“I laid down to sleep, I did, under a sagebrush, in the sun, like a fool.  I was beat out an’ needed sleep, an’ I thought I was safe fer a leetle while.  When I woke up it was a whoop that done hit.  They was around me, laughin’, twenty arrers p’inted, an’ some shot inter the ground by my face.  I taken my chance, an’ shook hands.  They grabbed me an’ tied me.  Then they made me guide them in, like ye seen.  They maybe didn’t know I come from the east an’ not from the west.

“Their village is on some creek above here.  I think they’re on a visit to the Shoshones.  Eight hundred men they are, or more.  Hit’s more’n what it was with the Sioux on the Platte, fer ye’re not so many now.  An’ any time now the main band may come.  Git ready, men.  Fer me, I must git back to my own train.  They may be back twenty mile, or thirty.  Would ary man want to ride with me?  Would ye, Sam Woodhull?”

The eyes of his associates rested on Woodhull.

“I think one man would be safer than two,” said he.  “My own place is here if there’s sure to be a fight.”

“Mebbe so,” assented Jackson.  “In fack, I don’t know as more’n one’d git through if you an’ me both started.”  His cold gray eye was fixed on Woodhull carelessly.  “An’ ef hit was the wrong man got through he’d never lead them Missouri men for’rerd to where this fight’ll be.

“An’ hit’ll be right here.  Look yan!” he added.

He nodded to the westward, where a great dust cloud arose.

“More is comin’,” said he.  “Yan’s Bannack’s like as not, er even the Shoshones, all I know, though they’re usual quiet.  The runners is out atween all the tribes.  I must be on my way.”

He hurried to find his own horse, looked to its welfare, for it, too, had an arrow wound.  As he passed a certain wagon he heard a voice call to him, saw a hand at the curtained front.

“Miss Molly!  Hit’s you!  Ye’re not dead no ways, then?”

“Come,” said the girl.

He drew near, fell back at sight of her thin face, her pallor; but again she commanded him.

“I know,” said she.  “He’s—­he’s safe?”

“Yes, Miss Molly, a lot safer’n any of us here.”

“You’re going back to him?”

“Yes.  When he knows ye’re hurt he’ll come.  Nothin’ll stop him, oncet I tell him.”

“Wait!” she whispered.  “I heard you talk.  Take him this.”  She pushed into his hand a folded paper, unsealed, without address.  “To him!” she said, and fell back on the blankets of her rude pallet.

At that moment her mother was approaching, and at her side walked Woodhull, actuated by his own suspicions about Jackson.  He saw the transaction of the passed note and guessed what he could not know.  He tapped Jackson on the shoulder, drew him aside, his own face pale with anger.

“I’m one of the officers of this train,” said he.  “I want to know what’s in that note.  We have no truck with Banion, and you know that.  Give it to me.”