Just before daylight, Broadwater began to descend the declivity at whose foot flowed one of the forming streams of the Deer Lodge River. Glimpses of the valley could be obtained at every bend in the tortuous road. Day was just breaking, and the perpetual snow on the distant peak of Mount Powell shone dimly through the haze. He was congratulating himself that the dangers of his trip were over, and he could complete it by a leisurely ride through one of the most delightful valleys in the world. These thoughts received a sudden check when, turning an abrupt angle in the road, he saw, seated by a camp-fire, the very persons, as he then felt, against whom Moore had warned. One of them, George Ives, was regarded as the most daring ruffian in the mountains; the other, Johnny Cooper, was known to be one of his chosen associates. They manifested great surprise at his approach. The quick eye of Broadwater took in all the advantages of the situation. He saw their horses feeding upon the foothills, two or three miles away, and knew if he had been expected so soon, they would have been saddled and ready for pursuit. They hailed him as he passed, urged him to wait until they could get their horses, and they would accompany him, telling him that as the road agents were abroad, it would be safer for him to do so. He replied that he was in a hurry, and as his horse was jaded with travel, they would soon overtake him,—and rode slowly on. To allay suspicion, he alighted from his horse and led him slowly up a steep hill, looking back when under way to the top, and calling to them,
“Get up your horses: you can overtake me over the hill.”
The horse, which was greatly fatigued, was favored by this device. Broadwater felt all the peril of his situation, and knew that nothing but coolness and decision could save him. He was twenty miles from the second crossing of the Deer Lodge, where a Frenchman by the name of David Contway was living with his Indian wife, preparing to take up a ranche. This was the nearest place of safety. Casting another glance at the freebooters, he saw, as he passed over the summit of the hill, that they were making active preparations to pursue him. There was no time to be lost. It was to be a race for life, and his chances for escape depended upon the advantage he could win during the brief period his pursuers would require in getting ready to start. As soon as he was lost to their sight he remounted his horse, and, spurring him to his utmost speed, descended into the broad open valley. His course now lay over a level plain denuded of trees, and rank with prairie vegetation. Every movement he made within any attainable distance, he knew would be seen by the men who were on his track. The clumps of willow which defined the course of the river were too small to afford even temporary shelter. His horse, liable at any moment to give out, obeyed the urgency of the occasion, under whip and spur, with great reluctance. But his rider kept him up to his speed, more than once inclined to diverge from the trail toward the pine forest, which covered the foothills, four or five miles distant, on either side of the valley, and seek a covert there. When half the distance had been travelled, he looked back, and amid a cloud of dust, less than three miles away, he saw the robbers in pursuit, seemingly gaining rapidly upon him. His poor, panting steed, whose sides were bleeding from the frequent lacerations of the spur, seemed on the point of exhaustion, and the thirty pounds of gold dust strapped to his person bore with terrible weight upon him. But there was no time to calculate any other chance for escape, than that of reaching the goal. On and on he spurred the jaded animal, often casting furtive glances back at the approaching death, and expecting at every turn in the trail to feel the fatal bullet. At length the little lodge of Contway peered above the willows. The horse renewed his vigor at the sight. The hurrying tramp of the pursuers was heard in the rear. A last and desperate effort was made to urge the horse to greater speed, and he dashed up to the door, falling, on his arrival, with complete exhaustion. He was ruined,—but he had saved the life of his master. Ives and Cooper, less than fifty rods behind, reined their horses to a walk, and rode slowly up, while Broadwater was removing the saddle from his broken-down animal. Their horses were foaming with perspiration.