Nevertheless, Andrews and Wiswall selected this latter route, and the third day out from our camp reached the old abandoned stage station at Crow Flat about noon. This was in an open country and from it one could see for miles in every direction. A cold north wind was blowing, so, for protection, the two men drove inside the old station walls, unhitched and hobbled their horses and pony and were soon busily baking bread, frying bacon and boiling coffee, not dreaming there was an Indian in the country, though they had been warned to look out for them. Like all men traveling in that country the two miners had the appetite of coyotes and became deeply absorbed in stowing away rations. Unnoticed, the horses had grazed off some three or four hundred yards from the station and the two men were suddenly startled by a yelling and the trampling of horses' feet. Looking up, Andrews and Wiswall saw ten or twelve Indians driving off their horses. Seizing their guns, the two white men started after the thieves at top speed. Both being Western men and good shots, they hoped, by opening on the redskins with their long range guns, to get close enough to prevent them from taking the hobbles off the horses. But the animals made about as good time as if they had been foot loose. This fact was well known to the Texas Rangers, who hobbled and side lined also and, even then, their horses when stampeded would run as fast as the guards could keep up with them on foot. The Apaches can't be taught anything about horse stealing--they are already past masters at the art. And while some of the Indians halted and fought Andrews and Wiswall the others ran the horses off and got away with them. The two miners returned to camp feeling very blue indeed. A council of war was held and they were undetermined the best course to pursue. To walk back one hundred miles to El Paso and pack grub, blankets and water was no picnic. On the other hand, it was probably seventy-five miles to the Pecos, but they finally decided to take the shortest way to assistance, which proved the traditional longest way. They determined to stay within the friendly adobe of the old stage stand until night. To keep up appearances they rigged up two dummy sentinels and put them on guard. They had no fear of an attack at night, especially as they had a dog to keep watch. They left the station at dark. Shep, the dog, wanted to go with them, but the men put a sack of corn and a side of bacon under the ambulance and made him understand he was to guard it. They then set out and followed the old stage route along a horrible road of deep sand. At daybreak they were near the point of the Guadalupe Peak, and after having traveled on foot about twenty-five miles they were pretty well worn out.