All night long we plied our trade of amateur detectives-- No stone was left unturned-- We worked the "dives", faro banks--brothels, saloons and questionable resorts, but without avail-- The deserters had been seen but everybody seemed mum and blind or deaf and dumb-- They had been paid off for several months--had scattered it--their money--liberally and had left the town-- Nobody knew where-- At one _gilded dive_ "Green", becoming bold and watching his chance, assuming the detective role with some slight show of experience and with a most startling blase air said to the bespangled proprietress--"Didn't you have a place at one time in Jacksboro"? "Yes"!-- "Well, then, you must remember Brown, here", pointing a finger at me-- "Oh, yes!" was the reply-- "I remember him well, and that he came often and I have often wondered what became of him"-- Anger came to the front at this joke--but it had to be choked back--the instructions had been given-- No frowns or even scowls or anything but a _positive order_ would have disturbed the imperturbable musketeer Corporal--the d'Artagnan of our adventure at this point. The writer was married and had left his wife and child in the howling gale at Fort R----; and had never seen this "Jezabel"-- His outraged dignity sustained a distinct shock-- The Corporal was mildly rebuked later and it was passed by as part of the duality of character which Mackenzie had forced me to assume if success was to be assured-- Nothing was accomplished by our night's work-- At day break, sending the Corporal back to the bivouac of the command, it was ordered to meet me in town at once-- Just as we were deliberating what the next move was to be--Sergt. Miles Varily of Troop "E" with a mounted detachment rode into town-- He had been to Huntsville, Texas, where he had conveyed Satanta and Big Tree, the Ki-o-wa Indian Chiefs--who had been in confinement at Fort R---- under sentence since July 6--to the State Penitentiary where they were to be confined for life for the massacre of Henry Warren's teamsters on Salt Creek Prairie-- Varily had met and talked with the deserters on the Bear Creek Road to Cleburne-- He said they were all well armed--and had declared that they would not be taken alive-- This--he gave as his reason for not arresting them with his small force-- He knew all of them and had identified them as men of Troop "B"-- They were in a two-mule freighter's wagon, with a low canvas top drawn down tight for concealment-- It was driven by a medium sized, but stocky built--civilian-- At last there seemed to be a definite clue-- They were evidently heading for Cleburne and Waxahatchie-- I must overtake and capture them before they reached Cleburne--which was 45 miles distant, an all day ride-- There was no time to lose--placing Charlton in the road--and the other Corporal with his men on both sides fanned out or deployed for a mile or more, and combing all of the