After looking in the two granaries and the empty harness room, he walked to the front of the barn and made his way up the ladder to the loft. Ben had also burrowed under a mound of hay as I had. After a few minutes, he was apparently satisfied no one was around, so he climbed back down the ladder, put the third horse in one of the smaller tie stalls, and walked back to the house. He looked to be in his early forties—a short, wiry man with bowed legs. He carried a revolver, butt first, on his left side.

I waited a few minutes and then crawled out from under the dry alfalfa, wiped myself down, and made sure my rifle barrel was clear. It was then I noticed my shotgun leaning against the stall. The man hadn't seen it. I picked it up.