Buffalo Bill’s Weird Warning

CHAPTER I. MYSTERIOUS DOINGS.

“What was that, Crawling Bear?”

“Ugh! Fire-gun make um big ‘boom.’”

“It was a fire-gun, all right, but where did the report come from? That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

Two horsemen were riding along a bleak, desolate-looking cañon, on route to the mining-camp known as Sun Dance. One was a white man, and the other an Indian. The white rider was William Hickok, of Laramie, better known as “Wild Bill,” and his companion was a Ponca warrior.

Both Wild Bill and Crawling Bear had keen ears, and the muffled report of the rifle came to them distinctly—not from right or left, from ahead or behind, or above, but seemingly from the ground under their horses’ hoofs.

Another report reached them, coming from the same place as the first, and Wild Bill, with a puzzled look, drew rein and rubbed his hand over his forehead.

“Am I locoed, or what?” he muttered. “It’s a trick of the echoes, I reckon. Somebody is having a little gun-play in this vicinity, and the bottom of the gulch picks up the sound and throws it back to us.”

The Indian made no response, although from his actions it seemed quite clear that he did not accept the white man’s explanation.

Wild Bill rode on, and a sharp turn in the cañon brought him upon something which led to a revision of his theory concerning the rifle-shots.

What he saw was an ore-dump, off at one side of the cañon. The mound of broken rocks was surmounted by a plank platform. Five horses were hitched to bushes, not far from the ore-dump, but their riders were not in evidence.

Wild Bill halted his horse, once more, and looked from the ore-dump to the horses, and then around the cañon. While his eyes were busy, there came a third rifle-shot.

“By gorry!” he exclaimed, and gave a low laugh. “This thing begins to clear up a little, Crawling Bear. There’s a mine here, and probably the mine has a drift running down the gulch. The shots we heard really came from under us, but they came from the bottom of the mine.”

“Ugh!” grunted the Ponca. “Why Yellow Eyes make um shoot in mine? No got um game in mine.”

“Now you’re shouting, my redskin friend. What there is to shoot at, in that mine, is a conundrum that your Uncle William is going to work out. Maybe there’s no game to shoot at down there, but there’s a game being pulled off that needs looking into.”

Wild Bill tossed his bridle-reins to the Ponca and slipped down from the saddle.

“You go down in mine, huh?” queried Crawling Bear.

“That’s my intention,” was the answer.

“Five ponies, five Yellow Eyes down in mine. Mebbyso Crawling Bear better go with Wild Bill.”

A smile curled about Wild Bill’s lips.

“Any old day the odds of five to one make me take a back seat,” said he, “I hope some friend will hand me a good one and tell me to wake up. I’m going to hide my hand, Crawling Bear. This is a case of find out what’s doing, and then make a get-away on the q. t.—in case I can’t help some unfortunate in distress. You look out for the horses; and, if I can’t take care of myself, then I’m ready to be planted, for it will be high time.”

With that, Wild Bill stepped to the foot of the ore-dump and climbed carefully to the plank platform.

An empty ox-hide bucket stood on the platform, off to one side, but there was no windlass for hoisting the bucket, and there did not seem to be any ladders for getting down into the shaft. All this contributed still further to Wild Bill’s perplexity, and at the same time increased his determination to investigate.

But, if there were no ladders for getting into the mine, there was a rope. The upper end of the rope was made fast to the edge of the opening in the middle of the platform.

The Laramie man peered down into the shaft. The blackness was intense, and he could see nothing, not even the gleam of a candle.

“Can’t tell whether the shaft is fifty feet deep or five hundred,” he muttered, “but it’s a cinch that none of the men who came here on those five horses are anywheres around the foot of the shaft. If they were, they’d jump a piece of lead at me. With my head over the hole, like this, I’m a good target. Now to go down.”

For an instant Wild Bill sat on the platform, his feet dangling over the abyss; then, slowly letting himself down, he grabbed the rope and began to slide.

The shooting continued, the echoes booming louder in Wild Bill’s ears and increasing his curiosity. Wild Bill was down fifty feet before he touched bottom. The shaft was not so deep, after all.

Leaving the lower end of the rope, he groped his way around the shaft wall until he found the opening of the level. In traversing the level, he dropped to his hands and knees, and crawled.

The level crooked to right and left, and, after Wild Bill had covered something like fifty feet of it, he began to hear voices, and to see a glow of light in the distance.

Pushing his head and shoulders around a turn, he suddenly beheld a queer scene, right at the end of the level.

Five men were there, and four of them carried lighted candles. The fifth man had no candle, but was armed with a shotgun.

The men had all the earmarks of scoundrels, and each was heeled with a brace of six-shooters. The fellow with the shotgun had a belt about his waist, above his revolver-belt, filled with brass shells.

Just as Wild Bill came within sight of the group, the man with the shotgun was “breaking” the piece at the breach, ejecting an empty shell and replacing it with one that was loaded. Having finished the loading, the man threw the gun to his shoulder and shot the charge into the breast of the level.

“We’re blowin’ a hull lot o’ good stuff inter this bloomin’ country rock, Clancy,” growled a man with a candle. “Ain’t ye done enough?”

“I started in with fifteen shells,” replied Clancy, the rascal with the gun, “an’ thar’s five left. We might jest as well close up the rock with what we’ve still got.”

“How do ye know ther feller’ll take his samples from the place ye’re puttin’ them loads?”

“He’ll git his samples from the breast o’ the level, won’t he?” struck in another man with a candle. “By the time we’re done, thar won’t be a patchin’ he kin pick at but’ll hev its salt. Cap’n Lawless’ll land him, an’ thar’ll be a hundred thousand ter pass around. The ‘Forty Thieves’ Mine is a played-out propersition, but the Easterner won’t find that out until arter us fellers git our hooks on ther money. Then we’ll hike.”

Clancy banged another load into the rocks.

“Why in thunder ain’t Lawless hyer?” asked another of the candle-bearers. “He ort ter be helpin’ us, seems like.”

“Don’t you fret none erbout Lawless, Tex,” replied Clancy. “He’ll be around afore long, ready ter do the fine work an’ land the lobster. We don’t need him fer this, an’ it’s a heap better fer him not ter show up in ther cañon while this job o’ salt is bein’ pulled off. If Lawless ain’t seen around hyer, he won’t be suspected o’ any crooked work.”

“What’s Lawless doin’, anyways?” queried the man who had spoken first.

“I dunno, but I reckon he’s watchin’ thet ole flash-light warrior, Buffler Bill. Ye see, Andy, Lawless ain’t anyways eager ter tangle up with Buffler Bill an’ his pards; not but what Lawless could put ther scout an’ his friends down an’ out—fer head-work, I backs Cap’n Lawless, o’ ther Forty Thieves, ag’inst all comers, bar none—but Lawless is jest startin’ inter this hyer profitable field, an’ he don’t want ter hev no interruptions.”

“Buffler Bill is workin’ fer ther gov’ment,” said Tex. “He won’t bother none with the cap’n.”

“Ye never kin tell about him, Tex,” averred Clancy. “Wharever Buffler scents any unlawful doin’s, he’s li’ble ter butt in; an’ we don’t want ter give him no chance ter git fracasin’ round with us.”

“But if he does,” said Tex, “we’re goin’ ter do him up?”

“We are,” declared Clancy; “him an’ his pards—Nomad an’ ther Injun kid, Leetle Cayuse. I’m close ter the last ca’tridge, Tex, an’ you an’ Andy better go up an’ have ther hosses ready. We won’t linger around ther ore-dump none, arter we come out.”

Wild Bill, screened by the corner of rock, had heard every word of this talk. The mysterious doings, in the light of the conversation among the scoundrels, was now clearly explained.

The five men were “salting” the worthless mine; that is, they had loaded the shotgun-shells with fine gold, and were blowing the gold into the breast of the level. When the intended victim came to take his samples of the vein, he would chip off pieces of the doctored rock, and when the rock was assayed, it would show the mine to be a heavy “gold-producer.” On this showing, unless the intended victim was warned, a hundred thousand dollars would change hands, and Captain Lawless, of the Forty Thieves, whoever he was, would be that much richer.

“I’ll nip this little scheme in the bud,” thought Wild Bill, as he drew back and crouched against the wall for Tex and Andy to pass.

The passing of the men, with their candles, was filled with considerable danger for Wild Bill. If the two ruffians saw him, there was bound to be a fight, for it would not do to let Wild Bill get away with the information he had discovered.

Wild Bill drew his revolvers and made himself as small as possible. Had there been time, he would have hastened back to the shaft, along the level, and climbed the rope. But he knew he could not have gotten half-way up before Tex and Andy would have located him. It was better for Wild Bill to stay right where he was, and hope for the best.

The whole affair, as Wild Bill had planned it, was reckless in the extreme; but he was daring by nature, and rarely counted the cost before making a leap in the dark.

This must have been his evil day, and the beginning of a series of evil days, as will soon appear. Tex and Andy were stumbling past him, when the former, tripping on a stone that lay on the bottom of the level, fell sideways, dropping his candle and falling full on the man from Laramie.

The candle was extinguished, but Tex, encountering the intruder, gave vent to a wild yell of alarm. Wild Bill’s fist shot out, and Tex crumpled flat along the floor of the level; the blow was followed by another, which landed on the point of Andy’s jaw, and threw him against the hanging wall. His candle also dropped, and Wild Bill set his foot on the sputtering flame.

By then Clancy and the other three had started at a run to see what was the trouble. Wild Bill, berating his hard luck, rushed toward the shaft, but he was running in the dark—a circumstance which brought him many a bruise and bump. Behind him came three men with two candles, but Tex and Andy were temporarily out of the race.

From time to time, as he stumbled onward, Wild Bill looked backward over his shoulder. Suddenly he saw Clancy halt, lift the shotgun, and shoot along the level.

Quick as a flash, Wild Bill dropped flat. He had no desire to stop a charge from a brass shell, even though it was of gold.

The fine yellow metal whistled over his head. As the echo of the shot clamored in the level, Wild Bill sprang up and forged onward with a reckless laugh.

“They can’t salt me,” he muttered, “but I may be able to salt one of them with lead.”

He paused long enough to chance a shot from his six-shooter. A yell of pain came from Clancy. The shotgun clattered to the rocks, and he grabbed at his right arm.

The other two men thereupon began using their revolvers, accompanying their shooting with savage yells.

Wild Bill, pushing flat against the foot wall, deliberately snuffed the two candles that remained alight. His wrist had been grazed by one of the ruffians’ bullets, but it was a small injury, and he gave it scant attention.

As soon as the level was entirely plunged in darkness, he ran on to the shaft which, by then, was only a few feet away.

The time had passed for fighting. It was up to him to retreat, and to see how quick he could get to the top of the shaft, and out of it.

Jabbing his revolver back into his belt, he laid hold of the rope and started aloft, hand over hand.

Clancy and the rest, meanwhile, had not remained inactive. They must have been considerably in the dark as to the identity of their enemy, but they realized that he had caught them red-handed, and that the success of their whole plot might hang on their capturing him. Therefore they pushed forward desperately, Clancy in a rage because of his wound. Tex and Andy, having revived sufficiently from the sledge-hammer blows they had received, had joined the others.

“Don’t strike any matches,” Wild Bill heard Clancy yell, “and don’t light no candles. We don’t want the whelp ter make targets o’ us. Ketch him, thet’s all! Consarn his picter! he’s given me a game arm. I want ter play even fer thet, anyhow.”

Above him, Wild Bill could see a square patch of daylight as he climbed. His progress was slow, however, and he knew that when Clancy and the rest got to the shaft, they would see him swinging in mid-air between them and the lighted background.

As Wild Bill looked up, he saw the head of Crawling Bear leaning over the opening and looking down.

“Cover that hole, Crawling Bear!” roared Wild Bill. “They’re after me, the whole five of ’em. Look alive, now.”

The Ponca was quick-witted, and must have realized the situation. His head vanished from the patch of light the instant Wild Bill ceased speaking.

Climbing hand over hand was slow work. Wild Bill’s arms were strong, and he did his best, but his best did not carry him upward nearly so swiftly as he could have wished.

Sounds of scrambling feet came from below him, followed by the voice of Tex.

“Thar he is! See him squirm, will ye? Pepper him! Turn loose at him!”

Just then the hole above suddenly darkened. Wild Bill was still a target, but not so plain.

The shaft echoed with a patter of reports. A sharp, stinging blow struck the heel of Wild Bill’s boot, the broad brim of his hat shook, and he was raked along one side as by a red-hot iron.

“Wow!” he muttered; “if they put a piece of lead into one of my arms——”

And just then that is exactly what they did. It was Wild Bill’s left arm. The strength went out of the arm in a flash, and Wild Bill only saved himself from dropping back to the bottom of the shaft by a fierce grip on the rope with his right hand.

How could he climb now? The outlook was anything but reassuring.

All this time the Laramie man felt a movement of the rope, as though Crawling Bear, at the top of the shaft, was tinkering with it under the cover he had placed over the opening.

“I reckon he ain’t climbin’ no more,” roared the voice of Clancy, from the depths. “Lay holt, thar, Tex, an’ see if ye kain’t crawl up an’ haul ther whelp back. He’s winged, mebby, an’ kain’t climb.”

This, as we know, was Wild Bill’s condition. He had twisted the rope about one of his legs, and was able to maintain his place, but, if he did not drop downward, neither could he move upward an inch.

Tex, evidently, had grabbed the rope, for it tightened cruelly around Wild Bill’s leg.

The Laramie man’s arm did not seem to have been very seriously injured. So far as he could judge, what the arm was suffering from, more than anything else, was the shock of the bullet.

Twisting the arm about the rope, he drew his knife from its scabbard at his belt, and bent downward. A quick slash severed the rope in twain, and a heavy fall and a chorus of oaths came from the shaft’s bottom. Tex had dropped upon some of his companions, for the moment demoralizing them.

This move of Wild Bill’s, while necessary for his safety, almost proved disastrous to him as well as to Tex.

Wild Bill’s left arm was not to be depended upon. At the critical moment it gave with him; and, had he not dropped the knife and gripped the rope with his right hand, he would have followed Tex onto the heads of Clancy and the others.

Before the disorder at the bottom of the shaft could be righted, and the scoundrels again begin their revolver-work, Wild Bill felt himself started upward with a jerk.

Crawling Bear was taking a hand! Just what he had done Wild Bill did not know, but that his means, whatever they were, were effectual, was proved by the swiftness with which Wild Bill was hauled to the platform.

In less than half a minute after Wild Bill started upward, his head struck against a blanket covering the mouth of the shaft, and he was snaked out onto the planks, and lay blinking in the sun.

At the foot of the ore-dump stood the Ponca with a hand on the bridle of Wild Bill’s horse. The Laramie man saw in an instant what his red companion had done.

After covering the mouth of the shaft with his blanket, he had secured the picket-rope from Wild Bill’s saddle and had tied one end to the horn; the other end he had secured to the rope leading down into the shaft, and had then cut the shaft-rope. By leading Wild Bill’s horse across the cañon from the foot of the ore-dump, the Ponca had been able to get his white companion to the surface by horse-power.

“You’re all to the good, Crawling Bear!” declared Wild Bill, sitting up at the edge of the ore-dump and pulling off his coat. “I had a close call, down there, and I reckon those yaps would have got me if it hadn’t been for you.”

Crawling Bear untied the rope from the saddle-horn and began coiling it in. When he had removed the rope spliced to the end of the picket-rope, he hung the coil in its proper place at Wild Bill’s saddle.

“Wild Bill hurt, huh?” he asked, mounting the side of the dump.

“A gouge through the fleshy part of the arm, that’s all,” the Laramie man answered, examining the injury. “The bullet flickered along the muscles and went on about its business.”

Wild Bill had cut away the sleeve of his flannel shirt in order to examine the injury. Out of the bottom of the sleeve he improvised a bandage, and Crawling Bear helped him put it in place.

When the arm was roughly bandaged, Wild Bill thrust his hand into the breast of his shirt.

“I’m worth a dozen dead men yet,” he went on, “but that outfit sure had it in for me. Don’t know as I can blame them, though, as they’ve got a hundred thousand at stake. I’m going to fool them out of that hundred thousand—watch my smoke.”

He looked at the bullet-hole through the brim of his hat, then at his left boot, from which the heel was missing, and finally at the place where a bullet had raked along the side of his clothes, after which he laughed grimly.

“They had a good many chances at me, Crawling Bear,” he proceeded, “but they didn’t make good. We’ve got ’em bottled up in that mine now, and we’ll keep ’em there until I can get Pard Cody to Sun Dance. I’ve got a notion he’ll enjoy meeting that gang of trouble-makers.”

The Ponca picked up his blanket from the platform and threw it over his shoulders.

“Yellow Eyes?” he queried.

“You bet! They’re white tinhorns, every last man of them. It’s up to you and me to call their little game. It’s a salting proposition, with a tenderfoot standing to lose a hundred thousand in good, hard money. Let’s ride for Sun Dance and get there as quick as we can.”

“What about um five caballos?” asked the Ponca, his small, beady eyes gloating over the five horses belonging to Clancy and his outfit.

“Oh, we’ll leave them. Haven’t time to bother with ’em, anyhow.”

Wild Bill descended the slope lamely and climbed into his saddle. A few moments later, he and the Ponca were continuing on along the cañon toward Sun Dance.

CHAPTER II. ANOTHER STRANGER IN CAMP.

Sun Dance was a very small mining-camp, perched on a shelf up the side of Sun Dance Cañon. “Six ’dobies stuck on a side hill,” was the trite and not very elegant way the camp was often described.

The sort of mining indulged in was both quartz and placer—placer-mining in the gulch and quartz-mining in the neighboring hills. Only the placer-miners lived in the camp; the quartz-miners had camps of their own, and only came to Sun Dance for supplies.

The camp could be reached in two ways: From the bottom of the cañon by a steep climb, and from the top by a stiff descent.

The stage from Montegordo reached camp by way of the cañon’s rim, which was its only feasible route; but Wild Bill and Crawling Bear came from below, and gained the settlement by spurring their horses up the slope.

Just where the trail crawled over the edge of the flat, there was a sign-board with the rudely lettered words: “No Shootin’ Aloud in Sun Dance.” As an indication of how seriously the sign was taken, it may be mentioned that the lettering could hardly be read for bullet-holes.

By day the camp was practically dead, all the miners being at work on their placers, and only storekeepers, gamblers, resort proprietors, and the man who “ran” the hotel being visible. For the most part, these worthies smoked their pipes and cigarettes during the day, or played cards among themselves merely to pass the time.

With night everything changed. The camp became a boisterous, rollicking place.

Miners flocked in, bet their yellow dust on the turn of a card or a whirl of the wheel, sampled the camp’s “red-eye,” and very often forgot the warning of the sign, and indulged in shooting that was very loud and occasionally fatal.

The name of the one hotel in the camp was the “Lucky Strike.” The proprietor was one Abijah Spangler, a leviathan measuring six foot ten, up and down, and ten foot six—or so it was said—east and west at his girth-line. Anyway, Abijah Spangler weighed 300 pounds, and when he sat down it took two chairs to hold him.

When Wild Bill and Crawling Bear halted in front of the Lucky Strike, Bije Spangler was sitting down, dripping with perspiration and agitating the air with a ragged palm-leaf fan.

“You the boss of this hangout?” inquired Wild Bill, surveying Spangler’s huge bulk with much interest.

“I run it, you bet,” answered Spangler, ruffling his double-chin and wondering at the red handkerchief about Wild Bill’s arm.

“Got accommodations for two?” queried the Laramie man.

“Fer two whites, yes—meals, four bits, and a bed, a dollar. But”—and here Bije Spangler cast a disapproving eye on the Ponca—“I don’t feed or house Injuns fer no money. Not meanin’ any disrespect fer yerself, neighbor,” added Spangler hastily, noting the glint that rose in Wild Bill’s eye, “but I couldn’t keep open house fer reds without sp’ilin’ the repertation o’ my hotel.”

The Ponca sat up stiff and straight on his horse.

“Where I stay, he stays,” averred Wild Bill; “what’s good enough for him is good enough for me. He’s plum white, all but his skin.”

“So’s a Greaser,” grunted Spangler, “or a Chink. Sorry to appear disobligin’, ’specially as you-all seems to have run inter trouble somewheres. You’re welcome to stop, but the Injun’ll have ter camp out in the chaparral.”

Wild Bill was in no mood for arguing the case, and he was about to ride on, when the Ponca leaned forward and stopped him.

“You want um Ponca take paper-talk to Pa-e-has-ka, hey?” he asked.

“Sure I do, Crawling Bear,” replied Wild Bill, “but I don’t want you to start for Sill until you have rested yourself and your horse.”

“Ugh! no want um rest. Feel plenty fine. Me take um paper-talk now.”

Wild Bill saw that Crawling Bear meant what he said. The camp not appearing to be a very safe place for a red man, anyhow, the Laramie man decided to let his companion have his way.

“Got a place where I can write?” inquired Wild Bill.

“Go through the office an’ inter the bar,” replied Spangler. “You can write on one of the tables, an’ I reckon the barkeep can skeer up a patchin’ o’ paper and a lead-pencil.”

Leaving his horse with the Ponca, Wild Bill went into the barroom, and had soon written a few words to Buffalo Bill, asking him to come to Sun Dance as soon as possible. Returning to Crawling Bear, Wild Bill handed him the folded note and a dozen silver dollars.

“Why you give um Ponca dinero?” asked the Indian.

“That’s for carrying the message to Buffalo Bill,” said the Laramie man.

“Buffalo Bill?” wheezed Spangler, stirring a little in his chair. “You a friend of Buffalo Bill’s?”

“Yes,” answered Wild Bill, whirling on the fat man. “My name’s Hickok.”

“Wild Bill!” muttered Spangler. “Say, that’s different. Any Injun friend o’ Wild Bill’s can stop with me. I’ll break my rules for you, and——”

Hoofs clattered. Crawling Bear, not waiting further, was off for the edge of the “flat” on his return journey to Sill.

“You’re too late,” said Wild Bill curtly. “What’s your label.”

“Spangler is my handle.”

“Any strangers in town, Spangler?”

“Only you.”

“When’s the next stage due from Montegordo?”

“To-morrow afternoon.”

“Well, I’m going to stay with you until to-morrow afternoon, anyhow. Call some one to take care of my horse; and if I can have a room all to myself, I want it.”

“That’ll cost extry,” said Spangler. “If ye’re goin’ to throw on style with a private room, you’ll have to bleed ten dollars’ worth.”

“That’s the size of my stack. Hustle, now. I’m fagged, and want to lie down.”

Spangler lifted his voice and gave a husky yell. In answer to the signal, a Mexican showed himself around the corner of the house, who took Wild Bill’s horse. Then once more Spangler indulged in a wheezy shout. This was the signal for a Chinaman to present himself. After a few words with Spangler, the Chinaman led Wild Bill into the house, through the office and the drinking-part of the establishment, and into a small, corner room, with a window looking out upon the street.

There was a cot in the room, and Wild Bill flung himself down wearily upon it. In a few minutes he was fast asleep.

He awoke in time for supper, put a fresh bandage around his arm, and went out into the hotel dining-room. Everything about the Lucky Strike was exceedingly primitive, and the table, the service, and the food were about what one would expect in a pioneer mining-camp. Wild Bill, however, was used to such accommodations and fare.

Following the meal, he smoked a couple of pipes in front of the hotel, saying nothing to anybody, but keeping up a lot of thinking.

The Forty Thieves—so ran the current of his thoughts—was a played-out mine. Those five men, under orders from one Captain Lawless, were salting it. The name of the mine was suggestive, and so was the name of the man who was engineering the salting operations.

