ugh it is to be regretted
that the guest of the evening had the incivility to fall dead asleep in
the midst of the festivities, and was put to bed by sympathetic and, he
has reason to believe, fair hands.

The next morning I was started off to the rear in custody of two mounted
men, heavily armed. They had another prisoner, picked up in some raid
beyond the river. He was a most offensive brute--a foreigner of some
mongrel sort, with just sufficient command of our tongue to show that he
could not control his own. We traveled all day, meeting occasional small
bodies of cavalrymen, by whom, with one exception--a Texan officer--was
civilly treated. My guards said, however, that if we should chance to meet
Jeff Gatewood he would probably take me from them and hang me to the
nearest tree; and once or twice, hearing horsemen approach, they directed
me to stand aside, concealed in the brush, one of them remaining near by
to keep an eye on me, the other going forward with my fellow-prisoner, for
whose neck they seemed to have less tenderness, and whom I heartily wished
well hanged.

Jeff Gatewood was a "guerrilla" chief of local notoriety, who was a
greater terror to his friends than to his other foes. My guards related
almost incredible tales of his cruelties and infamies. By their account it
was into his camp that I had blundered on Sunday night.

We put up for the night at a farmhouse, having gone not more than fifteen
miles, owing to the condition of my feet. Here we got a bite of supper and
were permitted to lie before the fire. My fellow-prisoner took off his
boots and was soon sound asleep. I took off nothing and, despite
exhaustion, remained equally sound awake. One of the guards also removed
his footgear and outer clothing, placed his weapons under his neck and
slept the sleep of innocence; the other sat in the chimney corner on
watch. The house was a double log cabin, with an open space between the
two parts, roofed over--a common type of habitation in that region. The
room we were in had its entrance in this open space, the fireplace
opposite, at the end. Beside the door was a bed, occupied by the old man
of the house and his wife. It was partly curtained off from the room.

In an hour or two the chap on watch began to yawn, then to nod. Pretty
soon he stretched himself on the floor, facing us, pistol in hand. For a
while he supported himself on his elbow, then laid his head on his arm,
blinking like an owl. I perf