Firm in his belief, Beachy, like a sleuth-hound, continued to follow the track leading to discovery. “They do not know the desperate character of those villains,” he said, as he turned from the crowd to pursue the clew furnished by Jack. His wife, who until this time had feared for his safety at the hands of the town ruffians, now for the first time gave him encouragement. Falling in company with the men who had just arrived from Bannack, he plied them with inquiries concerning Magruder’s operations there. “Why,” observed one, “he told me on the morning he left that he should surprise his wife, for he had written her the day before that he would not leave for ten days. ‘She will tell this to all inquirers,’ said he, ‘and the roughs of Lewiston will be thrown off their guard. I shall reach home about the time they think I will leave here.’” “Would you know any of the stock?” inquired Beachy. “Yes; there was one large, white-faced sorrel horse belonging to some of the party, that was a very good race-horse. I saw him run one night, when some of the boys were at our camp. I think I should know him. They intended to bring him here, and make a race-horse of him.” The only horse which Beachy had found in possession of the rancheman corresponded with this description. He placed him in one of a long range of stalls in his stable, in each of which was a horse, and requested his informant to select him, if possible, from the number. When the man came to the sorrel, he said, “If this horse were two or three sizes larger, I should think he might be the one I saw; but he is too small, and I know nothing of the others.” Knowing how much the size of a horse is seemingly increased when in motion, Beachy saddled the sorrel, and told his hostler to lead him to the end of the street, mount, and run him at his best speed back to the stable. As he dashed down to the spot where Beachy and the man were standing, the latter involuntarily raised his hands and exclaimed, “My God! that is the identical animal.” “You are sure?” said Beachy. “I would swear to it,” was the instant reply. “And now,” thought Beachy, “I have a white man on my side. The evidence is sufficient for me. To-morrow I start for the murderers.” Armed with requisitions upon the governors of all the Pacific States and Territories, the next morning Beachy, accompanied by the indomitable Tom Farrell, made preparations for his departure. When all was ready, his wife, who had felt more keenly than he had the ridicule, sneers, indifference, and malignity with which his efforts had been regarded, with tearful eyes approached him, and, taking him by the hand, in a tone softened by the grief of parting, said to him, “Hill, you must either return with those villains, or look up a new wife.”