Just before daylight, Broadwater began to descend the declivity at whose foot flowed one of the forming streams of the Deer Lodge River. Glimpses of the valley could be obtained at every bend in the tortuous road. Day was just breaking, and the perpetual snow on the distant peak of Mount Powell shone dimly through the haze. He was congratulating himself that the dangers of his trip were over, and he could complete it by a leisurely ride through one of the most delightful valleys in the world. These thoughts received a sudden check when, turning an abrupt angle in the road, he saw, seated by a camp-fire, the very persons, as he then felt, against whom Moore had warned. One of them, George Ives, was regarded as the most daring ruffian in the mountains; the other, Johnny Cooper, was known to be one of his chosen associates. They manifested great surprise at his approach. The quick eye of Broadwater took in all the advantages of the situation. He saw their horses feeding upon the foothills, two or three miles away, and knew if he had been expected so soon, they would have been saddled and ready for pursuit. They hailed him as he passed, urged him to wait until they could get their horses, and they would accompany him, telling him that as the road agents were abroad, it would be safer for him to do so. He replied that he was in a hurry, and as his horse was jaded with travel, they would soon overtake him,—and rode slowly on. To allay suspicion, he alighted from his horse and led him slowly up a steep hill, looking back when under way to the top, and calling to them, “Get up your horses: you can overtake me over the hill.”