The Indian who accompanied the outfit had ridden around the wagon and stopped near the Piute, when suddenly a double-barreled gun was poked out by the side of the woman and a man’s head and shoulders appeared, as he said: “Hands up, Cayuse, and no monkey business. Take his arms and hitch his pony to yours, Slow Foot; then tie Cayuse’s feet together under his pony.” Little Cayuse had not the slightest chance of escape against such treachery. The people he had mistaken for harmless travelers had proven banditti of a sort the Indian boy had never met. He could not imagine what these white people should want of him, especially if they were going to the fort, where he would be known and released on Wild Bill’s word. The voice of the man inside had a familiar sound, but the Piute could not recall its owner. The voice of the woman was hoarse and strained, probably from shouting to the mules. When Little Cayuse had been securely bound, the outfit moved ahead in the direction it had been pursuing--toward the mountains. As they approached the mouth of a cañon a party of Indians rode out and, wheeling, galloped toward them. The Indian called Slow Foot rode on ahead, and after exchanging a few words with the leader of the party of a dozen warriors, they dashed away and the schooner entered the gorge. For some distance the wagon bounced over the rocks and logs of the cañon and then all were told to dismount. The wagon was pulled into a thicket by the Indian, the man with whiskers, and the woman, who, Cayuse discovered, wore a woman’s garment and shaker bonnet over a man’s clothing and face. The outfit passed as a frontiersman and his wife and household goods, wherever they met white people, and when they met reds the Indian guide explained to them that these were white refugees who were fleeing from their own people to take up their abode with the red brothers. Little Cayuse could now see how he had been entrapped, but he was not yet able to understand how he came to be known and why he was wanted. The party made its way up the bed of the cañon for probably three miles and then came to the end of it. They were confronted by a solid wall, probably one hundred feet high. Near the end of the cañon was quite a growth of conifers, and behind this hedge a green little valley of swale land. Here a herd of ponies were tethered, and with these Navi and the mules were left. Little Cayuse’s hands were tied behind him and one of the white men held the end of the lariat, as the quartette toiled up the side of the mountain. The one dressed as a woman had discarded that garb, after there was little or no danger of meeting white people. At the top of the wall the rocks seemed to fall away for a few rods to a flat-bottomed timber land, under which the moss was soft and green. The growth was protected from the high winds by the surrounding peaks.