“Captain Lawless, of the Forty Thieves!” said Wild Bill to himself. “That has sure got a regular rough-house sound. When Pard Cody hears it, I’ll bet money it will ruffle his hair the wrong way. Crawling Bear will get that paper-talk through some time to-night, and Cody will be here to-morrow afternoon. When he arrives, we’ll prance out to the Forty Thieves and snake those five trouble-makers out of that hole in the ground; then, if Captain Lawless wants to take a whack at us, he’s welcome.”

Wild Bill took no part in the hilarious doings of the camp that night. By 10 o’clock he had locked himself in his room and got into bed. His arm was a bit painful, so that he was an hour or more in getting to sleep. When he was once asleep, however, he did not wake until morning.

His arm felt better. He could use his hand as well as usual. There was some pain in the arm, but it was not severe.

Following breakfast, he went to one of the general stores and bought a new flannel shirt, a pair of boots, and a bowie, to take the place of the one he had lost in the mine.

After that, he sat in front of the Lucky Strike and smoked until dinner-time; and, after dinner, he smoked until four-thirty, when the stage pulled over the rim of the cañon and slid down the slope with the hind wheels tied.

The stage drew up in front of the hotel, and a mail-bag was thrown off. There was one passenger, a man in a linen duster, and clearly a stranger.

“He’s the one,” said Wild Bill to himself, knocking the ashes out of his pipe and getting out of his chair. “The chap doesn’t look much like an easy mark, though. I wonder if he has any notion he’s taking long chances with that hundred thousand of his?”

Just then Wild Bill experienced something like a jolt. A man rode up along the trail that led from the cañon bottom, drew rein in front of the hotel, dismounted, dropped his bridle-reins over a hitching-post, and followed the stranger into the Lucky Strike.

The man had his right arm in a sling, and it didn’t take two looks to inform Wild Bill that the fellow was none other than Clancy! Clancy, the man who had been blowing gold into the Forty Thieves with a shotgun! Clancy, the man Wild Bill had left, with four others, bottled up in the Forty Thieves’ shaft!

Clancy did not pay any attention to Wild Bill. It seemed very probable that neither Clancy, nor any of those with him in the mine, had been able to see Wild Bill distinctly enough to recognize him in another place and in broad day.

Then, too, the Laramie man had a new shirt of a different color from the blue one he had worn in the mine, and he showed no sign of injury. All this would help to keep Clancy from recognizing him, even if he had got a tolerably good look at him in the Forty Thieves.

Reassured on this point, Wild Bill fell to canvassing another. How had Clancy managed to escape from the shaft?

Clancy and the rest must have had help. Some other member of the gang must have been abroad in the cañon, and no doubt happened along and gave his aid.

Wild Bill was disappointed. He had hoped the five would be kept in the Forty Thieves until Buffalo Bill reached Sun Dance.

Strolling into the office of the hotel, Wild Bill saw Clancy in close conversation with the man in the linen duster. They were off by themselves in one corner, and were conversing in low, animated tones.

“Clancy is going to hold the man until this Captain Lawless shows up,” thought Wild Bill. “I must have a word with that tenderfoot and show him how he is going to be gold-bricked. I’d hate myself to death if I ever allowed that gang of robbers to get away with his hundred thousand.”

Wild Bill, having settled the situation in his mind, strolled out to the front of the hotel, filled his pipe again, and seated himself in the chair he had occupied for most of the day.

He was waiting for the stranger, and he had not long to wait. Clancy came out, unhitched his horse, climbed into the saddle, and clattered back toward the bottom of the cañon. A few minutes later the stranger followed, pulled up a chair a few feet from Wild Bill’s, and seated himself.

“Howdy,” said Wild Bill, with a friendly nod, by way of breaking the ice.

“How do you do, sir?” answered the stranger, with all the elaborate courtesy of an Easterner. “Will you try one of these?”

He offered Wild Bill a cigar, and the latter accepted it amiably.

“Stranger, I take it?” pursued Wild Bill.

“Well, yes,” answered the other. “I came in on the afternoon stage from Montegordo.”

“Looking up the mines?”

A suspicious look crossed the stranger’s face.

“Figuring on examining the Forty Thieves,” pursued Wild Bill, “with the intention of handing out one hundred thousand cold plunks for the same?”

The stranger laughed.

“You seem to be pretty well informed,” he remarked. “I haven’t told a soul about my business here, but you reel it right off, first clatter out of the box.”

“Steer wide of the Forty Thieves, pilgrim,” said Wild Bill earnestly. “That proposition is a trap for the unwary. I know. It cost me some trouble to find out what I’m telling you, but you take my word for it, and let the property alone.”

“Who are you?” inquired the stranger, with sudden interest.

“My name’s Hickok, William Hickok.”

The stranger hitched restlessly in his chair.

“The man I’ve heard so much about under the sobriquet of Wild Bill?” he asked.

“Tally! That’s the time you got your bean on the right number.”

The stranger fell silent for a space.

“My name is Smith,” said he finally; “J. Algernon Smith, of Chicago, and what you tell me is mighty surprising.” He drew his chair closer. “Would you mind telling me just what you have found out?”

“Sure I wouldn’t mind. I’m hungry to cut into this game, and even up with the pack of tinhorns that gave me a hot half-hour yesterday.”

And thereupon Wild Bill began telling what he had seen and heard in the level of the Forty Thieves. When he had finished, J. Algernon Smith was wide-eyed and staring.

“Really,” he managed to gasp, “this is most astounding.”

“I reckon it’s all that,” mildly answered Wild Bill. “The very name of that mine, though, is enough to make a man think some. Who’s the fellow you’re going to deal with?”

“His name, I believe, is James Lawless.”

“That’s another name that’s bad medicine.”

“I’d never thought of the names in that light.”

“That fellow that was talking with you, right after you got out of the stage, was Clancy, the scoundrel that was blowing gold into the rock with a shotgun. What did he want?”

“Why, he was telling me that Lawless hadn’t got here yet, and he was warning me not to say anything to anybody about my business in Sun Dance.”

“You couldn’t blame him for that,” remarked Wild Bill dryly.

“He asked me to meet him at the foot of the slope, in the bottom of the cañon, immediately after supper,” went on the stranger, “so we could have a quiet talk.”

“You can see how they’re working it, can’t you?” returned Wild Bill. “They’re trying to keep this business dark until Lawless shows up, and meanwhile Clancy is going to keep your interest at fever-heat by all kinds of stringing. Any objection to my going along with you when you meet Clancy?”

“No, indeed, Wild Bill. I was about to suggest that myself. I am sure I’m very much obliged to you for your interest in me, and——”

“Stow that,” interrupted Wild Bill. “It isn’t my interest in you, particularly, that leads me to take a hand, but it’s more a desire to see every man get what’s coming to him. Sabe?”

At that moment the Chinaman came out in front of the hotel and pounded on a gong.

“Suppa leddy!” he announced.

The stranger did not remove his linen duster. It covered him from his neck to his heels, and Wild Bill thought he kept it on so as not to soil his Eastern clothes. He and the Laramie man sat at the same table, and next to each other.

When the meal was over, J. Algernon Smith excused himself for a minute, and said he would rejoin Wild Bill in front of the hotel, and they would at once take their way down the slope to the bottom of the cañon.

Wild Bill waited for five minutes before J. Algernon Smith rejoined him, and they started across the “flat” toward the top of the slope.

“A tenderfoot has got to keep his eyes skinned,” said Wild Bill, “or he’ll collide with more trouble, in this western country, than he ever dreamed was turned loose.”

“I presume you are right,” said J. Algernon Smith. “Only fancy blowing gold into a mine with a shotgun!” He laughed a little. “If they knew that, back in Chicago, they’d make game of me,” he added. “You haven’t told any one about this, have you?”

“Not a soul but you.”

“I’m glad of that, I can tell you. I’d hate to have the business get out. Of course, I hadn’t bought the mine yet. I was going to take samples, you know, and have them assayed; then, if the assays showed up well, the deal would have been made.”

It was very dark, at that hour, on the slope leading down into the cañon. Bushes fringed the horse-trail, in places, and there was quite a patch of chaparral at the foot of the slope.

Here Wild Bill and J. Algernon Smith came to a halt.

“Clancy doesn’t seem to be around,” said Wild Bill. “Maybe you’d better tune up with a whistle, or a yell, so that he’ll know where you are.”

J. Algernon Smith stared into the depths of a thicket.

“It looks to me as though there was a man in there,” said he. “Can you see any one, Mr. Hickok?”

Wild Bill took a step forward. His back was to his companion, and, while he was peering into the bushes, he heard a hasty step behind him.

He started to turn; and, at that precise instant, a heavy blow, dealt with some hard instrument, landed on the back of his head.

He staggered, but, with a fierce effort, rallied all his strength, and turned around. In the darkness he saw the yellow duster pressing upon him. It was Smith, and Smith was about to land another treacherous blow.

Wild Bill’s head was reeling, but he had sense enough left to understand that he had made some sort of a mistake, and that Smith was other than he had seemed.

Evading the blow aimed at him, the Laramie man gripped Smith by the throat. Ultimately, in spite of his unsteady condition, Wild Bill might have got the best of his antagonist had not Clancy taken a part in the struggle.

The latter plunged through the bushes and assaulted Wild Bill from behind.

At Clancy’s second blow, Wild Bill’s reason fled, and he dropped helplessly on the rocks.

CHAPTER III. CAPTAIN LAWLESS.

How long Wild Bill remained unconscious he never knew, but it must have been a considerable time. He had been struck down at the foot of the rocky slope, and when he opened his eyes he was lying in the level of the Forty Thieves.

Wild Bill had no difficulty in recognizing the level, for three or four candles were burning in niches of the rock, and lighted the place sufficiently for him to make observations.

The Laramie man’s unconsciousness had lasted long enough for his captors to remove him from the slope four or five miles down the cañon and lower him into the mine.

His hands and feet were bound, and a savage pain from his left arm, cramped around behind him, in no wise mitigated the discomforts of his situation. His head, too, was aching, and his brain was still dizzy.

He was surrounded by seven men, all but one of whom he recognized. Clancy was one, Tex was another, and Andy was a third. The faces of two more he remembered to have seen in the level with Clancy the day before.

Another of the men, of course, was J. Algernon Smith, in his linen duster.

The seventh of the outfit was the fellow whose face was strange to Wild Bill.

The prisoner lay snugly against the hanging wall of the level. He had made no stir when he opened his eyes, and his captors did not know that he had recovered his senses. They were talking, and Wild Bill was content to lie quietly and listen.

“He got away from you,” Smith was saying, “and when he went he took the rope with him. How did you get out?”

“We was in hyer all night, cap’n,” replied Clancy; “me with this game arm, an’ all the rest more er less knocked about an’ stove up. We didn’t hev no water, er grub, er nothin’, an’ I had about calculated that we’d starve ter death; then, jest as things were lookin’ mighty dark fer us, Seth, thar, happened erlong, and we heerd him hollerin’ down the shaft.”

“I was left in Sun Dance,” spoke up Seth, who was the fellow Wild Bill had failed to recognize, “ter watch the stage an’ see if you, er Bingham, come in on it. Nothin’ came that arternoon, but the mail——”

“It will be two or three days before Bingham arrives here,” interjected Smith. “Go on, Seth.”

“As the night passed,” proceeded Seth, “an’ Clancy an’ the rest didn’t come back ter Sun Dance, I began ter feel anxious about ’em. Arter breakfast in the mornin’, I couldn’t stand the unsartinty any longer, so I saddled up an’ rode down the cañon. Seen the five hosses bunched tergether in the scrub, so I knowed the boys must be in the mine. When I climbed the ore-dump, I seen the rope layin’ on the platform, an’ I couldn’t savvy the layout, not noways. I got down on my knees, stuck my head inter the shaft, an’ let off a yell. The yell was answered, an’ it wasn’t long afore I knowed what had happened. I drapped a riata down, an’ spliced on the rope layin’ on the platform, an’ purty soon the boys was on top o’ ground.”

“We all thort the game was up,” said Clancy, when Seth had finished. “The feller that had came nosin’ inter the mine had drapped his bowie, an’ we found the name, ‘Wild Bill,’ burned inter the handle. ‘Thunder!’ I says ter the boys; ‘if thet was Wild Bill we had down here, I ain’t wonderin’ none he got away. He’s a reg’lar tornader! The wonder is,’ I says, ‘thet some o’ us didn’t git killed.’ In the arternoon I rode ter Sun Dance ter meet the stage myself, an’ thet’s how I come ter meet ye, cap’n, an’ ter tell ye a leetle o’ what took place. But I reckon us fellers ain’t got any kick comin’ now.” Clancy gave a husky laugh. “Wild Bill drapped inter yore hands, cap’n, like er reg’lar tenderfoot. It was a slick play, yere bringin’ him along when ye come ter meet me at the foot o’ thet slope. The minit ye jumped at him I knowed somethin’ was up, an’ I wasn’t more’n a brace o’ shakes in takin’ a hand.”

“It was a tight squeak,” said Smith. “We came within a hair’s breadth of having this whole story get out. If it had ever reached Bingham’s ears it would have cost this gang a cool hundred thousand.”

“Ye’re sure Wild Bill didn’t do any talkin’?”

“He says he didn’t, and I believe he told the truth.”

“But thar was some ’un with him. He didn’t git out o’ the shaft without help.”

“That man was a Ponca Indian. He didn’t stop in Sun Dance long, but was sent out of camp by Wild Bill, with a paper-talk for Buffalo Bill, at Fort Sill.”

“Consarn it!” grunted Tex moodily. “Ain’t we goin’ ter work through this trick without hevin’ Buffler Bill mixed up in it?”

A muttered oath escaped the lips of Smith.

“If Buffler Bill mixes up in this,” said he, “we’ll take care of him, just as we’re going to take care of Wild Bill. There’s seven of us, and I’ve got the nerve to think I’m as good a man as Buffalo Bill.”

“You’ve got nerve enough for anything, Smith,” spoke up Wild Bill, “but when you compare yourself with Cody, you’re a little bit wide of your trail.”

A sudden silence fell over the gang. All of them turned their eyes on the prisoner, and Smith got up and stepped toward him.

“Got your wits back, have you?” Smith demanded, with a scowl.

“I didn’t have much sense when I started in to do you a friendly turn,” said Wild Bill. “That’s where I went lame. Who are you, anyhow?”

A hoarse laugh broke from the man’s lips. The next moment he had stripped away the linen duster, revealing a tall, supple form clad in gaudy costume. About the shoulders was a short jacket of black velvet, strung with silver-dollar buttons that flashed in the candlelight; about the waist was a silken sash of red, supporting a brace of silver-mounted derringers. Boots made of fancy leather arose to the knee, and a black sombrero capped the flashy apparel.

“In the first place,” said the man, with a fiendish grin, “my name is not Smith, but Lawless.”

“Well, I’ll be hanged!” muttered Wild Bill. “You’re Lawless, and I jumped right at you, in the Lucky Strike Hotel, supposing you were the tenderfoot who’s coming here to drop into your game! That’s a big one on me, and I reckon that fool play makes me deserve all I’ve got coming. Well, well! This would be plumb comical if it wasn’t so blamed serious.”

“It is serious—for you,” said Captain Lawless. “What you know stands between me and my men and one hundred thousand dollars. Why did you mix up in this thing, in the first place?”

“I heard shooting down in this mine, and was curious to find out what it meant.”

“You found out—and that’s what’s going to make you trouble.”

Lawless turned away.

“Is everything ready, Clancy?” he asked.

“The fuses are all ready ter light.”

“Then snake him off down the level and we’ll finish this right up. See that you make a good job of it.”

Obeying a gesture from Clancy, Andy and Tex caught Wild Bill by the shoulders and dragged him some ten feet toward the shaft of the mine. Seth followed with a candle.

A stub crosscut opened off the level at this point, and Wild Bill was dragged into this and along it for fifteen feet, as he judged. That brought him to the end of the crosscut, which proved to be a blind wall.

“We’re going to put you in a pocket, Wild Bill,” said Lawless, who had followed, “and leave you there. You’ll not be able to bother anybody; and, of course, you’ll never live to get out, even if you’re not killed by the blast.”

“I’m not following you very clearly,” said Wild Bill. “Is it your intention to send me across the divide?”

“That’s it. You know too much, and we can’t take any chances with you. Look here.”

Lawless passed to the entrance of the crosscut and waved the candle back and forth. In the candlelight. Wild Bill saw the ends of three fuses, placed on a line.

“At the end of each fuse,” explained Lawless calmly, “there’s a heavy charge of powder. Clancy loaded the holes, and he knows just what a charge will do when it’s put down in any given place. He has set this blast so as to wall up the crosscut and leave you in a rock cell. Clancy says that you won’t be hurt by the flying rock when the blast goes off, but that you’ll be walled in so you can’t get out. You’ll not have any water or food, and you’ll not have much air. That can’t be helped.”

“You’re a fiend!” gritted Wild Bill, glaring at the calm face of Lawless.

“This job of salt is going to win out. Bingham will find less gold in the Forty Thieves than he imagined; but, if he digs away the barrier we’re going to throw up, he’ll find something else here that will surprise him.”

“Why can’t you use a bullet or a knife, if you’re bound to put me out of the way?” called Wild Bill. “What do you want to go to all this trouble for?”

“This will look like an accident, if you’re ever found.”

“Look like an accident!” answered Wild Bill ironically. “How do you figure that, if I’m ever found with my hands and feet tied?”

“If Clancy is right, and you’re not hit by flying rock, or smothered before an hour or two, you’ll get rid of the ropes.”

“And you’re white!” muttered Wild Bill, as though it was hard for him to couple such a murderous act with a man of that color. “Why, you inhuman scoundrel, you ought to be black as the ace of spades, and to wear horns! This may be the end of me, but it won’t be the end of this business for you. My pard, Bill Cody, is coming to Sun Dance Cañon to meet me. If he doesn’t meet me, he’ll know something is wrong, and when he runs out the trail, you’ll owe him something. And whatever you owe Cody, you’ll pay!”

“If I ever owe Cody anything,” scowled Lawless, “I’ll pay him just as I’m paying you. I didn’t pip my shell yesterday. You’re wide of your trail, Hickok, if you think I’m not able to take care of myself.”

Lawless disappeared from the mouth of the crosscut.

“Touch off the blasts,” Wild Bill heard him say to Clancy; “all the rest of you,” he added, “go on to the shaft. We’ve got to make a quick getaway as soon as the fuses are fired.”

Then, with staring eyes, Wild Bill saw Clancy take a candle and bend down. From one fuse to another went the candle gleam, leaving a sputtering blue flame at the end of each fuse.

Having finished his work, Clancy whirled and raced after Lawless and the rest, who had already started for the shaft.

Turning on his side, with his face against the rocks, Wild Bill waited for the deafening detonation which was to throw a barrier of rock across the mouth of the crosscut and wall him up in a living tomb.

CHAPTER IV. THE INDIAN GIRL.

“Whatever d’ye think Wild Bill wants us fur, Buffler?”

“I haven’t any idea, Nick, but he’ll think we’re a long time getting to Sun Dance.”

“That paper-tork o’ his had a hard time reachin’ us, an’ we’ve had er hard time gittin’ through ter Sun Dance—leastways, you an’ Dell hev had. But we kain’t be so pizen fur from ther camp now.”

“This short cut we’re taking through the hills will bring us into the cañon above the camp. Dell and Cayuse will come in below. We ought to get to the place we’re going a good two hours ahead of them.”

The king of scouts, and his old trapper pard, Nick Nomad, were riding through the rough country on their way to Sun Dance.

It was early morning, and the trapper and his pards had been in the saddle all night.

A number of things had conspired to delay them in taking the trail in answer to Wild Bill’s “paper-talk.” Among other things, Crawling Bear had been slain by hostile Cheyennes, and Hickok’s note had come into the scout’s hands by another messenger.

Some distance back on the Sun Dance trail, the scout and Nomad had separated from Dell Dauntless, Buffalo Bill’s girl pard, and the Piute boy, Little Cayuse, the scout and the trapper to travel “’cross lots,” and Dell and Cayuse to follow the regular trail.

This would bring Buffalo Bill and Nomad into Sun Dance a little earlier than if they had kept to the trail, and they were already so late that they were anxious to save even an hour or two.

The course they took was a rugged one, and they had to climb steep hills and ridges, and urge their mounts over ground that would have tried the strongest nerves.

But it was all for Pard Hickok, and no loyal pard ever called on Buffalo Bill in vain.

The scout, however, was vastly puzzled to account for the business that had led to the call. In his note, Wild Bill had not written a word about that.

“Wild Bill must hev tangled up with somethin’ purty fierce,” remarked Nomad, “or he’d never hev sent in a hurry-up call like thet.”

“It may not be anything that concerns Wild Bill, Nick, but something that concerns us,” the scout returned. “Hickok may not be in trouble; on the contrary, he may know something we’ve got to know in order to avoid trouble ourselves.”

“Kerect, Buffler. I hadn’t thort o’ ther thing in thet light afore. We ain’t neither of us very much in ther habit o’ side-steppin’ when trouble hits ther pike an’ p’ints fer us. This hyar trouble is er quare thing, pard; plumb quare. Some o’ the people has trouble all ther time, an’ all ther people has trouble some o’ the time, but all ther people kain’t hev trouble all ther time.”

The scout laughed.

“What of it, anyhow, Nick?” he asked.

“Nothin’. I was jest torkin’ ter give my bazoo exercise. No man knows jest when trouble is goin’ ter hit him. Sometimes he kin see et a good ways off, like er choo-choo train. He kin hyer ther bell an’ ther whistle, an’ ef he’s a-walkin’ on ther track, he’s er ijut ef he don’t step off, an’ let et go by. An’ then, ag’in, trouble comes on ye around a sharp curve. The despatcher mixes orders, er somethin’, an’ afore ye know et ye’re tangled up in a head-on collision. Now, thet’s what I call——”

Nomad was interrupted. As if to illustrate his rambling remarks, the crack of a rifle was heard in the distance, followed by a shrill scream.

The two pards, at that moment, were on the crest of a rocky ridge. Instinctively they stopped their horses and shot their glances in the direction from which the report and the scream reached them. What they saw set their pulses to a swifter beat.

Speeding toward them along the foot of the ridge was an Indian girl. She was mounted on a sorrel cayuse, and the pony was getting over the ground like a streak. The girl was bending forward, her blanket flying in the wind behind, and her quirt was dropping on the pony’s withers with lightninglike rapidity.

She was being pursued by an Indian buck, armed with a rifle. The buck seemed savagely determined to overtake the girl. He was mounted on a larger, and evidently a fleeter, horse, for at every stride he came a shade closer.

“Is thet ther ceremony o’ ther fastest hoss, Buffler?” queried the startled Nomad. “Ef ther buck ketches ther gal, will she marry him? Hey?”

“That isn’t the ceremony of the fastest horse, Nick,” answered the scout. “The buck wouldn’t be shooting at the girl if it was.”

“Mebbyso he was jest shootin’ ter skeer her.”

“It’s not the right way to win a bride—or a Cheyenne bride. As near as I can make out, those two are Cheyennes.”

“Ther gal’s a Cheyenne, but at this distance I take ther buck fer a Ponca.”

“I reckon you’re right, Nick. The buck is a Ponca and the girl a Cheyenne. There’s a good deal of bad blood between the Cheyennes and the Poncas just now, and we can’t overlook the fact that the under dog, in this case, is a squaw. We’ll save her.”

