"I never saw Massai but once, and then it was only a piece of his G
string flickering in the brush. We had followed his trail half the
night, and just at daylight, as we ascended a steep part of the
mountains, I caught sight of a pony's head looking over a bush. We
advanced rapidly, only to find the horse grunting from a stab wound in
the belly, and the little camp scattered around about him. The shirt
tail flickering in the brush was all of Massai. We followed on, but he
had gone down a steep bluff. We went down too, thus exposing ourselves
to draw his fire so that we could locate him, but he was not tempted.

"The late Lieutenant Clark had much the same view of this mountain
outlaw, and since those days two young men of the Seventh Cavalry, Rice
and Averill, have on separate occasions crawled on his camp at the break
of day, only to see Massai go out of sight in the brush like a blue
quail.

"Lieutenant Averill, after a forced march of eighty-six miles, reached a
hostile camp near morning, after climbing his detachment, since
midnight, up the almost inaccessible rocks, in hopes of surprising the
camp. He divided his force into three parts, and tried, as well as
possible, to close every avenue of escape; but as the camp was on a high
rocky hill at the junction of four deep canons, this was found
impracticable. At daylight the savages came out together, running like
deer, and making for the canons. The soldiers fired, killing a buck and
accidentally wounding a squaw, but Massai simply disappeared.

"That's the story of Massai. It is not as long as his trail," said the
chief of scouts.