The streams were all frozen up-- The weather was still icy cold-- So far I had been unable to get any trace, or sure clue of the missing carbines which the men had carried with them when deserting, and sold. The deserters refused to divulge their whereabouts except to hint that they were somewhere between Crawford's Ranch and Fort R---- At last I determined to use heroic methods-- At that date such methods were recognized as _legitimate_, if not _legal_ in bringing recalcitrants to their senses, instead of resorting to the slow and laborious, as well as questionable methods of Court Martial. These methods were legacies of the Civil War, and in the field, away from the complicated machinery of Post Administration--and on such duty--and under such _wide open instructions_ as Mackenzie had given us, I considered it absolutely necessary to employ-- I resolved to select the weakest minded man in the group of deserters, and, in the presence of them, the two corporals and the entire detachment, "_tie him up by the thumbs_", until he "squealed"-- Such punishment was of almost daily occurrence at the great Draft Rendezvous-- This was done with the desired result--and I located the missing arms, the property of the United States which I was out after, without further trouble. This man was Crafts-- Placing the deserters in Mrs. Crawford's corn bins, the ground still being covered with snow and ice and the weather bitter cold--I determined to send in a mounted courier or runner to Mackenzie. Writing a hasty message--a personal note on a piece of soiled brown paper--a brief announcement of the capture was made, but reciting no details--also the condition of both the men and horses--"all nearly exhausted from cold and loss of sleep--the prisoners nearly barefooted, and with sore and blistered feet, chafed legs, etc.--but plenty to eat; horses unshod." He was urged to "send a wagon, some handcuffs--ropes--rations, etc., to meet me somewhere on the road--and without delay--between Crawford's Ranch and Fort R---- I was proceeding slowly", etc.-- The wagon met me, but not until I was within a few miles of the post--and just as the prisoners were emphatically exclaiming that they "_could go no further._" They were bundled into the wagon, much to their and my relief, for these footsore and chafed cavalrymen, as I had seen them in October after being dismounted in the stampede near Canon Blancho, were now in the same demoralized condition, and it is extremely doubtful if they could have been pushed any further afoot. Hardin's Ranch--Two Viragos--The Search--The Threat