One evening a low-down terra-cotta-colored Piute swiped two of Mr.Watkins' paint ponies and by stealth, under cover of the cloaking twilight, went away with them into the far mysterious spaces of the purpling sage.
To these ponies the owner was deeply attached, not alone on account of the intrinsic value, but for sentimental reasons likewise.

So immediately on discovering the loss the next morning, Mr.Watkins took steps.

He saddled a third pony which the thief had somehow overlooked in the haste of departure, and he girded on him both cutlery and shootlery, and he mounted and soon was off and away across the desert upon the trail of the vanished malefactor.

Now when Mr.Watkins fared forth thus accoutered it was a sign he was not out for his health or anybody else's.
Friends and well-wishers volunteered to accompany him upon the chase, for they foresaw brisk doings.

But he declined their company.