the bloodhound in him, and, ever since leaving Egan, showed unusual excitement and was more vigilant. We must have crossed the tracks of the outlaws, or were following them unwittingly. Taking everything into consideration, we were in a fair mood to be startled when the dog sprang to his feet, and growled. Then three men, heavily armed, galloped up and dismounted. I was relieved when I saw one of the riders wearing a bandage round his head; it must be Griswold.