We divided our long train into two parts, leaving a short space between the sections. Mr. Wood's two wagons headed the forward part. Toward the close of the day on which this change of arrangement was made, the forward section turned off the road a short distance before stopping to make camp, and the rear section passed slightly beyond the first, left the road and halted, so that a double camp was formed, with the two sections thus placed for the night in relative positions the reverse of the order they had maintained during the day.

At night-fall, when supper was over and everything at rest, we saw three horsemen going westward on the emigrant road. When they were opposite the Maxwell, or forward, camp, as the train sections had been placed, these men turned from the road and came toward us. We soon recognized them as our late guests on the way: he of the big hat and his two companions.

Riding into our camp, one of them remarked that they now observed the change made in arrangement of our train, explaining that they had intended to call on the Englishman, whose place had been in the lead. They apologized for their mistake. The first speaker added that they had heard it stated that this English gentleman had charged one of their number with being in company with the Indians who killed his wife, at the time of the tragedy, a few days before.

He of the big, brown hat then assumed the role of spokesman, and said:

"I understand that he indicated me, by description; and if that man says I was with the Indians who killed his wife, I will kill him. Let him say it, and I will shoot him down like a dog, that he is. I am here to demand of him if he said it."

Another of the three said, in a tone of conciliation:

"We are honest men. We came out here from Stockton, California, where we live, to meet the emigrants as they come over from the States. We buy their weak and disabled stock, such as cannot finish the trip to the Coast; take the animals onto range that we know of, and in the fall, when they are recuperated, we drive them in for the California market."

The man under the large hat resumed:

"My name is James Tooly. My partners here, are two brothers, named Hawes. And now, if that Englishman, or any one among you, says I was with the Indians who killed his wife, I will shoot him who says it, right here before you all."

This was said with much vehemence, and punctuated with many oaths.

Mr. Drennan, of our combined company, replied:

"If you want to talk like that, go where the man is. We don't want that kind of language used here, in the presence of our women and children."

Tooly, standing erect, high in his stirrups, drew a large pistol from its holster and swung it above his head.

"I will say what I please, where I please; and I don't care who likes it," roared Tooly, waving his pistol in air.

W. J. Van Diveer, a young man of the Drennan company, who had been sitting on a wagon-tongue near the speaker, leaped to his feet, with a pistol leveled at the big horseman's head, and with a manner that left no doubt that he meant what he said, shouted:

"I'll be damned if you can do that here. Now, you put down your gun, and go."

The muzzle of Van Diveer's pistol was within an arm's-length of Tooly, aiming steadily at his head. Tooly was yet with pistol in hand but not quite in position for use of it on his adversary. Van Diveer's advantage was slight, but sufficient for the occasion. Tooly's companions did not act, appearing to await his orders, and, in the suddenness of this phase of the scene, Tooly found no voice for commands. Others of our men made ready on the instant, believing that a battle was on.

It was averted, however. Tooly replaced his pistol in the holster, saying:

"Well, of course—as you say, my pie is over yonder. I don't want to kill you fellows."

And he didn't. The three rode over to the other group of our men, among whom was Mr. Wood. All of these had overheard what had just been said, and felt sure they knew what was coming.

Mr. Wood, grief-stricken, disabled, stood, pale and fearful, amongst the party of timid emigrants, all strangers to him; he the only man probably in the camp without a weapon on his person, his torn arm in a sling across his chest.

The big fellow made his statement again, as he had made it to us; with the same emphatic threat to kill, if he could induce Wood or any one to speak out and affirm the charge of Tooly's complicity with the Indians.

Tooly got off his horse and, pistol in hand, walked among the party; many of whom surely did tremble in their boots. He declared again, as he stalked about, that he would shoot the hapless Wood, "like a dog", or any one who would repeat the charge.

There were but a few men in that part of the camp when Tooly commenced this second tirade, in the presence of Wood; but soon more came from the other part of the train.

Mr. Wood, in a condition as helpless as if with hands and feet bound, realizing his situation, and his responsibility, maintained silence: a silence more eloquent than speech, since a single word from him in confirmation of the charge he had made would have precipitated a battle, in which he, most certainly, and probably others, including some of his benefactors, would have been killed.

Then Tooly saw that a goodly number of men had arrived from the other section of the camp, and were watching to see what would happen; some of these viewing the scene with attitude and looks that boded no good for the man who held the center of the arena.

Tooly's threatening talk ceased. Still Wood said nothing. In silence, Tooly mounted his horse, and with his fellows rode away, leaving the party of emigrants—most of them terror-stricken, some angry—standing dumb, looking at one another, and at the retreating three until they went out of sight, in the dusk of the desert night-fall: stood there on the sage-brush sward, a tableau of silent dumbfoundedness; for how long none knew; each waiting for something to break the spell.

"I feel like a fool," exclaimed Van Diveer.

"But," spoke Drennan, the older and more conservative leader of their party, "we couldn't start an open battle with those fellows without some of us being killed. They are gone; we should be glad that they are. It is better to bear the insult than have even one of our people shot."

This paraphrasing of his favorite ditty was, of course, perpetrated by "Jack."

But we all wished we knew. Was it true that these men were conspirators with the Indians who had been ravaging the emigrant trains? If so, doubtless they would be concerned in other and possibly much more disastrous assaults, and perhaps soon. If so, who would be the next victims?

But Mr. Wood was still too indefinite in his identification of the man Tooly—at least in his statement of it—to clear away all doubt, or even, as yet, to induce the majority of our men to act on the judgment of some: that we should follow these plainsmen, learn more, and have it out with them.

There were many circumstances pointing not only to the connection of these men with the assault on Mr. Wood's family, but to the probability of their having been responsible for the slaughter of the Holloway party. It seemed improbable that there were two bands of Indians operating along that part of the Humboldt River in the looting of emigrant trains. If it could be proved that white men co-operated with the savages in the Wood case, the inference would be strong that the same white men had been accessories in the Holloway massacre. The use of guns in those attacks, and the evident abundance of ammunition in the hands of the Indians, went far toward proving the connection of white men with both these cases.