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It was the fate of three of these, after escaping from the dangers of the great chasm, to be killed by an attack of Apaches on the Wickenburg stage. These were Loring, Hamel, and Salmon. Loring was a brilliant young literary man from Boston, whose career was thus sadly ended.
"Don't you try to scare me about anything, doc," said Clancy apprehensively, as he slid into the chair. "Tush!" and the physician wagged his head. "You haven't got sense enough to be scared at anything. That's the main trouble with you. It's two weeks since you went to Wickenburg and got in front of that bullet. We kept you in bed for a week, and now you have been on your feet for another week.
I was not entirely to escape the Apaches, however. On the first return trip from Florence to Wickenburg with the buckboard, while I was congratulating myself and thanking my lucky stars for the accident to my ankle, Apaches "jumped" the buckboard and gave me and my one passenger, Charlie Block of Wickenburg, a severe tussle for it.
The stage I drove for this Wickenburg company was one that ran regular trips out of Wickenburg. Several trips passed without much occurring worthy of note; and then on one trip I fell off the box, injuring my ankle.
Before I went to Wickenburg from Tucson I became partners with a man named Robert Swope in a bar and gambling lay-out in a little place named Adamsville, a few miles below where Florence now is on the Gila River. Swope was tending bar one night when an American shot him dead and got away.
The sun was hot, but a cool breeze from the sea tempered its warmth. As he stared at the stubborn face of Burton, his eyes hardened. "Hank," he went on, "I haven't any cause to love you, or Gerald Wynn, or Bob Katz. One of you put a bullet into my shoulder, at the old adobe near Wickenburg. The three of you, also, made off with fifteen thousand dollars belonging to me and to Lafe Wynn.
What's this man done out West?" They all drank. "Robbed the Wickenburg stage of the first cleanup of Jim Mahar's placer mine. About ten thousand dollars he got away with." "Jim Mahar!" said Benson. "Why, that's the name of the man he murdered in Manitoba." "How about it, mate?" said the big man, turning to Rogers. "Same man," he said quietly. "I shot him; but I never robbed him."
So far as the wound is concerned, Clancy, you are all right, but so far as something else is concerned, you are all wrong." Ferguson's eyes narrowed and he leveled a forefinger at his patient. "What happened, up there at Wickenburg?" he demanded. "What happened?" repeated Clancy. "Why, you just spoke of that. I got in front of a bullet."
I told him only the exact truth when I said that I built the third house in Phoenix. After I had started the Wickenburg restaurant came rumors that a new city was to be started in the fertile Salt River Valley, between Sacaton and Prescott, some forty or fifty miles north of the former place.
To the southward was found a road, well-traveled in those days, that led from the Fort Mohave ferry to Prescott. But Prescott, then the capital, was left to one side and a direct route was taken from Chino Valley, through Peeples Valley and Wickenburg, to Phoenix.
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