The Bitterroot Trail:

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He had chosen one of Ford's best pack mules for the trip and left the others in the care of the livery man until it was decided what to do with them. Mrs. Ford would have to be consulted.

Bob was a poor bearer of bad news, and he dreaded, more than anything he had done in his life, to meet his old friend's wife. He'd get Beechy to go with him to see her. She would be brave, of course, but would she go back home, as her husband wished, or would she try to stay and carry on the work he had started?

Being still young, Bob's mind during the morning hours was busy forming pictures of the future. Some day, perhaps in the near future, the pony express would be going over this trail carrying Uncle Sam's mail. Then would follow the big Concord stages, and wagon trails would have to be built.

He had given no thought to his own danger riding the Bitterroot Trail alone. He would camp beyond the shebang tonight, and if he kept up this gait he would reach Lewiston before noon tomorrow.

About noon he pulled off the road to a little spring of water and camped for two hours to let his animals rest and feed. Just before he pulled camp, two horsemen came along the trail going toward Lewiston. He watched them from a clump of brush until they were out of sight. They were traveling light, for they had no pack animals. If they had seen or paid any attention to his tracks they did not show it.

A half hour later he packed his mule and started on his way. The appearance of these men ahead of him was annoying. They might be just traveling through on business as legitimate as his own. Again, they might be following him. When he packed he distributed his dust in several places among the pack. Most of it was hidden in the bottom of a lard pail. He figured that if he were held up they would not disturb the pack until after they had searched him. It might give him a chance to get the drop on them. As extra precaution for long-range shooting he took his rifle from under the saddle flap and carried it in the crook of his arm. He knew now from the lay of the country that the shebang was not more than two miles ahead.

There was not a sound in the forest save the patter of his horse's hoofs. Somewhere a rock rolled down the mountain. He stopped instantly and turned his horse into the thicket on the left. He was leading the mule, and its stubborn nature retarded his progress. Instantly he decided to circle the shebang. He believed he could make it by going through this rough ravine almost to its summit, then turning over its top and down the next ravine. There was no trail and it took him an endless time to thread his way over the fallen logs and underbrush. Although he heard no more evidence of pursuers or watchers he felt that he was being followed.

Near the top of the ridge to the right he could see a jutting of rocks which he used as his objective. If he could but reach that it would give him an advantage. He could scan his back trail and discover whether he was being followed.

At last there was but a little stretch of timberless ground separating him from the rocks. He had almost reached the top when the report of a gun and whine of a bullet pierced the stillness. At the same time he felt a peculiar stinging in the calf of his left leg. He purposely rolled from the saddle to the ground as though he had been mortally hit. His horse and the mule went over the top as he wriggled into the low brush. He still grasped the rifle in his right hand, but he was not in a position to use it. The grass and short brush were sufficient to hide him, but he had to use every precaution not to disturb the brush too much for fear of being discovered.

He was bleeding profusely and he knew that he must stop the blood immediately or he would bleed to death. He wriggled into position where he could sit up. Hurriedly he took the bandana from his neck and tied it about his leg above the wound as tightly as he could. By this time he could hear the approach of horses below. He removed his hat and peered above the brush. They were the two men who had passed him They had lain in wait for him. He knew now what his fate would have been if he had gone straight along the trail.

Carefully he lifted the rifle and fired at the one in the lead. The horse reared and the rider pitched off. His second shot brought the other horse down with a squeal, and the rider went scuttling for his life. Before Bob could get another shot at him he disappeared. He was sure the same bullet that had gone through the horse's neck had also wounded him, so he was safe from that source.

He again gave his attention to the wound. It was still bleeding and he felt strangely light-headed. He had not tied the bandana tight enough. He broke off a stick, inserted it through the bandage, and twisted it as tight as he could. He knew his life depended upon his being able to get to his horse. Star Face would not be far away.

Slowly he wriggled the short distance to the summit. For some moments he lay resting until the dizziness left him again. He knew that to try wriggling on his stomach would frighten his horse Everything depended on his being able to stand By use of the gun as a cane he finally got to his feet. His whole left leg felt numb from his knee down, and the pain at the knee was excruciating.

He began talking to his horse as he worked his way over to him. The horse shied as he came near, then whirled to face him.

"Whoa, boy! Whoa, boy!" he said appealingly--like a prayer. The cracking of a twig now might mean disaster, but the horse seemed finally to understand, and Bob succeeded in catching him. It took all his strength to pull himself aboard. His pack mule had already started down the slope into the little canyon.

Bob, thoroughly realizing his dangerous condition, tied his lariat around his waist and to the horn of the saddle, so that if he became unconscious he would not fall off. He knew that if he could stay with the horse it would bring him out some place and he would be found.

The hillside was steep and rough, and the gait of the horse, dropping down over rocks and jumping fallen trees, made the pain almost unbearable. His ears began to ring, and his head grew light.

"I mustn't go out," he kept saying over and over to himself. But at last the whole world began revolving and the ringing in his ears became a thunderous roar. Suddenly the noise ceased and blackness overcame him.