be seen. The other men were all riders--nobody of any particular
standing or authority. The sun made it about three o'clock of the
afternoon. Our adventures had certainly brought us a good sleep!

After we had satisfied our thirst from a canteen we began to ask and
answer questions. Artie Brower had made the ranch without mishap, had
told his story, and had promptly fallen asleep. Buck Johnson, in his
usual deliberate manner, read all the papers through twice; pondered for
some time while the more excited Jed and Windy fidgeted impatiently; and
then, his mind made up, acted with his customary decision. Three men he
sent to reconnoitre in the direction of the Bat-eye Tunnel with
instructions to keep out of trouble and to report promptly. His other
riders he dispatched with an insistent summons to all the leading
cattlemen as far south as the Chiracahua Range, as far east as Grant's
Pass, as far west as Madrona. Such was Buck Johnson's reputation for
level-headedness that without hesitation these men saddled and rode at
their best speed. By noon the weightiest of the Soda Spring Valley had
gathered in conclave.

"That's where we faded out," said Jed Parker. "They sent us up to see
about you-all. The scouts from up here come back with their little Wild
West story about knocking down this yere mountain on top of you. We had
to believe them because they brought back a little proof with them. Mex
guns and spurs and such plunder looted off'n the deceased on the field
of battle. Bill here can tell you."

"They was only two of them," said Windy Bill, diffident for the first
time in his life, "and we managed to catch one of 'em foul. We been
digging here for too long. We ain't no prairie dogs to go delving into
the bosom of the earth. We thought you must be plumb deceased anyhow: we