I tried strategy to forestall them.
"I'll go and get him," I said. "I'll leave my gun here."
This, I fancied, would convince them that I intended to return, but it
didn't.
"Jim and I will go with you," said one of the thieves. "You can leave
your gun here if you want to. You won't need it."
I saw that if I was to get away at all I would have to be extremely
alert. These were old hands, and were not to be easily fooled. I felt
it safer, however, to trust myself with two men than with six, so I
volunteered to show the precious pair where I had left the horse, and
led them to my camp.
The animal was secured, and as one of the men started to lead him up
the stream I picked up the two sage-hens I had intended for my evening
meal. The more closely we approached the dugout the less I liked the
prospect of reentering it. One plan of escape had failed. I was sure
the ruffians had no intention of permitting me to leave them and inform
the stage people of their presence in the country.
One more plan suggested itself to me, and I lost no time in trying it.
Dropping one of the sage-hens, I asked the man behind me to pick it up.
As he was groping for it in the darkness, I pulled one of my Colt's
revolvers, and hit him a terrific blow over the head. He dropped to the
ground, senseless.
Wheeling about, I saw that the other man, hearing the fall, had turned,
his hand upon his revolver.
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