“Shore we’ll save her!” averred Nomad. “I knowed ye’d be fer doin’ thet all along. We’re jest fixed right ter slide down this hill and sashay in between ther two.”

“That Ponca is getting ready to shoot again!” exclaimed Buffalo Bill, as he started his horse, Bear Paw, down the descent. “The next bullet may not go as wide as the first, and I reckon we’d better give the buck something to think about, so he’ll let the girl alone.”

As he charged down the slope, Buffalo Bill pulled his forty-five out of his belt and shook a load in the Ponca’s direction.

The range was too great for pistol-work, but the scout succeeded in his design of giving the buck “something to think about.”

The crack of the revolver and the “sing” of the bullet caused the buck to lower the rifle he had half-raised, and to turn his eyes in the direction of the white men. The girl also, for the first time, saw that help was near. She flung up one hand in a mute appeal.

“Don’t ye fret none, gal!” roared Nomad. “We’ll look out fer you!”

The girl, apparently taking courage from the shot fired in the buck’s direction, and from the reassuring tone of Nomad’s voice, slowed down her pony.

A few moments later the pards reached the foot of the ridge and laid their horses across the Ponca’s path. The Ponca, without speaking, tried to go around them. This was the girl’s signal to turn her pony and circle back until she was under the lee of Bear Paw.

“No, ye don’t, Injun!” cried the trapper, kicking in with his spurred heels and getting in front of the Ponca at a jump. “Mebbyso ye kin git eround me, but ye kain’t git eround this!” and Nomad leveled a revolver.

The Indian sat back on his horse and glared angrily at Nomad, at the scout, and at the girl.

“Me take um squaw,” grunted the Ponca. “Her b’long to Ponca.”

“She’s a Cheyenne,” said the scout. “How can a Cheyenne belong to a Ponca?”

“Me buy um squaw with ponies,” asserted the Indian. “Me take her from Cheyenne village, and she make um run. Ugh! Give Big Thunder squaw.”

“You bought this girl of the Cheyennes?” demanded the scout.

“Wuh! Pay um all same so many ponies.”

The Ponca held up five fingers.

Buffalo Bill looked at the girl attentively. He had never seen a prettier Indian girl. Her features were regular, and her large, liquid-black eyes gave her countenance almost a Spanish cast. Her garments were of buckskin, beaded and fringed, and her blanket was of a subdued color, clean and new. Broad silver bands encircled her forearms and her shapely wrists, and her hands were small and delicately formed.

The buck, on the other hand, was a rough-looking specimen of a Ponca.

“Speakin’ free an’ free, as between men an’ feller sports,” observed Nomad, “I kain’t blame ther gal none fer runnin’ erway.”

“Me know um Pa-c-has-ka,” said Big Thunder calmly. “Him friend of Poncas, and him got good heart. Him no let squaw get away from Ponca brave.”

“What is your name?” asked the scout of the girl.

“Wah-coo-tah,” was the answer.

“That’s a Sioux name.”

“Me Cheyenne, no Sioux. Name Wah-coo-tah.”

The girl had a rippling, musical voice, very different from the usually hard, strident voices of Indian women.

“Very well, Wah-coo-tah,” said the scout, “I’ll take your word for it. Why was the Ponca chasing you?”

“Me no like um.”

“Did your father sell you to the Ponca?”

“Ai. Me no like um, me run ’way. Him ketch Wah-coo-tah, then Wah-coo-tah kill herself.”

Here was a knotty point for the scout. Having bought the girl, by the girl’s own admission, the Ponca certainly had a right to take her for his squaw. But the scout could not justify himself in his own mind if he allowed the vicious-looking Ponca to take the fair Cheyenne.

“Where will you go, Wah-coo-tah, if you get away from the Ponca?”

“Me go where me be safe,” she said.

“How much time do you want to get away?”

The girl turned on her pony’s back and pointed to the top of a distant hill.

“So far,” she answered.

“All right. We’ll hang onto the Ponca until you get there.”

Before the scout could stop her, Wah-coo-tah caught his hand and pressed it to her lips. Then she turned her pony and galloped off.

Big Thunder sat silently on his horse for a space, his eyes glittering fiendishly. Suddenly he jerked his rifle to his shoulder. Nomad, watching him like a cat, struck up the barrel, and the bullet plunged skyward.

Quick as a catamount the Ponca dropped the weapon and hurled himself from his horse’s back—not at Nomad, but at Buffalo Bill. He had a drawn knife in his hand, and, as he landed on the scout’s horse, he made a venomous, whole-arm stab with it.

But if the Ponca was quick, the scout was a shade quicker. Twisting about in his saddle, Buffalo Bill clutched the Ponca’s knife-wrist with his right hand, and, with his left, took a firm grip of the Ponca’s throat.

A second later and the struggle carried them both to the ground.

Big Thunder was a powerful Indian, and the nude, upper-half of his wiry body was liberally besmeared with bear’s grease. The grease made him as slippery as an eel. Nevertheless, the scout knew how to deal with him.

A crushing pressure at the wrist caused the knife to drop. With the Ponca practically disarmed, the fight became one of mere wrestling and fisticuffs.

Big Thunder slipped his oily throat clear of the scout’s fingers, but the scout’s hand, leaping upward from the throat, took a firm grip of the scalp-lock. Holding the Ponca’s head to the ground, Buffalo Bill released his wrist, and got his right hand about the throat in such a manner that it could not slip; then, kneeling on the ground, he held the Ponca in that position until he was half-throttled.

“Waugh!” jubilated Nomad. “Jest see how Pard Buffler tames ther red savage. I’m darned ef et ain’t as good as a show. Goin’ ter strangle him, Buffler? Better do et. Ef ye don’t, he’ll camp on yore trail an’, sooner er later, ye’ll hev ter kill him ter prevent his takin’ yer scalp.”

The scout saw that the Indian had been punished enough for his attack, and suddenly sprang away from him.

“Don’t worry, pard,” sang out Nomad; “I’ve got him kivered.”

For a second or two the Ponca lay on the ground, gasping for breath; then, as he struggled to his feet, the point of the trapper’s revolver lifted with him, the trapper’s menacing eye gleaming along the barrel.

“Easy, thar, Ponk!” warned Nomad; “make er single hosstyle move, an’ ye’ll be er good Injun afore ye kin say Jack Robinson.”

Big Thunder, seeing how he was corralled, grunted savagely, drew himself to his full height, and folded his arms.

“Injun thought Pa-e-has-ka friend of Poncas!” he exclaimed scathingly.

“I’m the friend of the Poncas, all right, Big Thunder,” answered the scout, “but the girl did not want to go with you.”

“Ponca buy her, make um go!”

“Not while I’m around. Keep your hands off that girl, understand?”

“Ponca no keep hands off Pa-e-has-ka. Bymby, Pa-e-has-ka’s scalp dry in Big Thunder’s lodge; Big Thunder make um Cheyenne girl tie um scalp on hoop, hang um up.”

“Hyer ther pizen red!” snarled the trapper. “Hadn’t I better rattle this hyar pepper-box o’ mine at ther threatenin’ varmint?”

“No.” The scout looked in the direction taken by the girl. She had got far beyond the point to which she had drawn his attention, and had vanished. “I reckon Wah-coo-tah’s all right, Nick. Put up your gun and we’ll ride on to Sun Dance.”

Unconcernedly, the scout walked to Bear Paw and mounted.

Big Thunder, still erect and with his arms folded, followed the scout’s movements with eyes of hate.

“Come on, pard,” said the scout, starting for the next “rise.”

“Mebbyso he’ll open up on ye with thet rifle o’ his, Buffler,” demurred Nomad.

“He’ll not do that,” was Buffalo Bill’s confident reply, as he spurred on.

Nomad lowered his revolver, but kept his vigilant gaze on the Ponca as he followed his pard. When they crossed the next hill, the last they saw of Big Thunder he was still glaring after them.

“Ye’ve made er enemy out o’ thet red, Buffler,” observed the trapper, pushing his revolver back into its holster.

“I suppose so,” said the scout thoughtfully. “The worst of it is, Nick, I can’t blame the Indian. According to the laws and customs of the red man he is in the right. I had no business interfering between him and Wah-coo-tah.”

“Any white man would hev done et!” asserted the trapper.

“Any white man who had the right kind of a heart,” qualified the scout.

“Wah-coo-tah ain’t er common Injun squaw.”

“That’s why I helped her.”

“All this hyar,” commented Nomad, “on’y illustrates what I was er sayin’ erbout trouble. This excitement come around ther curve, full-tilt, an’ hit us squar’ in ther face. Thar wasn’t no dodgin’ et.”

Half an hour later the pards descended into Sun Dance Cañon, and an hour’s ride down the cañon brought them to the foot of the slope leading to the “flat,” and the mining-camp.

“We’re a good two hours ahead o’ Dell an’ Cayuse,” asserted Nomad, while they were climbing the slope.

“I hope we’re in time for Hickok’s business, whatever it is,” answered the scout.

Bije Spangler, as usual, was occupying a couple of chairs in front of the Lucky Strike. The ragged, palm-leaf fan was working slowly, and he watched the pards approach with a speculative eye. Spangler had no difficulty in detecting that they were persons of consequence.

“‘Lucky Strike Hotel,’” said the scout, reading from the sign. “Are you the proprietor?” he went on, dropping his eyes to the huge bulk of humanity in the two chairs.

“I run this joint,” wheezed Spangler, “but I ain’t high-toned enough ter call myself a proprietor.”

“Can we stop here?”

“Can if ye got the price.”

“We want a room by ourselves.”

“Only got one private room, an’ that was took by a feller that vamosed last night without settlin’ up. Reckon ye kin hev that, seein’ as I don’t know whether the feller’s ever comin’ back er not. J. Algernon Smith sorter opined he’d like a room by hisself, too, so I reckon he’d think he had fust claim on the room, on’y he vamosed as myster’ously as Wild Bill.”

“What’s that?” demanded the scout, pulling himself together with a jerk, and peering sharply into the flabby face of Spangler. “Was Wild Bill Hickok staying here?”

“He was.”

“And you say he left last night?”

“Him an’ J. Algernon went away tergether. That was right after supper last night, an’ neither of ’em has come back yet.”

“How long has Wild Bill been here?”

“He come day before yesterday, on hossback, with er Injun. J. Algernon come yesterday arternoon, on the Montegordo stage. Both of ’em’s skedaddled. Who might you be, neighbor?”

“Cody’s my name——”

Spangler tried to express his surprise and delight, but only succeeded in emitting a throaty gurgle; he likewise tried to get up and grab the scout’s hand, but his sudden flop displaced one of the chairs, and he slumped to the ground in a quivering heap.

Nomad got behind him and boosted him up.

“This hyar camp must be er healthy place,” remarked Nomad, “ef et grows many ombrays o’ yore size.”

“It ain’t as healthy as it looks,” said Spangler. “Buffalo Bill, I’m glad ter meet ye. Ye kin have this hull hotel if ye want it. I’ll call a man ter take keer o’ yer hosses.”

“I take care of my horse myself,” replied Buffalo Bill. “Show me the stable, Spangler.”

Spangler waddled to the corner of the house and pointed to a brush shelter in the rear.

“What d’ye think o’ this, Buffler?” asked the trapper perplexedly, as he and his pard led their mounts to the stable.

“I don’t know what to think of it yet,” answered the scout, with a troubled frown.

“Wild Bill was hyar, an’ vanished last night.”

“He vanished with a man called J. Algernon Smith. If we’re to believe Spangler, both Smith and Hickok departed unexpectedly. It looks bad, on the face of it, but——”

The rear of the stable was open. As the scout looked in, he saw and recognized Wild Bill’s horse.

“Et’s Wild Bill’s animile, shore enough,” muttered Nomad, following the scout’s eyes with his own. “Hickok wouldn’t pull out ter go any great distance without his hoss.”

“It wouldn’t seem so,” the scout answered, leading Bear Paw into an empty stall.

Removing the saddle, he rubbed Bear Paw down carefully with the saddle-blanket, then tore off a layer of hay from a bale, and loosened it out in the manger.

Nomad, deeply thoughtful, had been caring for his own horse in the same way.

Presently the pards left the stable and walked back to the front of the hotel.

Spangler was again seated on his chairs, plying the fan. He was talking with a man in a long linen duster.

“Buffalo Bill,” called Spangler, “shake hands with J. Algernon Smith, of Chicago. Smith,” went on Spangler, blowing like a porpoise, “this here is the Buffalo Bill ye read so much about.”

The scout’s eyes instantly engaged the face of J. Algernon Smith. Smith, after a moment’s hesitation, stretched out his hand.

The scout was an expert in character-reading, and, inasmuch as Smith was the last man seen with Wild Bill, he gave him keen attention.

“Well!” exclaimed Smith, “you’re the gentleman Wild Bill has been expecting. He told me about you.”

CHAPTER V. WAH-COO-TAH AGAIN.

“Oh, he did, eh?” queried the scout. “Do you happen to know, Mr. Smith, where Wild Bill is now?”

“Why,” fluttered Smith, “isn’t he here?”

“No. He left here last night, right after supper, and hasn’t been back since.”

“Say, but that’s odd!”

“Spangler, here, says that you went with him.”

“I did go with him, as far as the slope leading down into the cañon. I have a friend living above here—a man I used to know in Chicago—and I called on him. He insisted that I should stay all night in his cabin, and I did so.”

“What is your friend’s name, Mr. Smith?”

“Seth Coomby.”

“Do you know such a man, Spangler?” asked the scout, turning to the hotel proprietor.

“Sure I know him,” answered Spangler. “He has a little, three-dollar-a-day placer up the gulch.”

“You say,” went on Buffalo Bill, once more facing Smith, “that you left Wild Bill on the slope leading into the cañon?”

“Yes.”

“And you haven’t seen him since?”

“Why, no. I supposed he was here. You don’t think he met with foul play, do you? I took a big liking to Wild Bill.”

“You didn’t have him very long, did you?” asked the scout keenly. “I understand you only arrived in camp yesterday afternoon, and that you and Wild Bill started for the slope right after supper. Not much time to take a liking to a man. Did you know Wild Bill before you came to Sun Dance?”

“No; never saw him before I got here. We got acquainted with each other before supper, and had a little talk over our cigars. Then we ate supper together, and then I started for Coomby’s, and Wild Bill walked with me as far as the slope. Say, I’m all broke up about this.”

“Wasn’t you talkin’ with a feller in the office afore ye got ter talkin’ with Wild Bill?” put in Spangler.

“That was Clancy,” said Smith.

“Yep,” returned Spangler, with a shake of his fat sides, “I know him, all right; and”—here Spangler gave the scout a significant glance—“Clancy ain’t got none too good a repertation in this camp.”

“You surprise me!” exclaimed J. Algernon Smith.

The fellow’s actions were ingenuous. He talked and acted like an Easterner, but he looked like a Westerner, for all that.

“You understand, Mr. Smith,” pursued the scout, with the glint in his eyes that had taken the nerve of many a wily schemer, “that Wild Bill is my friend, and that I am anxious about him. If he has met with foul play, as you just suggested, I shall have something to say to the scoundrels back of it—later. Just now, though, I want all the information I can get. You will pardon me if I ask you what this Clancy had to say to you.”

Smith stiffened.

“What Clancy had to say, Buffalo Bill,” he replied, “is, of course, my own business. Nevertheless, under the circumstances, I recognize your right to press inquiries. If you will step aside with me, I will explain.”

Buffalo Bill walked apart with Smith.

“In order to figure this matter down to where you will have a thorough understanding of it, Buffalo Bill,” went on Smith, in a tone that seemed perfectly frank and open, “I shall have to tell you my business in this camp—and that business is one I was told to keep dark. I have come here from Chicago to examine a mine with the view of purchasing it. Clancy came to me from the owner of the mine, who is shortly expected in this camp. What Clancy told me was that the owner would be here to-morrow or next day, and Clancy advised me not to tell any one why I was here. That is all. It is news to me if Clancy does not bear a good reputation. But I don’t suppose that affects the mine, anyway. I shall not purchase the property until I take my ore-samples and have them assayed. Then——”

“What is the name of the mine?” broke in the scout.

“It is called the Forty Thieves.”

“Queer name for an honest mine,” said the scout.

“That’s right; but they have queer names for mines—some of them almost laughable. For instance, I have heard of the Pauper’s Dream, the P. D. Q., the——”

“Who owns this mine, Mr. Smith?”

“A man by the name of Lawless; Captain Lawless he calls himself.”

The scout started.

“Have you heard of the fellow?” asked Smith eagerly.

“I have heard of a squawman who calls himself by that name, but whom the Indians call ‘Fire-hand.’ He is said to be an out-and-out rascal.”

“Great glory!” cried Smith. “It looks as though I had landed right in the hands of the Philistines. Have you ever seen this Captain Lawless, Buffalo Bill?”

“Never. One of my pards, Little Cayuse, has seen him, but I have not.”

“When will your pard, Little Cayuse, be here?”

The scout’s eyes narrowed.

“What is that to you, Mr. Smith?” he demanded.

“Why, merely that I should like to have Lawless pointed out to me before I talk with him. If I don’t like his looks, I’ll get away from here without examining the Forty Thieves.”

These words were the only ones spoken by Smith that struck the scout as peculiar. On the whole, however, Smith had stood the scout’s questioning well.

Buffalo Bill turned away and walked back to Spangler. Smith went on into the hotel.

“What do you know about the Forty Thieves Mine, Spangler?” asked Buffalo Bill.

“I know it’s no good, Buffalo Bill,” said Spangler, with a choppy laugh.

“Where is it?”

“Five miles down the gulch.”

“Who owns it?”

“Give it up. It’s changed hands so many times there ain’t no keepin’ track o’ the owners.”

“Do you know a man who calls himself Captain Lawless?”

“I’ve heerd tell o’ such a chap, but I ain’t never seen him.”

“Well,” said the scout thoughtfully, “show me into the room Wild Bill occupied. I and my pard will stay in it till Wild Bill gets back. Go for the saddles, Nick,” the scout added. “We’ll keep them in the room with us.”

Spangler yelled for the Chinaman, and the latter showed the scout to the room recently occupied by Wild Bill. When left alone in the place, the scout looked over it carefully.

The first objects to strike his attention were a pair of boots. He picked them up and looked at them. The heel of one was missing—the reason, no doubt, the boots had been discarded.

On a chair lay a blue-flannel shirt. Wild Bill had worn such a shirt, but it might also have belonged to any number of men. The left sleeve was cut away close to the shoulder, and around the edge of the abbreviated sleeve were evidences of dried blood.

Deeply puzzled, the scout laid the shirt aside. Wild Bill’s saddle lay on the floor, and near it his war-bag. There was a box of cartridges in the bag, and a few other odds and ends, but nothing that would give the remotest clue to Wild Bill’s whereabouts.

While the scout was examining the bag, Nomad came in with the riding-gear. There was an odd look upon the old trapper’s face.

“Found out anythin’, Buffler?” he asked.

“No.”

“Didn’t J. Algernon enlighten ye none?”

“Not to speak of. I’ve a sneaking idea, though”—and here the scout dropped his voice guardedly—“that Smith has put me next to a pay-streak.”

“Pay-streak? Whar?”

“Why, in an old, played-out mine five miles down the gulch—a mine called the Forty Thieves.”

“Forty Thieves! What fool ever tacked sich er label onter a mine?”

“Pass the ante, Nick. If what Smith says is true, though, a man by the name of Captain Lawless is mixed up with the Forty Thieves.”

Nomad stared.

“Meanin’ thet whelp of er squawman ther Cheyennes calls Fire-hand, Buffler?” he asked.

“The same.”

“Things are heatin’ up some, eh? Ye don’t reckon Wild Bill hes got tangled up any with Lawless, do ye?”

“I don’t know what to think—just yet.”

“Waal, while ye’re fiddlin’ eround fer a start, I’m goin’ ter give ye a surprise.”

“What sort of a surprise?”

Nomad drew close to the scout, and whispered in his ear.

“Thet Injun gal, Wah-coo-tah, is out ter the barn, an’ wants ter see ye immejiate.”

That was a surprise, certainly. How was it that the girl, whom the pards had left in the hills, had reached Sun Dance so soon after their arrival? And what was her business with the scout?

Buffalo Bill started for the door, but Nomad caught his arm.

“Ef thar’s anythin’ crooked goin’ on in this camp, Buffler,” said the trapper, “like as not ye’re bein’ watched. What excuse ye got fer goin’ ter ther barn, arter ther hosses hev been attended to, an’ ther ridin’-gear brought in? Ye ort ter hev one, ye know. Hyar! I’ll fix ye out.”

Nomad dipped into his war-bag and brought out a bottle of horse-liniment.

“Take this, Buffler,” he whispered, “an’ purtend ye’re goin’ ter rub thet stuff on Bear Paw’s off hind leg. Thet gal, Wah-coo-tah, is chuck full o’ important news o’ some kind, but she wouldn’t say er word ter me, ’ceptin’ I was ter send Pa-e-has-ka ter see her.”

Buffalo Bill took the bottle of liniment and left the room. Out in front he halted for a word with Spangler.

“My horse strained a tendon coming from Sill,” said he, showing the bottle, “and I’ve got to take care of him.”

“I got a Mexican that kin do it fer ye, Buffalo Bill,” said Spangler.

“I never let any one take care of Bear Paw but myself,” the scout answered, as he started for the stable.

So far as the scout could discover he was not watched by any one. The camp, as usual during the day, was quiet, and he could not see any one in the vicinity of the hotel.

When he got into the stable he stood for a moment looking around. Wah-coo-tah was not in evidence, and he turned to go out again. Before he could leave, however, the low, musical voice of the girl floated to his ear:

“Pa-e-has-ka no go. Wah-coo-tah make talk with him.”

The voice came from overhead. Buffalo Bill looked up and saw Wah-coo-tah gazing down at him through the brushy thatch that covered the stable’s roof.

“Why don’t you come down here, Wah-coo-tah?” asked the scout.

“Wah-coo-tah ’fraid. No can take chances. Me stay here; when me through talk, me crawl back through bushes to bottom of cañon.”

“Have you seen anything of Big Thunder? Has he bothered you any since you got away from him?”

“Ponca no bother Wah-coo-tah. Him bother Pa-e-has-ka, because Pa-e-has-ka save Wah-coo-tah. Big Thunder him in Sun Dance Cañon. Me watch um come; so me come, tell Pa-e-has-ka look out.”

“Is that why you brought me out here, Wah-coo-tah?” asked the scout, disappointed. “I’m not afraid of Big Thunder.”

“Big Thunder all same snake, but him no rattle. Him strike, but him no rattle first.”

“He won’t bother me, Wah-coo-tah, so don’t fret about that. Where are you going, now that you have left Big Thunder? You won’t dare go back to your people, because they would give you to Big Thunder again.”

“My mudder no give me up to Big Thunder. My fadder he do that. Me stay in hills till me git good chance, kill Big Thunder.”

“No, no, Wah-coo-tah,” said the scout earnestly, “you must not do that.”

“Me no like um. Him try kill Wah-coo-tah.”

“Well, even at that, you don’t want the Ponca’s blood upon your hands. Why are you afraid to show yourself here in this camp?”

“Mebbyso my fadder see me.”

“Is your father in Sun Dance?”

“Him Fire-hand, Cap’n Lawless.”

This was a big surprise for Buffalo Bill. He began now to understand why Wah-coo-tah was so much more comely than the usual Indian girl. Her father was an American, her mother a Cheyenne.

And it was the girl’s father who had sold her, for five ponies, to Big Thunder! That proved to Buffalo Bill, more than anything he had yet heard against Lawless, what a thorough scoundrel the man was.

