After attending to the men, Steve went for the wagons, which he searched, cutting open the carpet sacks, and found $1,500 in treasury notes; but he missed the gold, which was packed on the horses, in cantinas. In the hind wagon was a sick man, named Kennedy, with his comrade, Lank Forbes; but the nerves of the first mentioned gentleman was so unstrung that he could not pull trigger, when Steve climbed up and drew the curtain. Not so with Forbes. He let drive and wounded Steve in the breast. With an oath and a yell, Steve fell to his knees, but recovered, and jumping down from the wagon again fell, but rose and made, afoot, for the tall timber, at an amazing speed. The noise of the shot frightened Dutch John’s horse, which reared as John discharged both barrels at the teamsters, and the lead whizzed past, just over their heads, Moody dropped his hand to his boot, and seizing the revolver, opened fire on Dutch John, who endeavored to increase the distance between him and the wagons, to the best of his horse’s ability. Three balls were sent after him, one of which took effect in his shoulder. Had Moody jumped on Marshland’s horse and pursued him, he could have killed him easily, as the shot gun was at his saddle bow. These reflections, and suggestions, however, occur more readily to a man sitting in an easy chair, than to the majority of the unfortunate individuals who happen to be attacked by masked highwaymen. John’s wound and Marshland’s were proof conclusive of their guilt, when they were arrested. John made for Bannack and was nursed there. Steve Marshland was taken care of at Deer Lodge. The packers wondered what had become of the wagons, and, though their anxiety was relieved, yet their astonishment was increased, when, about 8 o’clock P. M. Moody rode up and informed them that his train had been attacked by Road Agents, who had been repulsed and wounded. Steve’s horse, arms and equipage, together with twenty pounds of tea, found lying on the road, which had been stolen from a Mormon train, previously, were, as an acquaintance of ours expresses it, “confiscated.” J. S. Rockfellow and two others rode back, and striking the trail of Steve, followed it till eleven P. M. When afterwards arrested, this scoundrel admitted that they were within fifteen feet of him at one time. On the ground, they found scattered along the trail of the fugitive robber, all the stolen packages, and envelopes, containing Treasury notes; so that he made nothing by his venture, except frozen feet; and he lost his horse, arms and traps. J. X. Beidler met Dutch John, and bandaged up his frozen hands, little knowing who his frigid acquaintance was. He never tells this story without observing, “That’s just my darned luck;” at the same time polishing the butt of his “Navy” with one hand, and scratching his head with the other, his gray eye twinkling like a star before rain, with mingled humor and intelligence.