âI half expected to run across my opponent as I escaped, but as it turned out I met no one at all in my stealthy trip to get my saddlebags from my room and my equally secretive visit to the stable. My horse was against being saddle at such an hour, but my grim firmness made short work of his rebellion. A drizzle abetted the dank chill of the hours as I rode forth . . . Next time I met that one, I swore to myself, things would be different.â