I stood in the doorway a little while, noting the
strange proceedings of the strange men in the strange
land, till I saw my Indian leading a horse trium
phantly out of town, then turned, mounted the other
horse, and followed at a good pace. I continued to
suffer and grow weak. It was evident I could not
keep my saddle for the long hard ride, now necessary
from our delay, to overtake our friends.
It was finally decided that when we struck the stage road I should attempt to make the Indian camp at the foot of the high backbone mountains of the McCloud, about twenty-five miles distant, and there remain till recovered, while the Indian pushed on. When we came to separate, the kind-hearted Indian gave me the fresher and stronger horse, mounted his own tired and bruised mustang, and rode away in the dark and dust at a gallop.
What a night I had of it ! It grew chill towards morning, and I could not straighten myself in my saddle. Night birds screamed wickedly in my ears, and it seemed to me that I had almost finished my last desperate ride in the mountains.
At dawn, after slowly threading a narrow bushy trail, around mountains and over gorges, I came down to the deep and dark blue river.
An Indian set me across in a wretched old boat, and I took my course across the mountains for the McCloud. There were some few miners here, and sometimes I would meet half-tame Indians, and then half-wild white men.
