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Updated: June 2, 2025
Woodhull perhaps had the better of it by a few pounds in weight, and forsooth looked less slouchy out of his clothes than in them. His was the long and sinewy type of muscle. He was in hard condition. Banion, two years younger than his rival, himself was round and slender, thin of flank, a trace squarer and fuller of shoulder.
When dawn came, before he had broken his long vigil, Jackson was bending over footmarks in the moister portions of the soil. "Tall man, young an' tracked clean," he muttered to himself. "Fancy boots, with rather little heels. Shame I done missed him!" But he said nothing to Banion or anyone else.
Sam Woodhull is on the way atter Will Banion. He's like enough picked out a fine bunch o' horse thiefs ter go erlong with him. He knows somethin' erbout the gold I jest found out how. "Ye see, some men ain't above shinin' up to a Injun womern even, such bein' mebbe lonesome. Sam Woodhull wasn't. He seed one o' my fam'ly wearin' a shiny thing on her neck.
He ran his regiment like a mess, and might order first this officer, then that, of the line or staff, to take on his free-for-all quartermaster trains. But he was honest. Banion was not. He had him broken. The charges were filed by Captain Woodhull. Well, is it any wonder there is no love lost? And is it any wonder I wouldn't train up with a thief, or allow him to visit in my family?
The voice of Banion was anxious as he lightly shook the shoulder of the prone man, half afraid that he, too, had died. Stupid in sleep, the scout sprang up, rifle in hand. "Who's thar?" "Hold, Bill! Friends! Easy now!" The old man pulled together, rubbed his eyes. "I must of went to sleep agin," said he. "My horse pshaw now, pore critter, do-ee look now!" In rapid words he now told his errand.
"No? Well, I was just wonderin', ma'am, because I heerd Cap'n Banion ast that same question o' yore husband, Cap'n Wingate, an' Cap'n Wingate done said jest what ye said yerself that hit wasn't none o' his business. Which makes things look shore hopeful an' pleasant in this yere train o' pilgrims, this bright and pleasant summer day, huh?"
He's tried hit one night afore. Leave me cut his throat, Will! Ye'll never be safe ontel I do. Leave me cut his throat er kill him with a rock. Hit's only right." Banion shook his head. "No," he said slowly, "I couldn't, and you must not." "Do you promise?" he repeated to the helpless man. "Get up stand up! Do you promise will you swear?" "Swear? Hell!"
The two horses stood, reins down, snorting at the terror before them, whose menace they now could sense. "Take the horse!" called Banion. "I'll get the man!" He was coiling the thin, braided hide reata, soft as a glove and strong as steel, which always hung at the Spanish saddle. He cast, and cast again yet again, the loop at forty feet gone to nothing.
The young men of this clan always fought on foot or on horse in full regalia of their secret order, day or night. The emigrants had plenty of this savage war gear now. "We've beat them off," said Bridger, "an' maybe they won't ring us now. Get the cookin' done, Cap'n Banion, an' let's roll out. But for your wagon park they'd have cleaned us." The whites had by no means escaped scathless.
To Jackson, shaving off bits of sweet meat between thumb and knife blade, it meant the presence of a stranger, friend or foe, for he knew Banion had carried no weapon with him. His own long rifle he snatched from its pegs. At a long, easy lope he ran along the path which carried across the face of the ravine. His moccasined feet made no sound. He saw no one in the creek bed or at the long turn.
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