“I will protect you against Lawless, Wah-coo-tah,” said the scout.

“Him got plenty Yellow Eyes to help um,” returned the girl.

“Well, he hasn’t reached the camp yet. I have been told he won’t be here until to-morrow, or next day.”

“Him all same in camp now, Pa-e-has-ka.”

“Where?”

“Him stay in hotel. Me see you talk with um in front of hotel.”

The scout was even more startled than he had been before.

“Who is he, Wah-coo-tah?” he demanded.

“Him man long yellow coat.”

“Smith!” muttered the scout, a glitter coming into his eyes.

Then it flashed through Buffalo Bill’s mind that if Lawless would play the rôle of Smith, he must be doing it for some underhanded purpose. Quite possibly that purpose had something to do with Wild Bill, and his mysterious disappearance from the camp.

“Wah-coo-tah,” went on the scout, speaking in a low voice and hurriedly, “I came to Sun Dance looking for a friend of mine by the name of Wild Bill. I was delayed in getting to Sun Dance. When I reached here, though, I discovered that Wild Bill had disappeared last night. Immediately after supper he was last seen with the man who calls himself Smith, but who you tell me is your father, Captain Lawless. The two walked down the slope into the cañon. Lawless says he left Wild Bill and went to stay the night with a friend named Seth Coomby, and that he didn’t see where Wild Bill went, and doesn’t know anything about where he is now. If you can find out anything about him, I’d like to have you do it.”

The girl’s eyes sparkled at the thought of being able to render Pa-e-has-ka a service, and so, in a measure, pay him back for what he had done for her.

“Me find out ’bout Wild Bill,” said she. “Listen, Pa-e-has-ka. Bymby, in two, three hour, you go to top of road that leads down into cañon. Look down cañon. You see um Wah-coo-tah’s blanket wave in wind, you git um horse and come. Sabe?”

“I understand. Have you had anything to eat, Wah-coo-tah?”

“Me got plenty ‘jerked’ venison. Me all right. You watch heap sharp for blanket; and you watch heap sharp for Big Thunder. Wah-coo-tah go now. Good-by.”

The girl disappeared from the roof, and the scout, amazed by what he had overheard, left the stable and walked back to the hotel.

J. Algernon Smith was none other than Captain Lawless, and Captain Lawless was none other than Wah-coo-tah’s father!

Why should Lawless be impersonating Smith, unless he had some ax to grind? What that ax was, Buffalo Bill was determined to find out.

He went to the apartment taken by Nomad and himself, and expected to find Nomad there; but the trapper was not in the room.

Having replaced the bottle of liniment in his pard’s war-bag, the scout returned to the front of the hotel. Just then he was more particularly interested in finding Smith than in locating Nomad, but neither one nor the other was in evidence.

The Chinaman came out and pounded the dinner-gong. Buffalo Bill waited for a few minutes, hoping Nomad would present himself, but he did not. Thereupon the scout hung his hat on a peg in the office and went into the dining-room.

He took his time over the meal, keeping his eyes on the alert for a glimpse of Nomad or Lawless. His watchfulness, however, was without result.

Puzzled and uneasy, he finished his meal and went out to where Spangler was holding down his chairs in the shade of the hotel.

“How far up the gulch does Seth Coomby live, Spangler?” he asked.

“’Bout two mile,” replied Spangler.

“What’s become of Smith? Do you know?”

“Not me. He’s harder ter keep track of than the Irishman’s flea. But, with all his comin’s an’ goin’s, I kin tell him he’s goin’ ter pay fer the meals he misses, an’ the bunks he hires an’ don’t sleep in.”

“Have you seen my pard recently?”

“I hevn’t seen him, nuther. Mebby he went off with Smith? Your pards hev a great habit of walkin’ off with Smith and not comin’ back ag’in. Wild Bill did it last night, an’ mebby Nomad did it while you was rubbin’ liniment on yer hoss.”

“Did you see Nomad going off with Smith?”

“Nary. I ain’t seen either one of ’em since they was here in front o’ my place an’ you was talkin’ with Smith.”

“I’m going away for a little while,” said the scout, “and if Nomad returns while I am gone, tell him to stay here and wait for me.”

“Sure I will.”

The scout took to the horse-trail and moved off toward the slope leading down into the cañon.

What he wanted just now was to locate Smith. Had the fellow, fearing discovery at the scout’s hands, skipped out?

Nomad had not suspected Smith of being other than he seemed any more than had the scout. Had Smith taken advantage of this and lured Nomad away, just as he might have lured Wild Bill?

The scout was going to Seth Coomby’s with the rather vague hope of finding Lawless there. It was only two miles, and the scout had made up his mind that he would walk the distance, for a change.

As he halted at the top of the slope, his eyes instinctively scanned the cañon, up and down.

Down the cañon, against the right-hand wall, he saw something fluttering from the rocks. At once he thought of Wah-coo-tah, and of her promise to flaunt her blanket so he could see it in case she found out anything and needed him.

All thought of visiting Seth Coomby’s in search of Lawless passed at once from Buffalo Bill’s mind.

He had looked down the cañon in the hope of seeing something of Dell Dauntless and Little Cayuse, who were already long overdue at Sun Dance. Dell and Cayuse were not in sight, and the glimpse of that fluttering blanket, with its call to immediate action, gave the scout plenty to think of aside from his missing pards.

Whirling on his track, he returned to the hotel and went to his room after his riding-gear.

“Reckoned ye wouldn’t go ter Coomby’s, eh, Buffalo Bill?” spoke up Spangler.

“I reckoned I’d ride instead of walk,” the scout answered. “I’m expecting two other pards of mine to show up in Sun Dance before long. One of them is a young lady. She is to have the room which Nomad and I are occupying. If they, or Nomad, come before I get back, don’t fail to tell them to stay here and wait for me.”

“Ye kin gamble on it that I will,” Spangler answered.

The scout was not long in getting the gear onto Bear Paw and striking a swift gait for the bottom of the gulch.

CHAPTER VI. AT THE FORTY THIEVES MINE.

The blanket was fluttering from the top of a big pile of boulders lying at the foot of the cañon wall. As the scout left the bottom of the slope and emerged from the chaparral on his way down the cañon, the blanket suddenly disappeared.

“Wah-coo-tah has seen me coming,” he thought, “and has taken away the blanket.”

In this he was correct, for when he had drawn up Bear Paw abreast of the pile of boulders, Wah-coo-tah rode out into the trail. She scanned the trail carefully in both directions, and then urged her cayuse alongside of Bear Paw.

“What have you discovered, Wah-coo-tah?” asked Buffalo Bill.

“Wild Bill ride to Forty Thieves Mine last night with Lawless,” said the girl.

“Did he go there of his own free will, or was he taken by force?”

“No sabe Pa-e-has-ka.”

“Did Wild Bill leave the mine?”

“No sabe. Mebbyso him no leave mine. If him leave, then him come back Sun Dance—and him no come back.”

“Where did you discover this?”

“Me ride down trail, see two Yellow Eyes, Coomby and Clancy, riding up trail. Me hide in bushes while Yellow Eyes pass. When they pass, they talk. Me hear um. From what they say me know Wild Bill ride to Forty Thieves Mine last night with Fire-hand.”

This information of Wah-coo-tah’s was of immense importance. It was a lucky bit of gossip that had come the girl’s way while she was hiding in the bushes to let Coomby and Clancy pass.

If Wild Bill had gone to the mine with Lawless of his own free will, he would have taken his horse. Force had been used to compel Hickok to go to the mine, Buffalo Bill was sure of it.

“Are Seth Coomby and Clancy friends of Fire-hand?” asked the scout.

“Ai. They come many times to Fire-hand’s lodge among the Cheyennes. Me know um. Pa-e-has-ka see um Big Thunder?” inquired the girl, an anxious light coming into her eyes.

“No,” answered the scout. “That Ponca is the least of my worries.”

“Him ride up gulch while Wah-coo-tah wait behind rocks. Me take down blanket while he go. Me sure he go to Sun Dance, find Pa-e-has-ka.”

“He wasn’t in Sun Dance. Will you go with me to the mine, Wah-coo-tah?”

“Me stay here, watch for Ponca.”

“That is useless, Wah-coo-tah. I don’t like to leave you here alone, with the Ponca and your father both loose in the gulch.”

“Me keep away from um,” said the girl, a soft light creeping into her large eyes as she looked at the scout.

“I will see you again?”

“Ai. Me help um Pa-e-has-ka find Wild Bill.”

“Have you seen anything of Fire-hand, or my pard, Nomad, since you left Sun Dance following my talk with you this afternoon?”

“No see um. Me see only Coomby and Clancy, and Big Thunder.”

“Well, if you’re determined to stay here, Wah-coo-tah,” said the scout, “we’ll have to separate. My pard, Nomad, is missing now, as well as Wild Bill. This Forty Thieves Mine looks like a good place to go to hunt for them—for Wild Bill, at least. Take care of yourself, girl. Pa-e-has-ka is your friend, and will stand by you, don’t forget that.”

Again the soft light came into the girl’s eyes. The scout, with a rattle of his spurs, darted down the cañon. Looking back as he rode, he saw Wah-coo-tah taking up her station behind the rocks.

Buffalo Bill, who had a calculating eye for distance, measured the miles as he rode. One, two, three, four, five he counted. As a proof of the accuracy of his count, the word “five” had hardly dropped from his lips before he saw, a little way ahead of him, the ore-dump of the Forty Thieves.

Drawing down to a more cautious pace, he swept his eyes over the surroundings. There was no sign of any living thing in that part of the cañon.

He went bushwhacking in the scrub, and found places where horses had been recently tethered, but there were no horses in the vicinity of the ore-dump now aside from Bear Paw. If there were no horses around, it seemed to follow, naturally, that there could be no one in the mine. The scout, however, was determined to find that out by observation. He would pay a visit to the workings and see for himself.

Securing Bear Paw in the depths of a thicket, where he could not be easily seen by any chance passer along the trail, the scout left the bushes warily and made his way to the ore-dump.

The ox-hide bucket was on the platform at the top of the dump, and on the slope of the little elevation lay a pick.

The Forty Thieves may have been a played-out proposition, but some sort of work had been prosecuted there very recently.

Making as little noise as possible, the scout climbed the ore-dump to the platform and knelt down on the planks.

He looked into the cavernous depths of the shaft, and listened intently. He could neither see nor hear anything.

Buffalo Bill had been perhaps half an hour looking about through the thickets for signs of men and horses, so that, from the time he had separated from Wah-coo-tah farther up the cañon, until he reached the top of the ore-dump, something like an hour and a half had passed.

At least one of the scout’s enemies had been making the most of this hour and a half.

As the scout slowly climbed the side of the ore-dump, his every movement was watched by a pair of glittering eyes in the bushes. The owner of the eyes had not been in the thicket when the scout had done his bushwhacking, but had glided to the copse when the scout left his horse and pushed into the open.

As the scout knelt on the platform, his back was toward the gleaming, malevolent eyes.

Big Thunder—for the man in the thicket was the Ponca—thought that the hour for his revenge had struck. Slowly his rifle arose to his shoulder, he drew a bead on the form that topped the ore-dump, and one long finger caressed the rifle’s trigger.

The finger, however, did not press the trigger. At the critical moment, Big Thunder lowered the rifle, and laid it carefully down beside him.

There might be other white men in the vicinity, and the sound of the rifle-shot would be heard. In that case, Big Thunder would have difficulty in escaping after he had secured his revenge.

Starting to a crouching posture, the Ponca rested his right hand on the hilt of his skinning-knife. He would use the knife, coming upon the kneeling form of the scout before he was aware that danger threatened.

With the noiseless tread of a puma the savage left his concealment. The shadow of a cloud does not cross the ground more silently than did the moccasined feet of the vengeful Ponca. Like a specter of ill omen he gained the foot of the ore-dump, and began climbing it without displacing a stone, or a thimbleful of sand.

Yet, as it happened, the Ponca was not unseen, even though the scout was oblivious of his presence. Another Indian, with a tread as silent, emerged from the bushes.

It was Wah-coo-tah.

She looked about her quickly, saw the Ponca mounting the ore-dump, taking up the pick as he went, and hastened breathlessly toward the shaft.

Wah-coo-tah was unarmed. Big Thunder had seen to that when he took the girl from the lodge of her people.

So, as Wah-coo-tah glided toward the shaft, she armed herself with a stone.

Big Thunder, coming close to the scout, suddenly swung the pick high in air. The scout, intent on probing whatever mystery lay at the bottom of the Forty Thieves shaft, seemed unconscious of everything that was going forward at the surface.

“Pa-e-has-ka!” screamed the Indian girl, as she flung the stone.

That wild cry of Wah-coo-tah’s broke the thrall of silence that had hovered over the tragic scene. The scout looked upward, saw the Ponca’s gleaming eyes and the raised pick, and saw the stone strike the Ponca’s uplifted arm.

The pick fell, but was deflected by the stone, and its point bit murderously into the stout planks of the platform.

Another instant and the scout had come to hand-grips with his red foe. Cody had had no time to draw knife or revolver, but the Ponca had succeeded in getting his own blade half-out of its scabbard before the white man closed with him.

A look into Big Thunder’s eyes convinced the scout that he would fight to the death, that he had come there either to kill or be killed.

The struggle was, at the beginning, for the possession of the Ponca’s half-drawn knife.

The oiled body of the savage slipped and wriggled in the scout’s hands, now pressing him closer, now dragging away, and every instant the redskin’s hand plucked steadily and resolutely at the knife.

Wah-coo-tah, excited and apprehensive, came to the top of the ore-dump, dodging this way and that to keep out of the way of the combatants, and seeking to be of service to Pa-e-has-ka.

With a magnificent effort, in which his greased arm and head slipped through the scout’s gripping fingers, Big Thunder managed to get the knife from its sheath.

“Get away, Wah-coo-tah!” panted the scout.

The girl drew back a pace, stooping to pick up another stone, and, if she got a chance to hurl it without striking the scout.

Once, twice, three times the murderous weapon rose in the air, but the scout evaded each blow by hurling himself to the right and left at the critical moment when the blade fell.

Wonderful indeed was it to note the agility of the white man, bending, twisting, side-stepping with all the grace and swiftness of a panther.

The scout sought to draw a revolver, but the Ponca watched his hands and pressed him closely whenever his fingers came close to the hand-grip of one of the Colts.

Suddenly the combatants broke apart, seemingly by tacit agreement. Quick as a dart, Big Thunder whirled sideways, and launched a sweeping blow at Wah-coo-tah.

Buffalo Bill detected the movement at his beginning. The moment’s grace afforded him would have been sufficient to allow him to draw the revolver he had been trying to get hold of, but he would not have had time to draw the revolver and shoot before the girl would have stopped the swinging knife.

Without making a try at his revolver, he reached out with both hands, caught the girl’s arm, and jerked her roughly from her feet.

Wah-coo-tah fell on the edge of the ore-dump and rolled down its steep side, while the Ponca’s knife flashed through the sunlight over the spot where she had stood a second before.

The scout leaped to the farther edge of the platform, his right hand flying to his belt.

Undaunted by his failure to strike the girl, Big Thunder was alert on the instant and ready to balk the scout’s attempt to get his revolver.

Between him and the scout yawned the hole in the platform. The Ponca sprang across it, but his moccasined feet tripped on the ox-hide bucket, and his leap fell short.

The toes of his moccasins caught the edge of the opening, he reeled there for a fraction of a second, seeking to recover his balance, then lurched backward, striking his spine and head against the opposite side of the opening.

For the space of a breath the scout saw him, doubled up in the square hole, every muscle gone limp, and arms and hands helpless to save him; then the form disappeared downward, and could be heard striking and bounding against the rocky walls of the shaft. Finally there came a sudden crash from far below, then death-like silence.

Buffalo Bill sank down on the platform, limp and breathless. Wah-coo-tah stole upward to him, knelt at his side, and peered curiously down into the shaft.

“Him dead,” she breathed; “Ponca him killed. Pa-e-has-ka save Wah-coo-tah again.”

“It’s about a stand-off, Wah-coo-tah,” said the scout. “If it hadn’t been for you the Ponca would have sunk that pick into my back. But I hadn’t much to do with his falling into that hole. That was more of a happenchance than anything else. He stumbled against the bucket.”

“Him bad Ponca,” said the girl, with visible satisfaction. “Heap good thing he fall into hole. He no fall into hole, then he ketch Wah-coo-tah, mebbyso, and some time kill Pa-e-has-ka. Me heap glad.”

“You saw him riding up the cañon?”

“Ai. Me know he come. Him pass rocks trailing Pa-e-has-ka’s horse. Then me follow.”

“He was mighty quiet about it,” muttered the scout. “I reckon that’s the first time a redskin ever caught me napping, but I was so wrapped up in that shaft that I hadn’t sense for anything else. The Ponca left his horse down the gulch, I suppose, and stole up on me?”

“All same,” said the girl. “When he leave um cayuse, me leave um cayuse, too. When he crawl through chaparral, me crawl through chaparral, too. Then me come out, watch um Ponca while he lift pick. Right off, me throw um rock and give yell. Pa-e-has-ka great warrior!” finished the girl, admiration in her eyes.

“That fight was nothing to brag about, Wah-coo-tah,” answered the scout deprecatingly. “I think I should have got the red in the end, but, as it turned out, an accident brought the fight to a close. There was more reason in your hiding out and watching for the Ponca than I had imagined.”

“Me know um Ponca,” said the girl.

The scout, having regained his breath, again knelt by the opening, and looked and listened. All was silent as before.

He pushed one hand into the opening and felt for a ladder, or a rope, but he could find neither. Wah-coo-tah, divining what he was looking for, hurried down the side of the ore-dump and returned with some twenty feet of rope which she had seen lying there. Silently she offered it to the scout.

“That may help, Wah-coo-tah,” said Buffalo Bill, “but I hardly think it is long enough. I’ll go for my riata.”

Having gone into the thicket and secured the riata from his saddle, the scout spliced it to the twenty feet of rope found by the girl, then lowered the spliced ropes down into the shaft, and made the upper end fast to the platform.

“Ponca dead,” said the girl. “Why Pa-e-has-ka go down and look?”

“I’m not going down to look at the Ponca, Wah-coo-tah, but to look for Wild Bill,” the scout answered. “You say you overheard talk between Seth Coomby and Clancy which led you to believe Wild Bill had come out to this mine with Lawless. Lawless returned to Sun Dance, and it may be he left Wild Bill here. I’m going down to find out.”

“Wah-coo-tah go, too?” the girl asked.

“Wah-coo-tah stay here,” the scout answered, throwing off his coat and hat. “Keep watch. If you see any one coming, fire two revolver-shots so that I may know, and climb back to the ore-dump. Sabe?”

“Me sabe, but me no got gun.”

“Take this one,” and the scout laid one of his forty-fives in the girl’s hand.

“Me watch,” said the girl. “Pa-e-has-ka trust Wah-coo-tah.”

After a precautionary glance around, the scout lowered himself through the opening and slid rapidly down the rope. At the lower end of it, his foot touched against something soft and yielding. Stepping over the object, he took a match from his pocket, and struck it against the wall of the shaft.

The object on the shaft’s bottom was what he had supposed it to be—the body of the Ponca. The Indian was dead.

Paying no further heed to the Ponca, the scout started along the level, lighting his way with matches. He had not proceeded far before he picked up a half-burned candle, and was able to continue his investigations to better purpose.

As he continued on along the crooked drift, the gleam of the candle sparkled on another object at his feet. He bent and picked it up, finding it to be an empty brass shell.

“Queer place for a shell,” he muttered, “particularly for a shotgun-shell. Who has been using a shotgun down here, and why?”

That old mine Buffalo Bill had conceived to hold a “pay-streak” for him, but as he proceeded onward without finding any trace of Wild Bill, he began to think that there was not so much of a pay-streak as he had imagined.

Then, the next minute, as he drew close to the end of the level, one of those surprises which occasionally drop across a person’s path with results undreamed of presented itself.

Ahead of him, in the flickering glow of the candle, he saw a form stretched out at the side of the level.

“Hickok!” he cried, running forward.

The form gave out an incoherent gurgle, and the scout fell to his knees and flashed the candle in front of the man’s face. An exclamation of astonishment escaped his lips.

The man was not Wild Bill, but Nomad!

The old trapper was securely roped and gagged. Although he could not talk, his eyes, wide open and peering upward into his pard’s face, spoke volumes.

Wedging the candle in between two stones of the hanging wall, the scout proceeded to strip the ropes from his old pard.

The trapper’s first words were surprising.

“Let’s git out o’ hyar!” he gasped, floundering to his feet and grabbing his pard’s arm.

“Wait a minute, Nick,” demurred the scout, “and don’t be in such a rush. What are you afraid of?”

“This hyar is ther Forty Thieves Mine, an’ it’s ha’nted. I been layin’ hyar in er cold sweat fer ther last two hours. Waugh! I kin stand flesh-an’-blood enemies, but when ye come down ter ghosts an’ whiskizoos, I’m shy my ante. Let’s hustle, Buffler!”

“Nick,” said the scout sternly, “pull yourself together and try and corral a little common sense. I came down here looking for Wild Bill, and I find you. Sit down, and tell me how you got here. What happened, anyway? You needn’t worry about those who captured you coming along and taking us by surprise. Wah-coo-tah is on the ore-dump, keeping watch for us. She’ll fire a couple of shots if anything goes wrong.”

Nomad, after casting a wild look around him, into the dark, hunched up on the floor of the level, close to Buffalo Bill.

“Et ain’t nothin’ human I’m afeared of, Buffler,” he declared, “but spooks an’ whiskizoos sartinly gits onter my narves. Waugh! I wouldn’t stay alone in this hyar pizen mine ef ye was ter pay me fer et. When ye found me I was tied up an’ couldn’t git erway, an’ I’m tellin’ ye I come mighty nigh kickin’ ther bucket jest on account o’ bein’ skeered. Br-r-r! Keep right alongside er me, Buffler.”

“What happened to you?” demanded the scout curtly.

Nomad rubbed his eyes, took another look around, and then replied.

“I come out o’ our room when ye went ter tork with Wah-coo-tah, and thet feller Smith was sneakin’ off inter ther bresh alongside the hotel. I hadn’t no idee what he was up ter, but his actions was mighty suspicious, so I made up my mind I’d foller him and see what was ther matter with him. He——”

Nomad gave another gasp and grabbed at his pard’s arm.

“D’ye hyer anythin,’ Buffler?” he demanded.

“Not a thing,” returned the scout. “Why, Nick, I never saw your nerves in such shape before. Forget about the spooks; at least, until you tell me what I want to know.”

The old trapper gulped, calmed himself with an effort, and went on.

“Waal, as I was er sayin’, Smith acted mighty quare. He slid through ther bushes ter ther slope leadin’ down inter ther cañon, an’ then he went down ther cañon, keepin’ in ther bushes all ther way. I was right arter him all ther time, kase I’d made up my mind ter keep ter ther trailin’ so long as he acted suspicious thet away.

“I reckon we must hev tramped two er three miles, hanging ter ther scrub all ther way, an’ never once showin’ ourselves in ther trail. Then”—and Nomad’s voice dropped wonderingly—“somethin’ happened ter me. Et come from behind, an’ I ain’t yet shore in my mind as ter what et was. Everythin’ got black in front er my eyes, an’ I didn’t remember nothin’ more till I come to in this place, roped an’ gagged like ye found me.

“Thar was two er three men around me, an’ one of ’em was Smith, ther feller I was trailin’. Thet feller ain’t no Easterner, Buffler, ye kin take my word fer thet.”

