I thought of standing my ground, of taking chances on Bax the marshal and the Benton jail, until the _Moon_ could reach St. Louis and apprise Bolton of my need—and then I shuddered at the thought that the thing might be settled beyond interference before he could make the long river journey. I had heard and read more or less of hasty trials in the West; I had killed a man in what seemed to me a barbarous fashion; I did not know what the authorities, self-constituted or otherwise, might do to me—and I hadn’t the nerve to stay and find out. If they should hang me, thought I, I shall be a long time dead. Flight, under these circumstances, made the strongest appeal to my excited imagination. Such was the chaotic state of my ideas when Wall pulled up his horse, and I saw the white glimmer of tents close at hand. “Night-hawk’s got the bunch over here, I think,” said he. “Seems like I hear the bells. Anyhow, you stay here and I’ll get yuh a _caballo_ that can drift.” He trotted off, leaving me standing by the clear-cut outline of a wagon. Away off in the semi-dark—for the moon was now risen—I heard a sudden scurry of hoofs, an accentuated jangling of two or three small bells. Presently Wall came loping back leading a blaze-faced sorrel horse. From under the forward end of the wagon he dragged a saddle, a bridle and a saddle-blanket. “There,” he said, “there’s a good rig, barrin’ spurs—which yuh won’t need much. And a good hoss to put it on. Go to it.” The stock saddle, with its high horn and deep seat, was not so different from what I’d been used to—except as to weight. The double-cinch apparatus bothered me a little, but when Wall explained the uses of the latigo and the manner of its tying, I got my horse saddled properly—the small imps of uneasy haste spurring me on. Then I swung up to try the stirrups, and found that I had a restive brute under me. He plunged once or twice, but I kept his head in the air, and finally straightened him out. Wall nodded approval. “I wasn’t dead sure yuh could ride him,” he owned. “But I see you’ve got him in your sack, and you’ll find him there when it comes to gettin’ over the ground.” “I’m all ready now, I think,” said I. “Wait a minute,” Wall laughed. “Don’t rush off. Bax wouldn’t come into the Circle camp after yuh to-night for two farms in Iowa. Chances are he’s busy right now figuring a way to get a dead safe whack at Matt Dunn. Come on over to the cook-tent and get some grub to tie on your saddle. You’ll need it.” By the light of a candle he ransacked the grub boxes on the tail end of the cook-wagon. A loaf of bread, some fresh-made biscuits, and a big piece of boiled beef, together with a trifle of pepper and salt this light-hearted, capable youngster wrapped in a bit of burlap and tied behind the cantle of my saddle. And while he munched a piece of beef himself, he gave me explicit directions as to my course.