our old packers, whom I recognized as Bill
Bevins, stepped to the front, and I covered him instantly with my rifle
before he could draw his revolver. I ordered him to throw up his hands,
and he obeyed the command. Green then disarmed him and brought him out.
We looked through the house and found their saddles, pack-saddles,
blankets, overcoats, lariats and two Henry rifles, which we took
possession of. The horses and mules we tied in a bunch, and with the
whole outfit we returned to Denver, where we lodged Williams and Bevins
in jail, in charge of my friend, Sheriff Edward Cook. The next day we
took them out, and, tying each one on a mule, we struck out on our return
trip to Fort Lyon.

At the hotel outside the city, where we had stopped on Thursday and
Friday, we were joined by our man with the pack-mule. That night we
camped on Cherry Creek, seventeen miles from Denver. The weather--it
being in April--was cold and stormy, but we found a warm and cosy
camping place in a bend of the creek. We made our beds in a row, with our
feet towards the fire. The prisoners so far had appeared very docile, and
had made no attempt to escape, and therefore I did not think it necessary
to hobble them. We made them sleep on the inside, and it was so arranged
that some one of us should be on guard all the time.

At about one o'clock in the night it began snowing, while I was watching.
Shortly before three o'clock, Jack Farley, who was then on guard, and
sitting on the foot of the bed, with his back to the prisoners, was
kicked clear into the fire by Williams, and the next moment Bevins, who
had got hold of his shoes--which I had thought were out of his
reach--sprang up and jumped over the fire, and started on a run. I sent a
shot after him as soon as I awoke sufficiently to comprehend what was
taking place. Williams attempted to follow him, and as he did so, I
whirled around and knocked him down with my revolver. Farley by this time
had gathered himself out of the fire, and Green had started after Bevins,
firing at him on the run; but the prisoner made his escape into the
brush. In his flight, unfortunately for him, and luckily for us, he
dropped one of his shoes.

Leaving Williams in the charge of Farley and "Long Doc," as we called
the man with the pack-mule, Green and myself struck out after Bevins as
fast as possible. We heard him breaking through the brush, but knowing
that it would be useless to follow him on foot, we went back t