“Wah-coo-tah opened my eyes regarding J. Algernon Smith, Nick,” returned the scout. “The fellow’s a fake. His name is not Smith, but Lawless.”

“What!” cried Nomad. “Cap’n Lawless?”

“The same; and he is supposed to own this mine. Captain Lawless, too, is Wah-coo-tah’s father.”

“Wuss an’ wuss!” muttered Nomad, falling back against the wall. “This hyar is sartinly a day fer surprises. Ther gang, with Lawless at ther head, is workin’ some game. When they left me, Lawless told the fellers with him thet Bingham was expected on this arternoon’s stage from Montegordo, although who Bingham is, or why they’re expectin’ him, is too many fer me. Lawless said Bingham wouldn’t come ter ther Forty Thieves ontil ter-morrer, even ef he did git in on this arternoon’s stage, an’ thet they could come back hyar an’ take keer o’ me ter-night. Then they hiked out, an’, I reckon, pulled up ther ladders arter ’em.”

The scout mused for a moment.

“You were trailing Lawless,” said he, “and some one of Lawless’ men must have been trailing you. When the fellow behind you got the opportunity, he let drive at the back of your head.”

“Thet’s ther way o’ et. But how did ye know I was hyar, Buffler?”

“I didn’t know. I came here looking for Wild Bill, for I was told that he had come here, yesterday afternoon, with Lawless.”

“Who told ye thet?”

“Wah-coo-tah.”

Thereupon the scout, as hurriedly as he could, without neglecting any of the important details, informed his old pard of events that had recently taken place.

Just as the scout finished his recital, Nomad gave a smothered yell, and leaped as though he had been thrown from a catapult.

“Thar et is ergin,” he gasped huskily. “Hyer et, Buffler?”

The scout listened.

What he heard was a muffled sound, as of a groan, echoing dully along the underground passage.

CHAPTER VII. LAYING THE “GHOST.”

“Waugh!” chattered Nomad. “I been er layin’ hyar in mortil agony fer two long hours, hyerin’ thet sound. Ther Forty Thieves Mine is bad medicine; thar’s been crooked bizness o’ some kind hyar, an’ et’s ha’nted. Let’s skin out, Buffler! Br-r-r, but I got er bad attack o’ ther shakes.”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed the scout impatiently. “I don’t believe in ghosts. That sound, whatever it is, has a very human note, it seems to me.”

“Human?” whooped Nomad; “human? Et’s a whiskizoo, warnin’ us ter make ourselves plumb absent, er take ther consequences.”

“Listen!” commanded the scout.

The groaning noise was repeated, and there was certainly something unearthly about it, there in that ill-omened place. This time, however, it was followed by a tapping as of one stone against another.

“Ain’t this orful, Buffler?” muttered the old trapper, brushing his sleeve across his dripping forehead. “I don’t reckon we’re ever goin’ ter live ter git out o’ hyar.”

The scout gave no further attention to Nomad, but took the candle down from the wall and started slowly along the level in the direction of the shaft.

“Hello!” he shouted, at the top of his voice.

The voice answered with another groan—less a groan, perhaps, than spoken words, jumbled together by distance and a muffling barrier.

The scout called again, and again; apparently, he was answered. Groping along, the wall, calling and trying to locate the place from which the answers came, he halted suddenly at what seemed to be a break in the side of the level.

The break was of broken rocks and not, like the rest of the walls, of a single mass of stone. Picking up a splintered fragment, the scout tapped with it on the débris. The tapping was returned, clearly from the opposite side.

Nomad’s fears had been giving way to curiosity, and he followed the scout’s movements with deep interest.

“Is that you, Wild Bill?” yelled the scout, his lips close to the break in the wall.

Something was returned—a single monosyllable, which sounded very much like “Yes.”

“Snarlin’ catermounts!” exclaimed old Nomad. “Ye don’t mean ter say, pard, thet Wild Bill has been makin’ them noises?”

“It seems likely,” replied the scout, starting for the shaft.

“Whar is he? An’ what’s he doin’ in er solid wall?”

“It isn’t a solid wall. He’s somewhere back of that broken stone, and it’s up to us to get him out as quick as possible.”

Reaching the shaft, Buffalo Bill lifted his face. “Wah-coo-tah!” he called.

The girl’s head appeared over the opening.

“Haul up the rope,” instructed the scout, “and then tie the pick to it and let it down.”

The girl obeyed the order. While she was doing it, the scout told Nomad to take the candle and go through the drift hunting for any tools he could find.

By the time Buffalo Bill had returned to the break in the wall with the pick, Nomad was waiting for him with two more half-burned candles, and with a shovel.

“Ther shovel is all I could find, Buffler,” said the trapper.

“That’s enough, Nick. We have a pick and shovel, and there are only two of us to work. Light all the candles, and wedge them into the wall in places where they will give us the most light. We’ve got to hurry. There’s no telling how much air Wild Bill has in there, nor how long he can hold out. What’s more, Lawless and his gang may return at any moment and interrupt our work.”

While he was talking, the scout began driving the pick into the mass of débris, throwing the broken stones to right and left.

After lighting and placing the candles where they would best serve the scout’s purpose, Nomad fell to with the shovel.

The efforts of the two pards were concentrated upon a limited space, well toward the top of the barrier. It was only necessary to make a hole large enough for Wild Bill to crawl through, and that is what they strove to do. As they continued digging, however, the loosened stones fell from above, so that it was necessary to force an opening from about the middle of the barrier upward to the roof of the level.

The scout and the trapper worked like galley-slaves. By degrees the voice on the other side of the wall became clearer as the barrier diminished; then, suddenly, the voice ceased altogether.

“What does thet mean?” panted Nomad, pausing a second to peer at his pard.

“Hickok!” shouted the scout, likewise pausing.

No answer came back.

“It means,” went on Buffalo Bill, “that we’ve got to work faster than ever. Wild Bill has succumbed to the foul air, and he’ll die if we don’t get him out before many minutes.”

They jumped at the barrier like madmen, and to such good purpose did they ply pick and shovel, that, a few moments after Wild Bill had ceased to call to them, the scout’s pick went through the wall, and a mass of broken stones tumbled outward, leaving a good-sized opening.

Without waiting an instant, Buffalo Bill seized a candle and forced himself through the breach.

When he let himself down on the other side, he found that he was in a chamber, about as wide as the main level and twice as deep. On the floor Wild Bill lay sprawled, a heap of knotted rope beside him.

“Is he thar, Buffler?” called Nomad from the level.

“Yes.”

“Alive?”

“I think so. The foul air got the best of him. Stand by to take him as I push him through.”

“Send him erlong,” answered the old trapper. “I’m blamed ef this ain’t ther strangest thing We, Us an’ Comp’ny ever went up ag’inst.”

Buffalo Bill put down his candle and lifted the limp form from the rocky floor. Nomad reached through and caught the form by the shoulders, dragging it to the other side and laying it down on the bottom of the level.

The next moment the scout had clambered clear of the breach and rejoined his pard.

“Hadn’t we better take him ter ther surface, Buffler?” asked Nomad. “Mebbyso a leetle water ’u’d help ter bring him ’round.”

“Pure air is all he needs,” the scout replied, “although, I suppose, if he has been shut up there long, both water and food would be acceptable.”

“This hyar must be ther work o’ thet skunk, Lawless,” growled Nomad.

“No doubt of it.”

“But whyever did he treat Wild Bill like thet?”

“We’ll know in a few minutes. Ah!” the scout added, noticing Wild Bill’s breast expand convulsively, “he’s coming to himself.”

The scout took off his hat and fanned the air in front of Wild Bill’s face. Then, presently, Wild Bill’s eyelids flickered open, and his dazed eyes stared upward at the scout.

“By gorry!” were Wild Bill’s first words, “you were a deuce of a long time getting to Sun Dance, Cody.”

“We were, that,” answered the scout, considerably relieved, “but we got here at last.”

“And right in the nick,” added Wild Bill, floundering to a sitting posture; “another ten minutes and it would have been all day with me. Got anything to eat or drink?”

“Nick,” said the scout, “go to the shaft and tell Wah-coo-tah that we have found Wild Bill, and that he is hungry and thirsty. See what she can do.”

“On ther jump,” returned Nomad, taking one of the candles and scrambling for the shaft.

“You’ve evidently had a rough time of it, Hickok,” observed the scout.

“Rough? That’s too mild a word. What day is this?”

“Wednesday afternoon.”

“And I was walled up in that stub-end of a crosscut Monday night. It seemed like a year instead of two nights and going on two days. Woosh! Of all the tortures that have ever been tried on me, that was the worst.”

“Are you hurt any?”

“Not to speak of. Limp as a rag, that’s all. The air wasn’t any too good, and, of course, it kept getting worse and worse.”

Just then Nomad came back from the shaft. He had a piece of jerked beef and a square cloth, soaked in water.

Wild Bill took the cloth and wrung it out against his lips, then ate a little of the jerked beef.

“I’m not as hungry or thirsty as I thought I was,” said he. “I’m used to going without water or food for days at a stretch.”

“Who holed you up in that way?” asked the scout.

“A man in a linen duster. He blew into Sun Dance Tuesday afternoon, on the Montegordo stage, and said his name was J. Algernon Smith, of Chicago. That tinhorn, pards, is sure the original two-tongue man. His right name is Lawless, and he’s a thirty-second degree confidence man and desperado.”

“We have already had dealings with J. Algernon,” said the scout grimly. “We walked into his trap, I reckon, about as easily as you did. But go on, Hickok. If you feel able, give us the whole of it.”

“I’m able, all right—getting stronger every minute. Pure air was the main thing, and I’m making the most of it.”

Then, at considerable length, Wild Bill set forth his experiences, beginning with his ride to Sun Dance with Crawling Bear, and his investigation of the shooting in the mine.

“A job of salt!” muttered Buffalo Bill. “The atmosphere is beginning to clear.”

“Lawless,” proceeded Wild Bill, “is expecting a man here to take ore-samples from the mine. If the mine pans out, according to schedule, a hundred thousand is to change hands. That would be quite a plum to fall into the hands of a squawman like Lawless.”

“It will never fall into the hands of Lawless now.”

“I should say not,” said Hickok; “and let us emphasize the ‘now.’ Seeing the stranger get off the Montegordo stage, I thought he was the come-on, and, always being ready to stretch out a helping hand to the unfortunate, I stretched out a hand to Lawless—and Lawless played me to a fare-you-well. He acted the part of the Eastern come-on to the life.”

“The Easterner’s name is Bingham, not Smith,” said the scout.

“It was all one to me, at that stage of the game,” and Wild Bill proceeded with his account.

The way he had been lured to the slope, ostensibly to meet Clancy, and the way Clancy had unexpectedly met him from behind with a club, was told; then followed a description of what took place in the mine, the setting off of the three blasts, and the retreat of Lawless and his men.

“I closed my eyes,” said Wild Bill, “when the charges went off. Lawless had told me that Clancy was a master hand at setting off giant powder, and that he had drilled the holes in such a way that I wouldn’t be touched by flying rock, but would be neatly and securely walled into a rocky chamber. I wasn’t taking Lawless’ word for anything, and expected as much as could be that I would be hit by a splinter of rock, and wiped out. I wasn’t much caring, between the three of us. Death seemed certain, anyway, and I was rather hoping it would be quick, rather than long-drawn out.

“But Clancy must have known his business. After my ears had recovered from the jar, I opened my eyes, and discovered several things. But I didn’t discover them by sight, for I was in the blackest kind of night.

“The first of my discoveries was this, that I wasn’t hurt by the explosion. The next discovery was that the powder-fumes had not entered my chamber as thickly as I supposed they would do. Most of the fumes must have passed into the level, from some cause that I can’t exactly figure out. However that may be, the absence of powder-smoke left the little air I had just that much clearer and purer.

“I was bound hand and foot, and I made it my first business to get loose. The sharp corner of a stone helped me, for I sat up and chafed my bonds over it, and soon had my hands free. To get the rope off my ankles, after that, was mere child’s play.

“As soon as I was able to move around, I sounded the barrier between me and the drift. It seemed thick enough, and I reached for a new knife I had bought in Sun Dance, with the idea of using it to dig with. But Lawless had stripped me of knife and guns. Not having the knife, I worked with my hands.

“It was a slow job, Cody, but I wonder if you’ve ever noticed how a man will work when his life is at stake? Well, that was me, just then. I sailed into that wall with my hands and finger-nails, and I would have gone at it with my teeth if I hadn’t had the use of my hands.

“After about fifty years—that’s what it seemed like, anyhow—I noticed that I was getting weak, and that I wasn’t making much of a hole in the barrier. The air was getting bad, too, and I thought I’d better give up my plan as a bad job. If I got out, I thought, the chances were I’d fall right back into the hands of Lawless and his men again.

“So I quit work on the barrier and laid down and went to sleep. When I woke up and realized where I was, the old hope of making my escape took hold of me. I hadn’t the strength to work, so I began to yell, and to tap on the wall.

“I hadn’t much of an idea that any one would hear me but Lawless and his gang, but I was that desperate I felt I must do something.”

Wild Bill fell silent for a space, studying the flickering candles on the wall of the level.

“I wonder,” he resumed finally, “if you fellows know what it means to feel that you are in the last ditch, with a lot of buckaroos throwing in the sand, when, all at once, something snakes you out of what was meant to be your grave, and lands you in safety, with ground to spare? Well, if you’ve ever experienced that, you’ll understand how I felt when I heard an answer to one of my yells, and, a little later, heard blows of a pick.

“I didn’t know who it was out here in the level, but a sneaking idea took possession of me that it was Bingham, the fellow who had come to the Forty Thieves to chip ore-samples. I had that idea when the foul air became too much for me, and I dozed off. So it was something of a surprise when I opened my eyes and saw Pard Cody.

“Well, when all’s said and done, here I am, alive and kicking, and able to tote my guns and face trouble just as I’ve done in the past. All that bothers me now is playing even with Lawless. I’d like mighty well, though, to hear how you fellows came to be in the mine.”

“Nomad brought me here,” said the scout. “He was trapped by J. Algernon Smith in a similar way to what you were, and he was brought here and left in the level, bound and gagged. I came to find you, and found him. He was in a sorry fix, Nick was, Hickok. He told me he had heard ghosts, and he was for leaving the mine on the run.”

The old trapper wore a sheepish look.

“Waal,” he grunted, “them noises I heerd shore sounded like they mout be ghosts. No human bein’ ever made sich sounds, accordin’ ter my thinkin’.”

“It’s blamed lucky for me,” observed Wild Bill, “that Cody isn’t superstitious. If he had been, Bill Hickok would have been company front with his finish. But tell me everything. I’m like a man that has been in solitary confinement for so long that the mere sound of a human voice is refreshing. Talk to me, you fellows, and I’ll lean back against the wall and listen.”

Hickok was fully informed of preceding events by the scout and the trapper, Wah-coo-tah being brought into the recital, since she alone had furnished the scout the tip that had led him to the mine.

“From what you say of the girl,” remarked Wild Bill, “she seems to be of a different caliber from that of her tinhorn father.”

“She is,” averred the scout, “if I’m any judge of character.”

“It’s a good thing for her the Ponca slipped into the shaft. But for that, he’d have caught her, sooner or later. An Injun isn’t giving up five good ponies just to let himself be beaten out of his bargain.”

Wild Bill got to his feet and gave himself a shake.

“Feel like climbing fifty feet of rope, Hickok?” asked the scout.

“I feel like trying,” was the reply, “but whether I could get to the top or not is a horse of another color.”

“We kin rig a tackle an’ snake ye up,” said Nomad; “all ye got ter do is ter hang in er noose, an’——”

Nomad stopped short. From a distance came the reports of two revolver-shots, fired in quick succession.

“Trouble!” shouted the scout, snatching a candle from the wall and leaping away in the direction of the shaft. “That’s the signal Wah-coo-tah was to give us if any of that gang of scoundrels came this way.”

“I’m hopin’ ther trouble won’t reach ther gal afore we kin shin up ther rope an’ jine her,” cried the trapper.

“We’ll not be of much account in a gun-fight, Nomad,” said Wild Bill. “You’re not heeled, and neither am I.”

When Nomad and Wild Bill reached the bottom of the shaft, Buffalo Bill was already on his way up the rope. A rattle of revolver-firing came from the ore-dump, and the king of scouts climbed toward it with frantic haste.

CHAPTER VIII. THE FIGHT AT THE ORE-DUMP.

When Buffalo Bill raised his head and shoulders above the edge of the platform, bullets flew about his ears like a swarm of angry bees. He could not see the Indian girl, and he could not see any enemies, but a shout from the girl called his attention as soon as he had pulled himself out on the planks.

“Here, Pa-e-has-ka!” the girl called.

Her voice came from the side of the cañon, and the scout saw her head lifted over a heap of boulders.

Bullets continued to sweep the ore-platform, but, before the scout hurried to join Wah-coo-tah, he knelt, picked up his hat and coat, and called to his pards.

“Stay where you are!” he ordered. “You haven’t any guns, and you’d only be in the way.”

Having delivered these instructions, he whirled and leaped down the side of the ore-dump. Bullets from behind boulders across the cañon followed him as he ran, yet he managed to gain the barrier, behind which Wah-coo-tah had taken refuge, without injury.

“Who are the men?” were the scout’s first words.

“My fadder and the other Yellow Eyes,” replied the girl.

“How many, Wah-coo-tah?”

“Seven.”

“That means the whole gang is here,” observed the scout, thinking dejectedly of his brace of Colts, which were all the firearms he and his pards had. “Where are the gang’s horses, Wah-coo-tah?”

“No sabe,” answered the girl. “Mebbyso cayuses left up the gulch. When they come they walk, creep ’long behind rocks. Me no see um till they come close. Then me shoot, and they begin to shoot, too. No like um. Heap bad Yellow Eyes.”

“Have they got rifles?”

“No got um rifles; got revolvers.”

“If there are seven of them, and they have each a brace of six-shooters, then they have fourteen revolvers to our two. Unless something unexpected happens, they’re going to give us a run for our money.”

Very cautiously Buffalo Bill looked over the top of the boulders and sized up the enemy’s position. Lawless and his men appeared to be scattered up and down the opposite side of the cañon, every one of them back of a boulder.

The firing was not so brisk as it had been, and it was quite probable that Lawless was himself taking stock of the situation before allowing matters to go any further. As a point to this conclusion of the scout’s, the head of Lawless, capped with its black sombrero showed above the top of a boulder almost directly opposite where the scout was standing.

Quick as lightning, Buffalo Bill let fly a bullet at the black hat. Lawless ducked down just in time to save himself; and, the next moment, Buffalo Bill himself was obliged to drop, for bullets began to fly thick and fast.

“Stop your shooting!”

It was the voice of Lawless, and went ringing down the cañon. Instantly the fusillade ceased.

“Buffalo Bill!” called Lawless.

“What do you want?” asked the scout, keeping under cover.

“You have my girl over there, and if you’ll give her up, we’ll let you and your pards go, providing you agree to return to Fort Sill and not go back to Sun Dance.”

Wah-coo-tah, crouching behind the stones, put out her hands and caught the scout’s arm imploringly.

“No, no!” she breathed.

“You want to sell the girl to some other buck for five ponies, eh?” called Buffalo Bill, in a tone of contempt.

“It’s none of your business what I want to do. She’s a fiery jade, and there’s no living in the same lodge with her. Will you give her up?”

“Certainly not. She doesn’t want to go back to you.”

“I can make you give her up,” stormed Lawless. “The officers at Fort Sill, if I laid the case before them, would force you to turn the girl over to her people.”

“You’ll not lay the case before the officers at Sill,” taunted the scout; “they’d like mighty well to have you come there and try it. You’re a pretty sort of man to have charge of a girl like Wah-coo-tah!”

“For the last time”—and Lawless’ voice shook with rage—“are you going to let me have my daughter?”

“And for the last time. No!” roared the scout.

“Then you’ll never leave this cañon alive. Go on with your shooting, boys!”

The last words were a command to the members of the gang, and the crack of weapons again resounded. All the shooting, however, was a waste of good ammunition. The bullets hissed through the air or patted harmlessly against the rocks. So long as the fighters kept themselves hidden there was no danger of casualties.

Changing his position, Buffalo Bill threw himself down at full length, and looked out around the end of the boulder breastwork that shielded him and Wah-coo-tah.

What he saw filled him with consternation. While he had been parleying with Lawless, two of Lawless’ men had left their boulders and stolen up on the ore-dump. Under the protection of the rock pile, the two rascals were making for the platform.

Was it their intention to cut the rope that was hanging in the shaft? the scout asked himself. If it was, and if Nomad or Wild Bill happened at the moment to be climbing upward, cutting the rope would drop them downward, and perhaps cause them to meet the doom that had overtaken the Ponca.

In the hope of keeping the two men from the platform, the scout concentrated his fire upon the ore-dump. The men on the other side of it were carrying out their plans warily, and the scout was given little chance at them.

When they reached the top of the ore-dump, the scoundrels pushed two boulders onto the platform to shield their bodies from the scout’s bullets; then, pushing the stones in front of them, they crawled, snakelike, toward the shaft opening.

The scout’s bullets slapped and hissed against the moving stones, but without doing any damage to the men behind them. All the scoundrels laughed. They seemed to understand the scout’s fears and the laugh was a taunt because they considered that they had baffled him.

Buffalo Bill was just planning a rush back to the ore-dump—a daredevil charge across the open with every outlaw’s weapon firing at him—when something happened which he had not looked for.

The stones on the platform were close to the opening, when, with startling suddenness, old Nomad popped through the hole like a Jack-in-the-box. He took in the situation at a glance, and dropped down on the two desperadoes.

One of the men started to jump up and run, but Nomad’s fist shot out like a battering-ram, and the villain pitched head first down the rocky side of the dump.

The men across the cañon did not dare shoot at the trapper for fear of wounding their friends. Nomad understood this, and took full benefit of the grace allowed him.

The scoundrel who still remained on the dump chanced to be Seth Coomby. Nomad dropped a heavy knee on Coomby’s chest, and ripped the revolvers out of his hands. Shoving one revolver into the breast of his shirt, he picked Coomby up by the scruff of the neck, held him in front as a breastwork, and started down the slope, firing as he went, and forcing Coomby ahead of him.

But Nomad was not making for the boulders where the scout had taken refuge, but for the other side of the cañon, where Lawless and the rest of his men were doing their fighting.

It was a reckless piece of work on Nomad’s part. The old trapper, however, was filled with rage at the way Lawless and his men had treated him. He wanted to play “even,” and was willing to take chances to do so.

Hardly had Nomad reached the bottom of the ore-dump, when Wild Bill showed himself on the platform. Whether the outlaws were too much occupied watching Nomad’s work with Coomby, or whether they were paralyzed at Wild Bill’s appearance, yet the fact remains that they did not fire at him.

Coomby’s companion on the ore-dump—none other than the man who has figured as “Andy”—had dropped one of his revolvers at the time he was overturned by the old trapper’s fist.

Wild Bill’s quick eye caught sight of the weapon, and he picked it up, flourished it in the air with a yell, and leaped after Nomad toward the opposite side of the cañon.

The scout, witnessing the trend of affairs, decided that he ought to take part in the charge of his pards. Unless the attack was hotly pressed, neither Nomad nor Wild Bill would come out of the skirmish alive.

At the very moment when Buffalo Bill threw himself across the boulders, a thump of horses’ feet came from down the cañon.

“We’re coming, pard!” whooped a shrill, feminine voice.

The scout looked down the gulch and saw Dauntless Dell and Little Cayuse plying quirt and spur, and hurrying to take part in the combat.

