being returned. When my gun was empty, the
intervening clouds of smoke prevented any view of my adversary; but my
lust for his life was only intensified when, on turning to my friends, I
saw Deweese supporting Hunter in his arms. Knowing that one or the other
had given me the pistol, I begged them for another to finish my work.
But at that moment the smoke arose sufficiently to reveal my enemy
crippling down at the farther end of the bar, a smoking pistol in his
hand. As Oxenford sank to the floor, several of his friends ran to his
side, and Deweese, noticing the movement, rallied the wounded man in his
arms. Shaking him until his eyes opened, June, exultingly as a savage,
cried, "Tony, for God's sake stand up just a moment longer. Yonder he
lies. Let me carry you over so you can watch the cur die." Turning to me
he continued: "Tom, you've got your man. Run for your life; don't let
them get you."

Passing out of the house during the excitement, I was in my saddle in an
instant, riding like a fiend for Shepherd's. The sun was nearly an hour
high, and with a good horse under me, I covered the ten miles to the
ferry in less than an hour. Portions of the route were sheltered by
timber along the river, but once as I crossed a rise opposite a large
bend, I sighted a posse in pursuit several miles to the rear. On
reaching Shepherd's, fortunately for me a single horse stood at the
hitch-rack. The merchant and owner of the horse came to the door as I
dashed up, and never offering a word of explanation, I changed horses.
Luckily the owner of the horse was Red Earnest, a friend of mine, and
feeling that they would not have long to wait for explanations, I shook
out the reins and gave him the rowel. I knew the country, and soon left
the river road, taking an air-line course for Las Palomas, which I
reached within two hours after nightfall. In few and profane words, I
explained the situation to my employer, and asked for a horse that would
put the Rio Grande behind me before morning. A number were on picket
near by, and several of the boys ran for the best mounts available. A
purse was forced into my pocket, well filled with gold. Meanwhile I had
in my possession an extra six-shooter, and now that I had a moment's
time to notice it, recognized the gun as belonging to Tony Hunter.
Filling the empty chambers, and waving a farewell to my friends, I
passed out by the rear and reached the saddle shed, where a well-known
horse was being