can count on me." And then to him, "I'll drive on until I find a good
camping-place late this afternoon. You'll have to find us the best
way you can."

He thanked me, and I gave him a list of the things I wanted. Then he
went on up the street ahead of us, walking calmly, and looking about him
as any stranger might have done. We stood for some time, waiting for the
jam of teams to clear, and I gee-upped and whoa-hawed on along the
street, until we came to a building on which was a big sign,
"Post-Office." There was a queue of people waiting for their mail,
extending out at the door, and far down the sidewalk. In this string of
emigrants stood our friend, the black-bearded man. Just as we passed, a
rather thin, stooped man, walking along on the other side of the street,
rushed across, right in front of my lead team, and drawing a pistol,
aimed at the black-bearded man, who in turn stepped out of line and drew
his own weapon.

"I call upon you all to witness," said the black-bearded man, "that I
act in self-defense."

A bystander seized the thin man's pistol hand, and yelled at him not to
shoot or he might kill some one--of course he meant some one he did not
aim at, but it sounded a little funny, and I laughed. Several joined in
the laugh, and there was a good deal of confusion. At last I heard the
black-bearded man say, "I'm here alone. He's accused his wife of being
too thick with a dozen men. He's insanely jealous, gentlemen. I suppose
his wife may have left him, but I'm here alone. I just crossed the river
alone, and I'm going west. If he's got a warrant, he's welcome to have
it served if he finds his wife with me. Come on, gentlemen--but take the
fool's pistol away from him."