killed one of the men; and another, together with his wife, had
yielded to persuasion of friends at Ogden and had left the party. So
when Horn halted for camp one afternoon in a beautiful valley in the
Wyoming hills there were only nine men with him.

On a long journey through wild country strangers grow close together
or far apart. Bill Horn did not think much of the men who had
accepted the chance he offered them, and daily he grew more aloof.
They were not a responsible crowd, and the best he could get out of
them was the driving of oxen and camp chores indifferently done. He
had to kill the meat and find the water and keep the watch. Upon
entering the Wyoming hills region Horn showed a restlessness and
hurry and anxiety. This in no wise affected the others. They
continued to be aimless and careless as men who had little to look
forward to.

This beautiful valley offered everything desirable for a camp site
except natural cover or protection in case of attack. But Horn had
to take the risk. The oxen were tired, the wagons had to be greased,
and it was needful to kill meat. Here was an abundance of grass, a
clear brook, wood for camp-fires, and sign of game on all sides.

"Haul round--make a circle!" Horn ordered the drivers of the oxen.

This was the first time he had given this particular order, and the
men guffawed or grinned as they hauled the great, clumsy prairie-
schooners into a circle. The oxen were unhitched; the camp duffle
piled out; the ring of axes broke the stillness; fires were started.

Horn took his rifle and strode away up the brook to disappear in the