--PINNED TO SADDLE WITH AN ARROW.--
SOME VERY GOOD INDIANS.--A STUTTERING CAPTAIN.--BECKWITH OPENS HIS
PASS.
The next morning I ordered three days' rations for two men, and
Charlie Meyers desired to know if I was going to Salt Lake City or
New York. I told him I was going out hunting, and if I struck
fresh signs of game I proposed tracking it to wherever it went.
That day we took the divide between Carson and Humboldt, south of
the emigrant trail, making a ride of forty miles that day, and
then a dry camp--a camp without water. The following morning we
rode about five miles, and came on to a big Indian trail that had
been made the evening before. We pushed on as fast as we could,
all the time keeping a sharp lookout, for we were now in the heart
of the Pah-Ute country, and could not be too careful. About half
past three o'clock we came to where the Indians had camped the
night before, on a tributary of the Humboldt. At this camp three
antelope had been devoured, so we knew that there had been a large
band of the redskins at that feast. It was also evident that they
were not very far ahead of us, as their fires had not entirely
died out.
Continuing the pursuit we were now getting close to the emigrant
trail, and it was plain that the Indians had headed west, which
convinced me that they were looking for emigrants, and if so they
would not go far before they would either go into camp or leave
the trail.
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