Colonel and Jim, who was preparin' to settle up.

As we rode up the evening before, I had noticed that we turned in
from the road through a lane, and that the fence was too high to
jump, so, when I threw my leg over Black Hawk, I hit Donnelly a swat
in the neck, and, as he did a stage-fall, I swept through the gate
and down the lane.

The old man cut the halter off one of his Mexican war-whoops, and
broke through the house on the run, appearin' at the front door with
his shot-gun just as I checked up to make the turn onto the main road.

As I swung around, doubled over the horse's neck, he let drive with
his old blunderbuss, and I caught two buckshot in my right arm where
you see them marks.

I had sense enough to hang on and ride for my life, because I knew
the old fire-eater would reckon it a pleasure to put an end to such a
wretch as me, if he got half a chance.

I heard him howl, "Come on boys! We'll get him yet," and, over my
shoulder, I saw him jump one of his loose horses standin' in the yard
and come tearin' down the lane, ahead of the befuddled sheriff and
posse, his white hair streamin' and the shot-gun wavin' aloft, as
though chargin' an army of greasers at the head of his regiment.

From the way he drew away from the boys, I wouldn't have placed any
money that he was wrong either.

I've always wondered how the old man ever got through that war with