“Hyar comes our other two pards!” jubilated Nomad. “Now, ye varmints, will ye hunt yer holes?”

CHAPTER IX. DELL AND CAYUSE ALSO DELAYED.

From the moment Dauntless Dell’s shrill cry echoed through the cañon, panic struck at the hearts of Captain Lawless and his men. The villainous crew saw five determined foes bearing down on them.

“Scatter!” yelled Captain Lawless, and immediately suited his actions to the word.

Keeping themselves under cover of the rocks, the stampeded scoundrels finally gained the shelter of the scrub, and could be heard thrashing about in a mad endeavor to get to their horses and away.

At this point, Nomad’s ardor got the better of him, and caused him to lose his prisoner, Coomby.

Pushing fiercely toward the bushes, and shoving Coomby ahead of him, Nomad was making a wild effort to keep up the fight.

Coomby, unable to stand up under the pressure exerted on him from behind, stumbled over a stone. Nomad, who could not stop his headlong rush, went sprawling over Coomby, and both lay for an instant in a tangle on the ground.

Fear did for Coomby what the lust for battle could not do for Nomad; and the outlaw succeeded in beating the trapper in getting up, and was off and away before he could be caught.

Dell and Cayuse shot on along the cañon in pursuit. Buffalo Bill got astride Bear Paw, Nomad found Wah-coo-tah’s pony, and Wild Bill picked up the cayuse belonging to the dead Ponca.

Lawless and his men had torn their horses loose from the bushes where they had been secured, and had lost themselves in the chaparral.

The scout and his pards hunted the cañon through, up and down and from side to side, but without result. Lawless and his gang had made their escape.

“Whar ther bloomin’ blazes did they go, anyways?” demanded Nomad, his voice heavy with chagrin and disappointment, when he and the rest of the scout’s party rounded up once more in the vicinity of the ore-dump.

“They know the country better than we do, Nick,” said Buffalo Bill, “and they have made a clean get-away.”

“Waugh, but et shore glooms me up!” growled the trapper. “I got er bone ter pick with thet outfit.”

“So have I,” put in Wild Bill, with a soothing grin, “but I reckon the bone can wait. What’s the use of being in a rush, Nomad?”

“We kin afford ter wait, as fur as thet goes, but I like ter make a clean up as I purceed.”

“We’ve had enough of this for a while,” put in the scout. “Hickok has been pretty active for a man who has been so long without anything to eat or drink, and it will be close to supper-time when we get back to Spangler’s. We’ll ride for Sun Dance, and leave Lawless and his men to be dealt with later. Ah!” the scout added, facing about in his saddle. “Come here, Wah-coo-tah. I was just wondering what had become of you.”

During the flight and pursuit, the scout had lost track of the Indian girl. She now came around the base of the ore-dump and hurried toward him.

Dell Dauntless and Cayuse scrutinized the girl curiously.

“Who is she, Buffalo Bill?” asked Dell.

“Wah-coo-tah is her name,” the scout answered. “She is the daughter of Fire-hand, otherwise Captain Lawless.”

“Ugh!” muttered Little Cayuse.

“His daughter!” echoed Dell.

“She’s a friend of ours, though, for all that,” said the scout, taking in a kindly grip the hand Wah-coo-tah held out to him.

With a swing, he landed the girl on Bear Paw’s back at the saddle-cantle.

“You see,” explained the scout, “Nomad and I saved Wah-coo-tah from a Ponca warrior who had bought her from Lawless for five ponies. Wah-coo-tah was not pleased with her father’s arrangement, and broke away from the Ponca. Nomad and I happened to be near enough to interfere in her behalf. She did not forget what we had done for her, but has rendered us good service in this affair of Wild Bill’s. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Wah-coo-tah, it is probable Wild Bill would have lost his life, and perhaps Nomad, too.”

Dell Dauntless spurred her white cayuse, Silver Heels, alongside of Bear Paw, and took Wah-coo-tah’s hand.

“If you have done all this,” smiled Dell engagingly, “you’re entitled to the friendship of all of us. You must be a brave girl, Wah-coo-tah.”

The Cheyenne maiden studied Dell for a few moments, then turned away rather curtly.

“What’s the matter with her?” whispered Dell to Wild Bill.

“Well, she thinks she’s got first lien on the scout,” laughed Wild Bill, “and you look to her like a claimant for first honors.”

At that Dell laughed, too.

“You can’t tell about these Injuns,” went on Wild Bill, “especially when they happen to be breeds. Wah-coo-tah is mighty pretty, though.”

“Do you think so?” asked Dell.

“I do, for a fact. What’s more, I’ll never forget what she has done for me.”

After Buffalo Bill had dismounted and got his riata from the shaft, he climbed into his saddle again and gave the word that started the party for Sun Dance.

“You and Cayuse are several hours behind schedule, Dell,” said the scout. “Did you meet with trouble on the way?”

“We lost the trail,” said Dell, “and it took us several hours to find it.”

“Rather queer that Cayuse should have gone astray like that,” commented the scout, with a look at the Piute.

Cayuse seemed very much abashed.

“It wasn’t his fault, pard,” went on Dell. “I thought we could take a short cut, just as you and Nomad did, and maybe save an hour. That, as I figured it, would bring us into Sun Dance not more than an hour behind you. Cayuse said we couldn’t do it, and that the country was so hard to travel even jack-rabbits couldn’t get over it. I had my way, though, and the upshot of it was that we had to give up and go back to the trail. But the trail was hard to find, and that’s where we lost our time. You seem to have been having plenty of excitement on this part of the range,” Dell added, with a questioning look around at the scout and his pards, “and Cayuse and I have missed all of it.”

“Ye had er taste o’ ther excitement, Dell, when ye rode inter thet leetle shoot-fiesta o’ our’n,” spoke up Nomad.

“Umph!” grunted Cayuse. “That no fight. Him all over before Yellow Hair and Cayuse come.”

“How did it happen, Buffalo Bill?” asked Dell.

“There’s a whole lot of it, pard,” the scout answered, “and to get at it from all sides would take a heap of time. Over our supper, at Spangler’s, is where we can hold our powwow. Wild Bill there hasn’t had anything to eat for two days.”

“Don’t keep reminding me of it, Cody,” said Wild Bill. “Just because you mentioned the fact, I’ve got to pull my belt up another hole. If that starvation-act of mine is referred to many times more, I’ll be cut in two.”

Dell laughed at the grimace which accompanied the words.

“What sort of business did you want Buffalo Bill for, Wild Bill?” she asked.

“I had a bunch of rascals holed up in that mine back there, and wanted Pard Cody to come on and help me run them in. By the time Cody got here, the rascals had got out and had run me in.”

“But what was the work?”

“A job of salt, Miss Dauntless. Lawless and his gang were blowing fine gold into a played-out mine with a shotgun. I saw some of the performance. While I was looking on, two of the gang saw me. I managed to get away, but it was a close call; then, the next day, my charitable and amiable disposition steered me right into the bunch of trouble-makers once more, and they had me so I couldn’t move. That paper-talk I sent to Buffalo Bill went astray, I understand, and Crawling Bear was killed by Cheyennes. Too bad, too bad! I think Crawling Bear stacked up closer to a white man than many other Indians I’ve known. By the way, Cody, what are you going to do with Wah-coo-tah?”

“There’s nothing for me to do, I reckon, but to send her back to the Cheyennes.”

“No, no!” cried Wah-coo-tah. “Me no go back to Cheyennes.”

“It’s like this, Wah-coo-tah,” explained the scout. “The Ponca who gave up the five ponies for you is dead, and your father won’t dare show himself among the Cheyennes after what has happened here in Sun Dance Cañon. You’ll be perfectly safe with your people.”

“Me want to stay with Pa-e-has-ka!” averred Wah-coo-tah. “Pa-e-has-ka good friend of Wah-coo-tah. No like to go back to Cheyennes.”

“What did I tell you?” Wild Bill whispered in Dell’s ear.

“Of course,” flared Dell, “Wah-coo-tah couldn’t travel with the scout and his pards.”

“Of course not!” agreed Wild Bill. “Petticoat pards are all right, but they make a heap of trouble, now and then. You’ll be going back to your ranch in Arizona, one of these days, I suppose——”

“Just as soon as I can,” snapped Dell, and Wild Bill wondered what it was that had put an edge to her temper.

The shadows were lengthening across the flat in Sun Dance Cañon when Buffalo Bill and his pards rode up to the door of the Lucky Strike Hotel.

The bulky proprietor was sitting in front, as usual, but his ragged palm-leaf fan lay beside him. The cool of the evening was always grateful to Bije Spangler.

“Whoof!” sputtered Spangler, as the cavalcade of riders drew to a halt in front of his establishment. “What’s this, Buffalo Bill? You escortin’ a band o’ Injuns ter a new reserve, or what?”

“We’re here to stay with you for a while, Spangler,” said the scout.

“It’s agin’ my rules ter take in any reds,” averred Spangler.

“You’ll have to take these in,” said the scout. “The boy is my Piute pard, Little Cayuse, and the girl is the daughter of Captain Lawless. Miss Dauntless, my girl pard, will share the room Wild Bill occupied, and which Nomad and I later put up in, with Wah-coo-tah. The rest of us will bunk where we can. And a word to you, Spangler,” the scout added, dropping down from his saddle, “anything you say against one of my pards, white or red, you say against me. Just remember that.”

The tone in which the scout spoke sent a shiver through Spangler.

“No harm meant, no harm meant,” he sputtered. “O’ course, Buffalo Bill, whatever you say goes.”

“It’s an honor to your one-horse hangout for a boy like Little Cayuse, or a girl like Wah-coo-tah, to stay in it. Is supper ready?”

“The Chink jest come out an’ hammered the gong,” said Spangler. “Walk right in an’ set down whenever ye’re ready.”

The party dismounted and went into the hotel office. Cayuse led away the horses, and saw that they were properly cared for.

Buffalo Bill, Nomad, Wild Bill, Cayuse, Dell Dauntless, Wah-coo-tah, and one other, had a table all to themselves. The “one other” was a slender little man in a neat black suit, which spoke relentlessly of the East.

The little man was painfully pale, and seemed dismayed to find himself surrounded by such an assortment of white men and Indians.

His first “break” was to ask the Chinaman who waited on their table for a napkin. The Chinaman went back and exchanged some heated words with the other Chinaman in the kitchen; then both Chinamen went out in front of the hotel and held a low conversation with Spangler. As a result, Spangler waddled into the dining-room, and walked to where the little man in black was sitting.

“Looky here, you!” rumbled Spangler, his great body shaking all over with suppressed wrath, “was you the one as asked the Chink fer a napkin?”

“I—I have always been accustomed to eating with napkins,” answered the little man, with a frightened, upward glance.

“Mebby you take this here eatin’-joint fer the Palmer House, hey? Or mebby it’s the Delmonico restaurant ye think it is? I’ve run this feedin’-place fer two years, an’ this here’s the first time any one who has ever fed here has insulted me!”

“I had no intention of insulting you, sir, I assure you,” said the little man. “I—I—why, it is customary to have napkins at meals in—in Chicago, where I come from.”

“Out here ye kin use the back o’ yer hand fer a napkin,” growled Spangler, “an’ if ye’re afeared o’ gittin’ anythin’ on yer clothes, why, don’t wear clothes that’s so easy sp’iled. Do ye sabe my pidgin? If ye don’t, an’ if what I say don’t set well, ye kin take yer ole carpet bag an’ hike.”

Under this wheezy torrent of words the little man wilted. When Spangler turned around and waddled off, the stranger was ready to throw aside his knife and fork and eat with his fingers if any one had suggested it.

“My friend,” said the scout, smothering a laugh and leaning toward the stranger, “does your name happen to be Bingham?”

The little man jumped.

“It is,” said he; “Alonzo Bingham.”

“And you hail from Chicago.”

“I do, yes, sir.”

“You have come here to look over the Forty Thieves Mine with a view to buying it of Captain Lawless?”

“Why, my gracious!” cried Alonzo Bingham, “how did you ever find out about that?”

“Isn’t it a fact?” asked Buffalo Bill.

“Yes, it is a fact, although I’m troubled to know where you got your information.”

“We troubled some ter git et, Mr. Bingham,” put in Nomad, with a wink at Wild Bill.

“Exactly,” said Wild Bill, “and I hope I’ll never be troubled so much in the same way again. I don’t believe I could stand it.”

“As I understand, Mr. Bingham,” proceeded the scout, “if the rock you took from the Forty Thieves assayed properly, you were to pay Lawless a hundred thousand for the mine?”

“I and some friends were going to form a syndicate and buy the mine, if it proved as represented,” said Mr. Bingham.

“Ther comp’ny you an’ yer friends hev formed,” announced Nomad gravely, “ain’t a marker ter ther skindicate thet was formed at this end o’ ther line.”

“I—I am at a loss to understand you, gentlemen,” said Mr. Bingham, wrinkling his brows.

“Lawless and some friends of his,” explained Buffalo Bill, “have salted the mine.”

“Salted the mine? Really, what does that mean? I never heard of such a thing.”

Nomad sank back in his chair with a groan.

“Draw er diagram o’ et fer him, somebody. He’s got ter hev et pictered out.”

“It’s this way, Mr. Bingham,” proceeded the scout. “Lawless and his friends went to the mine and filled the rocks in the end of the level with gold. Understand? When you go there to get your samples, you will find rock that has been doctored. It will assay way up, but the assays will fool you. It’s a case of plain robbery, and nothing more.”

“Dear me!” said Alonzo Bingham, looking worried.

“Look here, Cody,” said Wild Bill, dropping his voice and taking something out of his pocket. “You’re telling friend Bingham the truth about the salting, but you’re wide of your trail when you say the Forty Thieves is worthless. Cast your eyes over that.”

Wild Bill rolled upon the table a piece of ore as big as an egg. It was the sort of ore occasionally described as “gold with some quartz in it.”

Little wires of yellow metal covered it all over, encasing it like a spider-web.

“Jumpin’ cougars!” breathed Nomad.

“What in the world!” piped Alonzo Bingham.

“Great Scott!” exclaimed Buffalo Bill, picking up the ore-sample. “Where did you get that, Hickok?”

“I found the pay-streak that the original owners of the Forty Thieves must have lost,” chuckled Wild Bill. “That bit of ore almost cost me my life, Cody. It came from that walled-off end of the stub-drift. The explosion at the entrance jarred down some rock and uncovered the pay-streak. I struck a match, when I first found myself with hands and feet free, and that pay-streak was the first thing I saw. When I realized that burning matches consumed oxygen, and that oxygen was the only thing to keep me alive, I quit striking lights, and, almost mechanically, dropped that bit of ore into my pocket.”

“Mr. Bingham,” said the scout, “I beg your pardon. The Forty Thieves, from this showing made by my friend, Mr. Hickok, looks like a good purchase. But Lawless doesn’t know anything about that pay-streak. In negotiating for the mine, if I were you I wouldn’t say anything about it.”

“When he goes out to find Lawless and close up the deal,” said Wild Bill, “Mr. Bingham, I’m afraid, will have to do a good deal of hunting. In his efforts to beat somebody, Lawless has salted a bonanza onto Mr. Bingham and his Chicago syndicate. All I ask, Mr. Bingham, for this friendly tip I have given you, is that you communicate with me as soon as you find Captain Lawless, of the Forty Thieves.”

“I shall be glad to do so,” returned Mr. Bingham.

During the rest of that meal the scout and his pards discussed their adventures, pro and con, all more or less for the benefit of Dell and Little Cayuse.

Mr. Bingham, sitting by, heard everything. He learned, as the story fell graphically from Wild Bill’s lips, how the Laramie man had been knocked down, tied hand and foot, carried to the Forty Thieves, placed in the end of the crosscut, and then walled into a living tomb by a neatly placed blast.

Mr. Bingham also heard of the adventures that had befallen old Nomad, and of the manner in which he had been bowled over, carried to the mine, and subsequently released by the scout.

The talk ended in a description of the battle that had taken place in the cañon, when there was so much shooting and no casualties—plenty of noise and excitement, but no one “gouged er skelped,” as Nomad put it.

For some time Mr. Bingham had been growing even more pale than usual. Long before the scout and his pards were done with their talk, the Chicago man had excused himself, and tottered feebly from the room.

Next morning, when the scout and his friends met at the breakfast-table, there were two less at the board than at supper the evening before.

Mr. Bingham especially was noticeable by his absence. Spangler explained that he had said he wouldn’t buy a mine in such a country if some one would offer him a second Comstock lode for the price of a square meal. Not daring to remain longer in such a lawless region, Mr. Bingham had hired Spangler’s Mexican to take him to Montegordo in Spangler’s buckboard during the night.

Wah-coo-tah had likewise disappeared from the hotel during the night, and her cayuse had vanished from the stable. So quietly had the girl left, that Dell, in whose room and with whom she was lodging, had not been aware of her going.

“I presume,” said Buffalo Bill, “that Wah-coo-tah has gone back to her people.”

“That’s the best place for her, pard,” said Dell.

“No doubt about that,” returned the scout.

CHAPTER X. THE STRANGER AND THE STEER.

“Whoop-ya! Looket thar, will ye? By the great horn spoon! Cut fer the kitchen, Wing Hi, an’ fetch me the rope that’s hangin’ thar. D’ye hear, yeh goggle-eyed yaller mug? Wake up an’ move—quick, afore I kick yer half-way thar. Wow! Never seen sich er thing as thet afore—an’ comin’ right down on ther camp, lickity larrup.”

The mining settlement of Sun Dance, baking in the mid-day heat half-way up the wall of Sun Dance Cañon, stirred languidly with the whooping words that clattered among its adobes.

There was not much life in Sun Dance during the day—night was its period of excitement and activity—but what little life there was began to show itself.

Gentleman Jim, the gambler, was dozing in a hammock stretched between two posts in the shade of the “Alcazar.” He heard the wild yell, located it as coming from the vicinity of the Lucky Strike Hotel, got out of the hammock, and went to investigate.

In the street he met Hoppy Smith, barkeeper at the Dew Drop; One-eye Perkins, postmaster and proprietor of the general store; Stump Hathaway, boss of the Spread Eagle honkatonk, and Lonesome Pete, who had ridden in from up the gulch to get a supply of tobacco and cigarette-paper.

“What’s the trouble?” asked Gentleman Jim.

“I’m by,” replied Hoppy Smith, halting in his wild rush down the street and resting his game leg. “Somebody dropped a remark, seemedlike, over around the Lucky Strike.”

“Dropped a remark?” echoed One-eye Perkins. “The feller’s mouth went off like a string of bombs!”

“All o’ that,” averred Stump Hathaway. “The noise jumped me out of a sound sleep.”

“I thort, fer a brace o’ shakes,” struck in Pete, “thet Injuns was up, an’ raidin’ ther camp. My skin began walkin’ all over me with cold feet.”

The party had paused for only a few moments. During most of the talking a rapid movement was being made in the direction of the Lucky Strike.

Spangler sat in the shade, in front, taking a comfortable catnap on his two chairs.

“Wake up, Spang!” cried Gentleman Jim, giving Spangler a shake that made him quiver like a bowl of jelly.

Spangler opened his eyes, wheezed, and made a convulsive gesture with his ragged palm-leaf fan.

“What’s ter pay, Jim?” he demanded.

“Didn’t ye hear that yell, a minit ago?” inquired Hoppy Smith.

“Didn’t hear nothin’.”

“It come from this a-way,” said Lonesome Pete. “Reckon nothin’ short of er cannon kin wake you, Spang, arter ye once drop off.”

“It ain’t often that anythin’ happens in camp durin’ the day,” returned Spangler. “If you fellers got business anywheres else, don’t let me detain ye a minit.”

Spangler settled the broad of his back against the wall behind him once more, apparently bent on continuing his nap. Just then, however, Hank Tenny, a “digger” from up the gulch, plunged around the corner of the hotel, wild-eyed and full of excitement.

He carried a riata, and was making it ready for action when he hove in sight.

Behind Tenny came Wing Hi, the dining-room boy, and right at Wing Hi’s heels came Wong Looey, the hotel cook.

“Was that you, Tenny, that let off that yell?” shouted Gentleman Jim.

“Well, I reckon,” answered Tenny.

“What’s the rip?”

“Cast yer eyes up at the rim o’ the cañon.”

What the men saw was startling in the extreme.

A red steer was flickering along the rim of the cañon, head down, and flecks of foam covering its dusty hide. To the steer’s back a man was tied. Both steer and man could be plainly seen, and the unusual spectacle brought exclamations of astonishment from every onlooker.

The man was stretched out along the steer’s back, and securely roped in that position. Whether he was alive or not it was impossible for those on the “flat” to tell. The unfortunate man did not move—but the ropes alone would have prevented that.

“Great glee-ory!” gasped Hoppy Smith.

“Wust thing o’ the kind I ever seen!” averred Lonesome Pete.

“Must be Injuns are playin’ didoes some’rs around here!” chimed in Stump Hathaway.

“You’re shy, Stump,” said Gentleman Jim. “Whoever knew Injuns to treat a white like that? So far as I can see, the man on the steer still has his scalp. What’re you going to do, Hank?” he added to the man with the rope.

“It’s dollars ter doughnuts,” said Tenny, “thet the steer’ll foller the stage-trail right down inter camp. If thet’s the case, I’m goin’ to drop a rope over them horns.”

For quite a long distance the stage-trail followed the rim of the cañon. Hank Tenny had sighted the steer and the man when they rushed into sight. Wing Hi had got the rope for him, and immediately afterward Tenny had rushed for the front of the hotel.

“I had jest put my cabyo in the stable,” said Tenny, while he and all the rest continued to watch the rim of the gulch, “an’ was walkin’ fer the front o’ the hotel, when I fust seen the critter. Nacherly I let off er yell, an’ follered it up by tellin’ ther Chink ter git a rope fer me. Jest as soon’s I got my hands on the rope, I started for the front o’ the——”

“By George!” exclaimed Gentleman Jim. “The steer has taken the turn, and is sashaying right down on us!”

Tenny’s forecast had proved correct. The maverick, whirling from the rim to the down-grade, could be seen charging down the steep slope.

Without a word, Hank Tenny made a rush along the street toward the point where the trail entered it. There he went into hiding around the corner of the Alcazar.

“Keep away, you fellers!” he yelled. “Don’t show yerselves, kase if ye do ye’ll skeer the critter off. Jest hang around the background, an’ watch how I rope ’im.”

Clustered about the front of the Lucky Strike, Gentleman Jim, Spangler, Hoppy Smith, and the rest watched succeeding events with intense interest.

They saw the steer charge into the street, saw Tenny’s right arm shoot out, and the noose settle over the steer’s horns, and then they saw Tenny make a frantic effort and take a half-hitch with the end of the rope around a hitching-post.

A long breath escaped the onlookers. For an instant they experienced a feeling of relief; then, the next instant, the relief gave way to wildest anxiety.

The hitching-post, loosened by long use, had been torn from the ground the tremendous strain placed upon it by the steer. Tenny, hanging to the extreme end of the rope, had turned a somersault in the air and landed on his head. The steer, with its helpless burden, dashed on across the road and vanished behind the walls of the Spread Eagle honkatonk.

“The animile is chasin’ straight fer the precipice!” bawled Lonesome Pete, beginning to run. “It’ll go over the precipice an’ the man’ll be done fer!”

This dread dénouement seemed very likely to happen. At the edge of the “flat” there was a steep bank, dropping sheer downward to the bed of the cañon. In one place, the trail from below followed a steep slope—but the steer was not headed toward the slope, but toward the precipice.

