Some months had passed subsequent to the death of Partridge and Coburn, when I encountered three red-skins in the vicinity of this place, and recognized the horse on which one of them was mounted as Hiram's property. Beside this, they all of them wore articles of clothing which were decidedly not made by the Indians. Had anything else been wanting to convince me of their being the criminals, this was supplied by my personal knowledge of the faces of two of them. These had been in the actual employment of the murdered men. They started on their return to the mountains, and I followed them. My pursuit only counted one white, all told--myself. Their number was triple mine. The odds were sufficient to justify the weaker party in employing stratagem. Suffice it that I did so, and counted three scalps against the deaths of my old playmate and recent partner. If any doubt had been entertained by me of the justice of this action, it would have been speedily dispelled by the additional proof shortly after afforded me. It was only a few days after my return to the Humboldt, that a red-skin, known by me as Pah-ute Jim, accused me of killing his brother, one of the two Indians who had been employed by my murdered friends. "Yes!" I unhesitatingly answered. "I did kill him, because he helped to kill Partridge and Coburn." "Umph!" he ejaculated. "Natches heap tell 'um kill. No kill, Natches heap kill Injin." Natches, I ought possibly to mention, was, at this time, the chief of the Pah-utes. * * * * * With this incident, I may fairly conclude. My Indian hunting, trapping, and fighting ended with it. Since this I have been engaged in mining and other pursuits, having resided for some length of time in Salt Lake City among the Mormons. Should my first literary venture, my dear reader, prove tolerably successful, Heaven only can tell whether it may not be followed by another. If so, it is just within the range of possibility, I may turn from Indian fighting to Mormon polygamy. I can scarcely say which you may think the least interesting. But I can honestly vouch for it, the many-wife business will be the most amusing. FOOTNOTE: [3] Unfortunately, I am unable to recall the name of this individual, and therefore cannot pillory it. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Buckskin Mose, by Buckskin Mose