Maddened by the unsuccessful attempt made to stop its flight, and still further frenzied by the yells of the men, there was small doubt but that the steer would hurl itself over the edge of the high bank, break its own neck, and crush out the life of the man on its back—in case the man happened to be still alive.

“Who’s got a gun?” shouted Gentleman Jim, as all hands plunged along after the steer. “Get a rifle, somebody!”

“We’d be as li’ble ter hit the man as ter hit the steer,” puffed Hoppy Smith.

“It’s a chance we’ll have to take,” averred Gentleman Jim breathlessly.

“But there ain’t a rifle among the lot o’ us,” said Stump Hathaway, “an’ no time ter git one.”

At the rear of the Spread Eagle the men came to a halt. A level stretch lay between them and the top of the bank. The steer was almost across the stretch, and pounding onward without lessening its speed in the least.

“The fellow is as good as done for,” said Gentleman Jim, leaning against the wall of the Spread Eagle and drawing his sleeve across his dripping forehead.

“He’ll go over in spite o’ fate,” muttered Hank Tenny, joining the group at the rear of the honkatonk. “Who’d hev thought thet rotten post would hev let go like it did? If it hadn’t been for that, I’d hev stopped the maverick.”

“When a man’s time comes,” said Gentleman Jim, “he’ll get his due, whether by bullet, or water, or six feet of rope—or a red maverick steer. Too bad, too bad! Ah, the steer sees the break in the ground ahead, and is getting ready to go over. If we only had a rifle——”

Gentleman Jim was interrupted by an abrupt crang, and a puff of white smoke arising from a thicket of scrub off toward the edge of the “flat.” Astonishment filled all beholders. While the echoes of the rifle-shot were dancing musically up and down the gulch, the steer was seen to leap into the air and to come down in a heap at the very brink of the high bank.

A second later a lithe form sprang out from among the bushes and started hastily for the fallen animal. It was the form of a girl in a natty brown sombrero, buckskin blouse, and short skirt, and tan shoes and leggings. In her right hand, as she hurried, she swung a rifle.

“Dell Dauntless!” shouted Gentleman Jim; “Buffalo Bill’s girl pard has turned the trick. Bravo! A neater shot was never fired in Sun Dance Cañon!”

And “bravo! bravo!” jubilated the others as they followed Gentleman Jim toward the steer and the stranger—a stranger who might be in luck, and who might not, according as to whether he had come through that Mazeppalike ride alive or dead.

When Gentleman Jim and the others came close to the steer, Dell Dauntless had already cut away the ropes, freed the stranger, and dragged him to one side. The girl’s shot had sped true, and the steer lay dead, with a bullet through its heart.

“Miss Dauntless,” said Gentleman Jim, removing his sombrero, “I take off my hat to you. Your rifle got in its work in the very nick of time. Half a minute more, and the steer would have been over the bank. You’re a wonderful hand with a rifle.”

“Well,” smiled the girl, with a deprecating shake of the head, “that steer was a good-sized target, and what excuse could I have made if I had missed?”

“The steer was on the run, Miss Dauntless,” said Gentleman Jim, “and you had to put a bit of lead into a vital place.”

“I happened to be in a favorable position,” said Dell. “Any one of you, who happened to be placed as I was, and with a rifle in your hands, could have done the same thing. While waiting for Buffalo Bill and the rest of my pards to come back from down the gulch, I was taking a stroll to the edge of the ‘flat’ to see if they were in sight. I heard the yells from the camp, saw the steer coming, and went down on one knee and bided my time. That was all,” she finished, turning away. “Instead of talking, we’d better be giving our attention to the stranger.”

“Correct,” returned Gentleman Jim, stepping to the stranger’s side and sinking to his knees.

The stranger was young—evidently well under thirty—and had every appearance of being a placer-miner. He wore a flannel shirt, blue overalls, and rubber boots, all earth and water-stained. His hat was gone, as might be expected, and there was no revolver-belt at his waist, and no sign of weapons elsewhere about him.

“Any of you boys ever seen the man before?” asked Gentleman Jim.

None of the men could remember the stranger’s face.

Gentleman Jim laid one hand on his breast.

“His ticker’s going,” said he. “Hand me a flask, one of you.”

Lonesome Pete dug into his hip pocket and brought up a pint-flask. Unscrewing the top, he handed the flask to the gambler. The latter lifted the stranger’s head and allowed some of the liquor to trickle into the throat of the unconscious man.

The effect was well-nigh magical. A minute afterward, and while Pete was in the act of transferring the flask to his pocket, the stranger’s eyes opened.

For a space, the eyes were blank and void of realization. The man’s glance passed vacantly about from one face to another; then, suddenly, he sat up and began rubbing his hands and arms where the rope had chafed them.

“How do you feel, pilgrim?” asked Gentleman Jim.

“Feel like I’d been tangled up with a cyclone,” answered the man. “Where am I?”

“You’re in Sun Dance Cañon.”

“This is where I was bound fer, but I wasn’t expectin’ ter git here on a maverick longhorn. You fellows roped the critter?”

“I tried ter,” spoke up Hank Tenny, “but the animile yanked a snub-post up by the roots an’ got away from me. He was headin’ fer the edge o’ thet precipice, thar, with the idee o’ jumpin’ over an’ takin’ you with him, when this young lady, who happened ter be handy by with a gun, let drive with a bullet. It’s the bullet thet saved ye, pilgrim.”

The stranger swerved his eyes to Dell.

“I’m obliged to ye, miss,” said he. “What might yer name be?”

“Dell Dauntless,” said the girl.

“Buffalo Bill’s girl pard!” exclaimed the stranger, his dull eyes lighting a little. “I won’t forget this, Dell Dauntless.”

“It’s nothing—nothing at all,” deprecated Dell. “Any one else would have done the same thing, had they been situated as I was.”

“Some one else,” said the stranger grimly, “might have put a bullet inter me instead o’ the steer. Howsumever, we’ll let that pass, fer now. My name’s Blake, Henry Blake,” he went on, addressing generally the men who were grouped about him. “I left Pass Dure Cañon yesterday mornin’ with a bag o’ dust, calculatin’ ter come ter Sun Dance an’ take ther stage fer Montegordo. Just under the lee of Medicine Bluff I was stopped by Cap’n Lawless and some o’ his murderous scoundrels——”

“Captain Lawless!” exclaimed Gentleman Jim, astonished, and the words were taken up and echoed by all the other bystanders—Dell Dauntless being particularly interested.

“That’s right,” pursued Blake, a savage frown gathering about his brows, “it was Cap’n Lawless, of the Forty Thieves, an’ no one else. I know the whelp by sight, but, if I hadn’t known him, he’d have settled my doubts, fer he told me himself who he was.”

“I thought Lawless and his gang had been chased out of the country for good,” said Gentleman Jim. “Buffalo Bill and his pards gave him the worst of it, and we had all made up our minds, here in Sun Dance, that Lawless would profit by the lesson.”

“Well, he didn’t,” continued Blake. “He’s on deck like always, an’ up ter his old tricks. He lifted my bag o’ dust, my guns, what stuff I had in my clothes, and my horse. I was held a pris’ner all last night, in the outlaws’ camp by Medicine Bluff. This morning that maverick steer was roped and thrown, and I was tied to the brute’s back. Lawless told me I was going to Sun Dance, and that I was to carry a message to some enemies of his. It was a written message, and consequently it wouldn’t make much difference whether I reached Sun Dance alive or dead.”

A fierce scowl returned to Blake’s face.

“I’m hopin’,” he went on, “that I’ll live to play even with that whelp an’ cutthroat. He’s as cold-blooded as a channel catfish, an’ as murderous as a Sioux Injun. If I ever git a chance at him——” Blake finished with a vengeful glare and a tense gripping of his big, sinewy hands.

“You say the message is written?” queried Gentleman Jim.

“Yes,” answered Blake. “If I got here alive I was ter ask fer a gambler called Gentleman Jim.”

“Which is me,” said the gambler. “So far as I know, Lawless hasn’t ever crossed my trail. Why he makes himself my enemy is more than I can tell.”

“The message ain’t fer you, Gentleman Jim,” said Blake.

“But you just said——”

“Wait till I tell ye the whole of it. Lawless said I was to ask for you, and that I was ter tell ye Lawless believed ye was that rare thing, a square gambler. This message fer Buffalo Bill——”

“Ah!” murmured Dell, her interest growing. “Then the message is for the king of scouts?”

“That’s the way I sense it,” answered Blake. “It’s fer the king of scouts, but it’s ter be given ter Gentleman Jim.”

“Talk about yer puzzles!” cut in Lonesome Pete. “This takes the banner an’ leads the percession, I reckon. Lawless sends a message ter one man an’ tells ye ter give it ter another.”

“How do you explain that, Blake?” asked Gentleman Jim.

“I don’t explain it,” continued Blake, “an’ I’ve told ye all I know.”

He dipped into the breast of his shirt and removed a long envelope, soiled by much handling.

“There it is,” said he, handing the envelope to Gentleman Jim. “If I’d petered out before the steer got here, ye might have found that on me, an’ ye might not. It was Lawless’ roundabout way o’ doin’ the thing.”

“He and his gang,” remarked Gentleman Jim, “must have chased the steer toward Sun Dance, and have drawn off only when sure the brute would come peltering down into the camp.”

“That must be the way of it, although I lost my senses some time ago. I’m purty husky, but what I went through on that steer’s back is somethin’ I never want ter go through ag’in.”

Dell looked over Gentleman Jim’s shoulder while he read the writing on the envelope.

“A message for Buffalo Bill,” read the writing; “to be delivered to Gentleman Jim, in Sun Dance, and by him opened in the presence of the scout.”

“That’s plain enough; eh, Miss Dauntless?” said the gambler.

“It’s plain enough,” agreed the girl, “but a brain-twisting puzzle, nevertheless. If the scout——”

At that instant a fall of hoofs struck on the ears of each member of the group. All eyes turned in the direction of the trail leading up and out of the cañon.

Four riders were approaching that particular part of the “flat.” Buffalo Bill, on his big black horse, Bear Paw, was in the lead. Behind the scout came Wild Bill, Nick Nomad, and Little Cayuse.

“Well, well!” exclaimed Gentleman Jim, “this couldn’t have happened better.”

Putting their horses to the gallop, Buffalo Bill and his pards were soon drawing rein close to the group near the dead steer.

“What’s been going on here, friends?” queried the king of scouts, sweeping a curious eye over the scene before him.

CHAPTER XI. A GIFT WITH A STRING TO IT.

Dell Dauntless pushed forward and explained the situation to the scout and his pards.

“Waugh!” tuned up old Nomad in customary fashion, “what sort of er pizen deal is Lawless tryin’ ter pull off? Me no like um; hey, Wild Bill?”

“It’s sure a queer layout,” pondered Hickok. “The fact that Lawless is behind it makes it a cinch that it doesn’t mean any good to We, Us & Co. Whatever you do, Cody, remember that.”

“Where can we see you in half an hour, Gentleman Jim?” the scout inquired, turning to the gambler.

“In my private room at the Alcazar,” answered the gambler.

“We’ll be there,” said the scout. “That’s your steer, Dell,” he added. “You’d better turn the carcass over to Tenny for the use of Spangler, at the Lucky Strike. We haven’t had any fresh meat there for a couple of days, and I think we’d all appreciate it.”

“Pete an’ me’ll take keer o’ the brute, Buffalo Bill,” said Tenny. “Tell Spangler to send his Chinks over here and get the beef.”

Dell accompanied her pards to the hotel, and waited while they put up their horses. Meantime, Spangler, delighted with the prospect of securing a supply of fresh beef, had despatched his Chinamen to the place where Tenny and Pete were making the carcass ready. Henry Blake, worn out by his rough experience, went to the general bunk-room and turned in.

Half an hour after the scout and his pards had got back to the camp they were all in Gentleman Jim’s private room at the Alcazar. Dell formed one of the party.

The gambler closed the door securely, so that no one not interested could hear anything that went on in the room. To say that all were curious would state their feelings mildly.

“Open up ther paper-talk, Gentleman Jim,” urged the old trapper, the moment the door was closed, “an’ let’s git next ter what’s doin’. I’m bracin’ myself fer somethin’ onexpected ter happen.”

“I hope,” said Wild Bill, “that what we’re going to hear will give us a chance to lay Lawless by the heels.”

“What makes it seem mighty queer that this letter should be entrusted to me,” remarked Gentleman Jim, tearing an end off the envelope, “is that I never met Lawless in my life, so far as I know.”

Leaning back in his chair, the gambler drew from the envelope a folded, legal-looking document, and two separate sheets of paper, likewise folded.

“What sort of a document is that, Gentleman Jim?” asked the scout, nodding toward the legal-looking paper.

The gambler examined the document and gave a low whistle.

“It’s a quit-claim deed to the Forty Thieves,” said he.

A chorus of surprised exclamations greeted the words.

“In whose name is the deed made out?” the scout queried.

“Buffalo Bill.”

This was even more astounding. Nomad tried to say something, but was held speechless by his amazement. All the others were in like case. A strange silence fell over the room, broken only by the rustling of paper as Gentleman Jim examined the deed.

“Amazing as this may appear,” said the gambler presently, “yet the deed has seemingly been executed in proper form. It is signed by Lawless, witnessed by Seth Coomby and Andy Streibel, and bears the seal and acknowledgment of a notary in Montegordo. It is dated three days ago.”

“I’m clear over my head,” muttered the scout. “Lawless and I are enemies. Why should he make me a gift like that?”

“Come to simmer the thing down, Buffalo Bill,” said the gambler, “it isn’t much of a gift, after all. The mine is worthless. Lawless knows that, or he wouldn’t have tried to ‘salt’ it and sell it to that Chicago man.”

“Lawless undoubtedly thinks the mine is worthless,” mused the scout.

“Well, isn’t it?”

“Not by a hull row of ’dobies!” put in old Nomad. “Buffler, ye’re in luck! Lawless laid out ter hand ye a mine thet was no good; he’ll feel like kickin’ himself when he diskivers ther Forty Thieves is er bonanza—er reg’lar whale of er good thing. Why, et’s got er reef on et that makes ther Comstock Lode look like er limestone stringer.”

“Is that right?” demanded Gentleman Jim.

“It is,” went on Buffalo Bill. “Wild Bill made the discovery first. We have just come in from an exhaustive examination of the property, and we found that the Forty Thieves has an exceedingly rich vein. Lawless, in presenting me with the mine, has over-reached himself. He didn’t know of this rich vein—no one but myself and my pards knew of it. Back of all this, however, the puzzle still remains: Why should Lawless wish to present me with even a worthless mine? I’m still over my head.”

Gentleman Jim picked up the folded papers which he had drawn from the envelope with the deed.

“One of these is addressed to you, Buffalo Bill,” said he, “and the other is addressed to me. Perhaps they will shed a little light on the situation.”

Buffalo Bill took the paper the gambler handed to him, opened it, read it through, and then laughed.

“What’s et erbout, pard?” asked Nomad.

“Listen,” said the scout, and read aloud: “‘You may think you’ve downed me, Buffalo Bill, but you have another guess coming. I am giving you a deed to the Forty Thieves Mine. The mine is no good. We both know that. So the deed is not given to you from any desire on my part to tender you a token of my esteem. The gift is a dare. Gentleman Jim is to hold the deed, and give it to you only after you have passed three consecutive days and nights in the Forty Thieves Mine. Gentleman Jim, I know by report, is a square gambler. He will see to it that my conditions are faithfully executed. After you have passed three consecutive days and nights in the mine, you are to go to Gentleman Jim and get the deed, making the transfer legal by filing the deed for record in Montegordo—that is, if you consider a worthless mine worth bothering with to that extent. Take your pards, or as many more men as you wish, with you into the mine—but you must stay there for three consecutive days and nights. That will be all. If you live to claim the deed you are welcome to it. Where’s your nerve?’”

Buffalo Bill, with a queer smile playing about the corners of his mouth, refolded the paper and stowed it carefully away in his pocket.

“Of course,” he remarked, “Lawless thinks he has a trap laid for me in the Forty Thieves.”

“He’s got something up his sleeve, all right,” agreed Wild Bill, “but if he thinks you haven’t got the nerve to hang out in that mine for three days and nights, why, he’s wide of his trail, that’s all.”

“Ther mine’s wuth ther risk,” said Nomad.

“I’m not thinking so much about the mine, Nick,” went on the scout, “as I am about the chance this fool proposition of Lawless’ gives me to lay alongside of him. That villain ought to have his claws clipped, and I reckon I and my pards are the ones to do it.”

A vociferous affirmative came from Nomad, Wild Bill, Little Cayuse, and Dell.

“He’s a deep one,” remarked Gentleman Jim. “The mine is evidently a trap, and he’s luring you into it. It is also perfectly evident that he knows you will not fulfil his terms for the mine itself, but simply because he gives you a dare.”

“Buffler Bill an’ pards never takes a dare,” said Nomad.

“We’ll meet Lawless half-way in this one,” said the scout resolutely. “By doing so, we can not only get the mine, but likewise capture Lawless.”

“Sure!” cried Wild Bill. “Are your pards in with you on the deal, Cody?”

“On one consideration only,” was the answer.

“What’s that?”

“Why, that if we stay out the three consecutive days and nights successfully, we are all to be joint owners of the mine.”

Silence followed the words.

“If all of you share the risk,” smiled the scout, “you ought also to share the profits.”

That brought an agreement.

“Of course,” the scout went on, “I am not dropping into Lawless’ plans because I want to dare him to do his worst, or because the mine lures me to it, but simply and solely because this promises an opportunity for capturing one of the worst trouble-makers in the country. If the mine comes to us, it will be incidental to our main purpose. What is there in your letter, Gentleman Jim?”

“Nothing, except that I am to keep the deed and hand it over to you after you have passed the three days and nights in the mine, providing you are alive and able to claim it.” An apprehensive look crossed the gambler’s face. “It’s a gift with a string to it—and I’d give a hundred, this minute, if I knew exactly what the string was.”

“Well, Gentleman Jim,” said the scout, rising. “I give notice that to-night, at six o’clock, I and some of my pards will go down into the Forty Thieves. This is Monday, and I shall not come to the surface until Thursday afternoon, unless the capture of Captain Lawless makes it necessary.”

Silence followed the scout’s words. It was broken by a long-drawn-out and mournful cry, coming from no one knew where:

“Wa-hoo-ha-a-a! Pa-e-has-ka go to Forty Thieves, Pa-e-has-ka die! Nuzhee Mona! Nuzhee Mona!”

It was a soft voice, as it might have been the voice of a sighing spirit, and the echoes breathed sobbingly through the room.

While Buffalo Bill, Dell Dauntless and the others stared at each other in bewilderment, Little Cayuse flung himself into the center of the room. Crouching there, and peering about him with eyes in which there was an unearthly light, the boy breathed huskily:

“Geegoho! Geegoho!” Then he listened, rapt, entranced erect, and rigid as a statue.

“Nuzhee Mona! Nuzhee Mona!” breathed the voice, the last word dying away in a whisper.

Little Cayuse flung his hands to his face, groaned aloud, then rushed to the door, tore it open—and vanished.

It would be hard to describe the effect which this bit of by-play had on those in the room. As a matter of fact, the effect of it on each one was different. All were surprised, and more or less puzzled, but each, according to his nature, gave the event a different construction.

Nomad, superstitious and imaginative, read in the sighing voice an instrumentality that was not human. It was a warning from a class of spirits to whom the old trapper referred as the “whiskizoos.”

Dell was astounded and apprehensive, Wild Bill frankly puzzled, Gentleman Jim grimly incredulous, and the scout began looking about him in a matter-of-fact way to locate the place from which the voice emanated.

“Waugh!” growled Nomad; “me no like um. All same whiskizoo. Better think et over, Buffler. Et won’t do ter go agin’ a warnin’ from ther spirit-land.”

“Where did it come from?” murmured Dell. “What was it?”

“There was flesh and blood back of it,” averred the scout. “Spirits have never mixed up in my affairs, and they’re not going to begin it now.”

He strode to a door in one corner of the room, and threw it open. The door led into a closet, but the closet was empty.

“I wouldn’t put it past Lawless any to set some one on to do a thing like that,” remarked Wild Bill, with a low laugh. “He’s trying your nerve, Cody.”

“What’s under the floor, Gentleman Jim?” inquired the scout, striking the floor with his heel.

“A basement,” answered the gambler, “where the proprietor of the Alcazar stores his ‘wet’ goods.”

“And what’s above?” went on the scout, lifting his eyes.

“Cedar rafters and a mud roof.”

“Let’s go down to the basement.”

The scout and the gambler left the room, descended into the cellar by a narrow flight of stairs leading from the main part of the Alcazar, and found nothing but kegs and casks.

“Whoever spoke,” said Buffalo Bill, “spoke from here. Mere clap-trap for the sake of scaring me out.”

“Lawless never had it done,” said Gentleman Jim. “Your pard, Wild Bill, is wide of his trail if he thinks that.”

“No,” mused the scout, “Lawless wasn’t back of it. He seems too anxious to get me into the Forty Thieves to try to make me turn back.”

“It was a woman’s voice.”

“I’m thinking of that.”

When the scout and the gambler returned to the latter’s room, it was unnecessary for them to repeat to Wild Bill, Nomad, and Dell the result of their investigations. Every word spoken by Buffalo Bill and Gentleman Jim while in the basement had been distinctly heard by those overhead.

“That proves,” declared the scout, “that the speaker was in the basement.”

“What did the speaker mean by those words, Nuzhee Mona?” asked Dell.

“Give it up, Dell,” replied Buffalo Bill. “Mere gibberish, perhaps, although they suggest the Omaha tongue, to me.”

“To me, too,” put in Wild Bill.

“And what was that Little Cayuse said? And why did he groan and run away?”

“The boy’s an Indian,” said the scout, “and his blood crops out in queer ways, now and then. I don’t know what he said, nor why he ran away. But he won’t stay away for long, we may be sure of that.”

“He knows,” said Nomad, “thet Injun spooks was speakin’. Et skeered him, an’ he lit out.”

“Then it’s the first time,” said the scout derisively, “we ever saw the boy scared. But we can’t lose time here, pards. We must cut for the Lucky Strike and get our share of that red maverick that came so near proving the death of Blake. After dinner there will be some preparations to make, and by six o’clock, sharp, we must be down in the shaft and level of the Forty Thieves.”

“Buffalo Bill’s mine!” laughed Wild Bill. “Come on, Cody. That three days’ stunt looks easy to me, in spite of our ‘spirit-warning’ and the evil intentions of Captain Lawless.”

“I try to be square,” said Gentleman Jim, as he followed the scout and his pards to the front of the Alcazar, “and if you stay in the Forty Thieves for three consecutive days and nights you get the deed. If you don’t, Buffalo Bill, I shall have to burn it up.”

“Don’t be too quick with your burning, that’s all,” returned the scout grimly.

“I’ll give you plenty of time to come and claim the property.”

“Dollars to doughnuts,” remarked Hickok lightly, “the scout will exchange Lawless for the deed. I’ve a feeling that that whelp is due for a kibosh, and that Cody is going to give it to him.”

“I hope so, with all my heart,” said Gentleman Jim fervently.

As the scout, the trapper, Wild Bill, and Dell passed along the camp-street toward the Lucky Strike Hotel, Little Cayuse hastened around the rear of the Dew Drop resort and joined them.

The boy’s face was heavy with foreboding.

“Where have you been, Cayuse?” asked the scout sharply.

“Try find um spirit,” answered Cayuse gravely. “Find out, mebbyso, how we save um Pa-e-has-ka.”

Wild Bill gave a scoffing laugh, and Cayuse stared at him rebukingly.

“We no find out how to save um Pa-e-has-ka,” said the boy, with great gravity, “then Pa-e-has-ka die.”

He whirled on the scout.

“You still think you go to mine, stay there for three sleeps?” he demanded.

“Certainly I’m going.”

A look of woeful resignation crossed the boy’s face.

“Pa-e-has-ka die,” said he, “then Little Cayuse die, too—but not till Little Cayuse take Lawless’ scalp.”

All this talk of the Piute’s rendered Nick Nomad mighty uneasy.

“What was et thet ther spirit said, Cayuse?” asked the trapper.

Cayuse shook his head and did not answer.

“What was et ye said ter ther spirit?”

Still Cayuse kept a still tongue.

“I don’t like ther outlook, Buffler,” said Nomad, with a gruesome shake of his shaggy head. “Ther kid ’u’d tork, only he hates ter gloom us up.”

“There are times, old pard,” said the scout, “when you seem to be shy even an average amount of horse-sense. If you continue to talk and act as though you were locoed, I won’t take you to the mine at all, but will leave you in Sun Dance.”

Nomad, at that, pulled himself together and tried to look as though he wasn’t in the least apprehensive.

“And the same with Little Cayuse,” continued the scout, turning to the Piute. “You’ve got to stop this foolishness. Buffalo Bill’s pards ought to be level-headed, and not go off the jump every time they hear or see something they can’t understand. We’re out after Lawless, just remember that, and certainly we’re sharp enough to match our wits against his. If we’re not, then Lawless and his gang may win out against us, and welcome.”

Cayuse shut his teeth hard and walked on ahead. Nomad, in a feeble attempt to dispel his fears, began to whistle softly.

As they came within sight of the Lucky Strike Hotel, they saw three men grouped about the door. One of the men was the fat proprietor, Spangler, and the other two were Hank Tenny and Lonesome Pete.

“What’s that outfit looking at?” queried Wild Bill.

“Something on the door,” returned Dauntless Dell. “They appear to be excited.”

“Must be somethin’ mighty important,” put in Nomad, “ter drag thet fat boy out o’ his two chairs. Spang never moves from them chairs except ter foller ther shade, er eat his meals, er go ter bed. But somethin’s got him goin’ now, thet’s shore.”

“What’s the matter?” called the scout, when he and his pards came close to the front of the hotel.

“We’re tryin’ ter figger it out, Buffalo Bill,” wheezed Spangler. “Jest take a look at this an’ tell me what it means—if ye kin.”

Spangler, Pete, and Tenny moved away from the door. Pinned to the wood by a crude dagger was a ragged square of birch bark. On the bark, where the words had evidently been traced with the dagger’s point, was this, in printed characters:

Nuzhee Mona.

Just that, and nothing more. Nomad and Little Cayuse stared, then turned away. Buffalo Bill and Wild Bill laughed, and the former tore away the piece of bark and cast it from him with a gesture of contempt; then, jerking the dagger from the wood, he carried it on into the hotel. Hickok followed, a jesting remark on his lips. Dell trailed after Hickok, but it was plain she could not dismiss the matter in the same offhand way that he had done.

CHAPTER XII. THE “FORTY THIEVES MINE.”

“Got any idee why that thing was skewered inter my door, Buffalo Bill?” asked Spangler, waddling into the room of the hotel, which served as an “office.”

“Don’t fret about that, Spangler,” said the scout; “it was meant for me.”

“Queer kind of a visitin’-card,” said Tenny, sticking his head in at the door. “‘Nuzhee Mona,’ hey? Queer name fer a man, too.”

“How did it come there?” queried the scout.

“That’s what we don’t know,” puffed Spangler. “Half an hour ago it wasn’t there—I kin take my affidavy on that. I had my eyes on the door jest after the Chinks had come with the meat, an’ it was as bare as the pa’m o’ my hand. Right arter that I settled down in front an’ went ter sleep. Tenny an’ Pete woke me up an’ pointed out the thing ter me.”

“Then it must have been put up there while you were asleep?”

“I reckon that was the way of it.”

“Well, forget it. It’s my business, anyway, and nothing for you to bother with.”

At that moment Wing Hi came out of the dining-room and went to the front of the hotel with his brass gong. While he was pounding his summons for dinner—a meal which had been delayed on account of the extra work that had fallen to the two Chinamen—the scout and his pards went into the dining-room and took their accustomed places at one of the tables.

“Nick,” said the scout to his trapper pard, “here’s something for you and Cayuse to think about: Did either of you ever hear of a spook that was able to take a piece of birch bark and scratch words on it?”

The idea rather startled Nomad, but Cayuse kept on quietly with his eating.

“Or,” proceeded the scout, with a wink at Wild Bill, “did you ever hear of a spook that could take an old file and make a dagger out of it?”

He laid the blade, with which the birch bark had been fastened to the door, on the table.

All eyes turned on it curiously. There was no doubt about its having been ground down from a file to a double edge and a point.

“Or,” went on the scout, “who ever knew of a spook stealing to the front of a hotel and fastening a piece of birch bark to the door, and using wit enough to do it so quietly that the proprietor of the hotel, who was asleep in front and not ten feet away, failed to hear a sound?”

“I reckon ye tally, pard,” said Nomad. “What ye say must er been ther work of er human bein’, like ourselves.”

“Sure,” grinned Wild Bill. “The dagger and the piece of bark prove that; and the words on the bark prove that the same person who fastened it to the door was the one who talked at us from the basement of the Alcazar. Flesh and blood, no doubt of it; and I’ve got a hunch Lawless is back of the whole layout.”

The scout was not of Wild Bill’s opinion regarding the question of Lawless having anything to do with the matter, but recent events were so obscure that the scout did not attempt to deny something which might prove to be true.

As people began to come into the dining-room, the matter was dropped, and the scout and his pards fell to talking on other topics.

Directly after dinner preparations were made for a stay of three days and nights in the Forty Thieves. A lot of canteens were secured, and Spangler’s culinary-department was drawn upon for a supply of rations.

By four o’clock Buffalo Bill, Nomad, Wild Bill, Dell, and Cayuse mounted and rode off down the cañon. Blake, the miner who had been robbed of his dust and almost killed, was still resting his bruised limbs on a cot in the general bunk-room. The scout would have liked to talk further with Blake, but did not esteem the matter of sufficient importance to wake him for the purpose.

The romance of mining is full of Fortune’s strange freaks. How the Forty Thieves had come into the hands of Captain Lawless, Buffalo Bill did not know. Yet, undoubtedly Lawless had prospected the property and had settled it, in his own mind, that it was worthless. Had he not thought it of no value, he would hardly have turned it over to the scout as a gift, even with “a string to it.”

Lawless had fooled himself. The rich vein had been lost—it had not petered out—and, by an accident, Wild Bill had discovered it again.

A small stream ran through the cañon. The stream was little more than a rill, flowing for most of the cañon’s length under the sand and rocks, and appearing on the surface only occasionally, where bed-rock forced the water upward into pools.

At one of these pools, close to the ore-dump of the mine, the scout and his pards halted and dismounted. The canteens were filled, and two riatas were spliced together and dropped into the shaft with one end secured to the platform on the top of the dump.

When everything was ready for the descent, the scout placed to one side a bag of the rations brought from Sun Dance.

“Now, pards,” said he, addressing his friends, “we are not to forget for an instant that, by going down into the Forty Thieves, we are playing directly into the hands of Lawless and his gang. Lawless has something up his sleeve, and we’re going to try and beat him at his own game. To do this successfully, we can’t all go down the shaft. The surface must be watched as well as the mine workings; and our horses have got to be taken care of. This party will have to be divided, and I have chosen Dell and Cayuse to look after the mounts and keep keen eyes on the vicinity of the ore-dump.”

Dell’s face fell at this, and the Piute looked his disappointment. But whenever Buffalo Bill gave an order, there was no setting it aside.

“Hickok, Nomad, and I,” pursued the scout, “will go into the mine. As soon as we are down there, Dell and Cayuse will proceed to lower our canteens and rations—all but the bag which I have set aside for their use. Then, when the water and grub are lowered, Dell and Cayuse will pull up the rope and take the horses along the cañon. A quarter of a mile below the mine a gully breaks into the cañon wall. The gully is full of scrub, and it will be a good place to hide the live stock. While one of them watches the stock, the other will watch the ore-dump.”

“But why pull up the rope, Buffalo Bill?” asked Dell. “If anything goes wrong, you wouldn’t have any way of getting out of the shaft.”

“If anything goes wrong, Dell,” returned the scout, “it will be up here. If you and Cayuse keep careful watch, you will be able to notify Nomad, Wild Bill, and me, and drop the rope for us. If, on the other hand, any of Lawless’ gang should escape your eyes and try to come down the shaft, they won’t have our rope to use. Understand? The three of us are going down there to stay for three days. Your instructions are simple enough, and I reckon you understand them. Eternal vigilance is the price of success in this undertaking.”

With that, Buffalo Bill sat down on the edge of the planks and slowly lowered himself into the black maw of the shaft.

“All right, pards!” came his muffled voice from the darkness, a few moments later.

Wild Bill descended next, and Nomad next. When they reached the bottom of the shaft, the scout had secured one of the candles left in the mine during their recent visit, and had lighted it.

“Everything looks like it did when we was hyar last,” said Nomad, peering about him in the flickering gleam of the candle.

“Nothing is changed,” returned Buffalo Bill, “and there’s no one here besides ourselves. I have been to the end of the level, and I am positive of it. Haul up the rope, Dell,” he shouted, “and lower the grub and the water.”

Dell and Cayuse, their forms silhouetted against the background of sky overhead, could be seen bending over the mouth of the shaft and pulling up the rope.

In a little while the provision-bags and the canteens were lowered, untied from the end of the rope and carried by Nomad and Wild Bill into the level.

“Now,” cried the scout, “haul up the rope, Dell, and go off to the gully with the horses.”

“You’re sure there’s no one down there besides yourselves?” called the girl anxiously.

The scout’s reassuring laugh bounded upward between the rocky walls.

“We’re absolutely sure, Dell. We’re safe enough down here. If there’s any trouble, the chances are that you and Cayuse will see the most of it. Don’t do any worrying about us.”

“I don’t know,” answered Dell, “but I’ve got a feeling that there are some—some disagreeable surprises in store for all of us.”

“Let ’em come!” whooped Wild Bill. “We’re not looking for trouble, but you can bet your spurs we’re not going to dodge any.”

Slowly the rope was drawn upward, untied from the plank platform, and Dell and Cayuse vanished from the mouth of the shaft.

Wild Bill, having carried his load of water and food into the level, had returned to the scout in the shaft; but Nomad had pushed along toward the end of the level.

The surprises began at once, and almost at the very moment Dell and Cayuse left the ore-dump. This, the first of the strange events, was ushered in by a wild yell from the old trapper.

“By gorry!” exclaimed Wild Bill, dashing into the level, “Nomad’s struck a snag, first crack out of the box.”

The trapper had secured a candle when he and Wild Bill began carrying the canteens and provision-bags into the level. The scout likewise had a candle, and made haste to follow Hickok into the pitch-dark passage.

Cody could not imagine what it was that had brought that yell from his old pard. It wasn’t a shout of fear, but rather of surprise and consternation. Apart from his superstitious vagaries, the old trapper did not know the meaning of the word “fear.”

Wild Bill, stumbling along somewhat in the lead of the scout, kept watching for the glimmer of Nomad’s candle. The tunnel was full of angles, and Wild Bill went clear to the breast of it, and whirled around with his back to the rocks. He had not found a trace of the trapper in the entire length of the level!

“Well!” exclaimed Wild Bill, looking blankly into the scout’s face. “What sort of a hocus-pocus do you call this, Cody? Disagreeable surprises! By gorry, Dell was right. We no more than get into the mine before they’re sprung on us.”

Without speaking, Buffalo Bill turned and picked his way back to the shaft, sweeping the candlelight about him and examining every nook and cranny as he went.

He saw nothing of Nomad.

Midway between the breast of the level and the shaft was the opening into the short “drift.”

Still keeping his thoughts to himself, the scout whirled away from the shaft and went into the “drift.” The cross-section dimensions of the “drift” were the same as those of the main level, but it was scarcely more than fifteen feet long.

A débris of broken stone littered the floor of the “drift,” but the scout was not long in discovering that his old pard was not there.

Setting the candle down on a rock, he made a trumpet of his hands.

“Nomad!” he roared, at the top of his voice.

The echoes boomed through the underground galleries, but echoes alone answered the scout’s call.

“I’ll give it up,” said Buffalo Bill, dropping down on the stone beside the candle. “Nick isn’t in the mine, that’s sure.”

“And he didn’t get out of the mine through the shaft,” observed Wild Bill. “There may be an air-shaft somewhere that we don’t know anything about. If Nomad found such a shaft, it would be easy for him to give us the slip.”

“There isn’t such a shaft!” declared the scout. “Even if there was, Hickok, why should Nick give us the slip?”

“He wouldn’t want to, of course; but he was in the mine one minute, and out of it the next. He met with foul play, and it was of the mighty sudden kind. Lawless is back of it—that goes without saying.”

“I presume you are right,” said the scout, “and if you are right, Hickok, there’s more to this mine than we have yet begun to discover.”

“There must be old workings, Cody, which have been closed up.”

“Nick’s disappearance can’t be explained in any other way. I suppose Nick saw Lawless or one of his men, and was struck down before he could do anything more than give that one yell; then he was dragged through some hole that we haven’t been able to find.”

Buffalo Bill got up and took the candle.

“I didn’t come here to lose any of my pards, Hickok,” he went on, “and I don’t intend to. We’ve got to find the route Nick traveled when he left, and follow it.”

“We’ll get him back,” averred Wild Bill, with a resolute snap of the jaws, “no matter how much of a ‘plant’ Lawless has down here.”

Thereupon the two stepped back into the main level. Holding his candle in one hand and a stone in the other, each proceeded toward the breast of the passage, tapping on the walls as they went.

This maneuver proved fruitless. The stone walls gave back no hollow sound, and, for all their ears could detect, they might as well have been tapping against a mountain of granite.

Never before had the king of scouts been so deeply perplexed. An outlet from the mine seemed such a simple thing to find, and yet it had baffled him. The whole mystery, in a less matter-of-fact mind than the scout’s, or Wild Bill’s, would have taken on a supernatural aspect.

“I’m up the biggest kind of a stump, Cody,” admitted Wild Bill, “and the more we try to solve the riddle, the higher up I get. The stone in the wall seems to be as solid as Gibraltar, and if there was a hole—even a masked opening—leading to another passage, there would certainly be some kind of a ‘break’ in the side of the level. But there isn’t any break—the walls are continuous.”

“About where, in this level,” said the scout, “would you say Nomad was when he gave that yell?”

“He could not have been far from the place where we left the canteens and the provisions—perhaps about half-way between there and the end of the level.”

Buffalo Bill went back to the spot indicated by Wild Bill. Flashing the candle about side walls and roof, something met his eyes. He examined it for a moment, and then called Hickok.

What the latter saw, when he gained the scout’s side, were words, written with candle-smoke, on the light-colored stone of the roof:

“Nuzhee Mona!”

“What in Sam Hill do those words mean?” cried Wild Bill.

“I wish I knew,” said the scout. “If we knew the meaning of the words we might get a clue to this tangle. Possibly a friend traced the words.”

“And perhaps an enemy—Lawless, for instance. If he put those words there, Cody, they mean a threat of some kind.”

“The voice we heard in the Alcazar was the voice of a friend; the voice used those two words; it was the hand of that same speaker that pinned that piece of bark to the door of the hotel; and, it naturally follows, the same hand must have put the words on the roof of this tunnel.”

“You make out a good case, Cody, but why all this secrecy? Why doesn’t the person, if really a friend, come out face to face with you and tell you what to expect, instead of dodging around cellars, visiting hotel doors mysteriously, and then sneaking into the Forty Thieves, and leaving those two words?”

“We don’t know what the woman has to work against, or how she is hampered in her attempts to warn us.”

“Woman?” echoed Wild Bill.

“Certainly. That voice we heard in the Alcazar was a woman’s voice.”

“An Indian, too, by gorry! Have you any idea who it could be?”

The scout was thoughtful for a moment.

“Who could this mysterious friend be, if not Wah-coo-tah?” he said finally.

“By gorry, you’ve hit it!” exclaimed Wild Bill. “I hadn’t thought of Wah-coo-tah. She is very friendly toward you, but she doesn’t like Dell a little bit. Say, I’ll bet a hundred against a last year’s bird’s nest that Wah-coo-tah’s the girl who was trying to steer us away from this trap.”

“The more I think about it,” said the scout, “the more reasonable it seems. The girl, when she left the hotel, went back to her father. While with him she found out about his plans concerning us. No doubt she is watched, and finds it impossible to show herself openly to us and tell what she knows. But all this isn’t helping us to find Nick.”

“Lawless has got him, Cody, and probably he will try the same means for getting us. We’ll have to be on our guard every minute, or——”

At that instant Buffalo Bill flung down his own candle and knocked the candle out of Hickok’s hand; then, hurling himself against his companion, he bore him to the floor of the level, and dropped beside him.

Before the astounded Wild Bill could ask a question as to the reason for such an unexpected action, a spurt of flame lit up the passage, and a rattle of revolver-shots echoed deafeningly between the narrow walls.

“Lie still!” whispered the scout in Wild Bill’s ear. Then, with a groan, he cried huskily: “I’m hit! They’ve got us, Hickok.”

A fall of swift feet resounded in the passage, coming rapidly nearer the two pards; but all was dark, and the scout, scarcely breathing, lay silently where he was, and waited.

Wild Bill understood the ruse he was playing, and immediately assumed his own part.

The feet came close, and, from the sound of them, the scout tried to estimate the number of men in the party. Three, four, five—there were five, at least, and where had they come from? They were running from the direction of the breast of the level, so they must have entered the passage by the same way Nomad had been taken out of it.

“Now, Hickok!” the scout suddenly cried, when he thought the men had come close enough.

As one man the two pards leaped erect, and flung themselves through the pitchy darkness at their unseen foes.

The scout caught one burly form in his hands, felt the point of a knife dig into his sleeve, and struck out with his fist. The man went down. Another took his place, and, in the narrow confines of the level, a fierce hand-to-hand fight was soon in progress.

Not a word was spoken by the combatants. Only the sound of their labored breathing, the shuffling of their feet on the rocky floor, and the thump of fists, broke the tomblike stillness of the mine.

Neither the scout nor Wild Bill dared use a revolver. Unable, as they were, to see a hand before their eyes, they might have hurt each other by promiscuous shooting.

Both the pards were putting up a gallant fight against odds; and, just when it seemed as though they were to win out, Buffalo Bill was caught by a random blow, whirled half-around; and sent stumbling over a stone on the floor of the passage.

He tried desperately to regain his balance, failed, and plunged headlong into the rocky wall. The next instant his senses left him, and he knew no more.

CHAPTER XIII. DELL AND WAH-COO-TAH.

When the scout opened his eyes, the exciting events which he had recently passed through seemed more like a dream than anything else. As his brain slowly cleared, and he was able to pick up the broken thread of occurrences more firmly, he began to wonder at what he saw.

He was lying in the level, and a lighted candle stood on a rock near his head. Beside him knelt Dell Dauntless, bending over and allowing a trickle of water to fall upon his face from one of the canteens.

“How are you now, Buffalo Bill?” the girl asked.

“Nothing worth mentioning has happened to me, Dell,” he answered, pushing aside the canteen and sitting up. “I took a tumble over that rock where you’ve put the candle, and struck my head against the wall of the passage. It was a small thing to knock a man out.”

“It must have been a harder blow than you supposed.”

“No discount on that, pard; still, it isn’t anything to make a fuss over.”

He picked up his hat and put it on, then gave the girl an inquiring look.

“How is it I find you here?”

“Cayuse was in the gully with the horses,” Dell explained, “and I was reconnoitering around the ore-dump. Everything had been pretty quiet, up above, and Cayuse and I hadn’t seen a soul. I was close to the mouth of the shaft when I heard something like a volley of revolver-shots. I wasn’t sure there had been firing down here, though, until I had crept to the mouth of the shaft and sniffed burned powder. Cayuse and I had left the spliced riatas hidden in the bushes near the ore-dump, and I ran for the ropes, dropped one end down and made the other fast to the platform. Then I lowered myself into the mine.”

“You took a lot of chances, Dell,” muttered the scout, brushing a hand across his eyes. “You found me lying here, eh?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t see any one else?”

“No. What’s become of Nomad and Wild Bill?”

The scout couldn’t understand why Lawless and his gang hadn’t finished him, nor why he hadn’t been dragged away to the same mysterious place to which Nomad had been taken; but he didn’t stop to debate these matters just then. Getting quickly to his feet, he snatched up the candle and went along the level, looking for Wild Bill, just as he and Wild Bill had gone hunting for Nomad a little while before.

The smell of burned powder was strong, and a slight fog of it was drifting toward the shaft.

Buffalo Bill, followed by Dell, went to the end of the tunnel and back again without finding any trace of Wild Bill. The scout sat down on a rock and took his aching head between his hands.

“This is a brain-twister, if there ever was one,” he muttered.

“What do you mean by that, pard?” Dell inquired.

“Well,” he answered, looking up, “we hadn’t been down here fifteen minutes until Nomad had disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

“Yes. Wild Bill and I heard him give a yell, but when we went to look for him he had vanished.”

“There must be a secret passage leading into another part of the mine, and——”

“Hickok and I made up our minds to that, but if there is a secret passage we failed to locate it. While we were talking the matter over, I heard a sound of stealthy movements between us and the breast of the level, and I had just time to throw down my candle and knock the light out of Wild Bill’s hand, and then to drag Wild Bill flat down on the floor of the level, when a volley was fired. We had a hand-to-hand fight, and right in the middle of it I stumbled over that stone and rammed my head into the wall. And now Hickok has followed Nomad—where? And why is it I wasn’t taken away with Hickok? I can’t make head or tail to this thing, Dell, and it’s getting onto my nerves. Nothing happens as you would expect it to happen. The mine seems bewitched.”

“We’d better get out of here,” Dell suggested.

“I came here to stay three days and nights,” said the scout doggedly, “and——”

“But with Nomad and Wild Bill gone, what could you and I do against men who have a secret retreat in the mine? They have every advantage, pard. They can make an attack when they want to, and can get away in a hurry and without leaving a clue as to where they go. Of course, these men are Lawless and his gang, and they not only have the advantage in the point of numbers, but they have also a knowledge of these underground workings.”

“Lawless prepared the mine as a trap for us,” said the scout, “and, while I was expecting underhand work and surprises when we came down here, I was not counting upon hidden passages and secret levels. I won’t abandon Nomad and Hickok to their fate, but I’ll go up to the surface and take a look around. There may be a concealed shaft somewhere in the vicinity of the ore-dump. After I make an examination of the surface, I’ll come back down here.”

“Will it be wise,” asked Dell, “for us to come back down here alone? Hadn’t we better send Cayuse to Sun Dance for more men? Pete, and Tenny, and Blake would probably be glad to come down here and help.”

“Dell,” said the scout earnestly, “I’ve got just pride enough about me to want to wind this up without any outside aid. I’ll be an hour on the surface, not longer; then I’ll come down here again and leave you at the top of the shaft.”

“You’ll be taking your life in your hands,” said Dell.

“I don’t think so. Lawless and his men could have killed me, or have snaked me out of the tunnel with Hickok. They didn’t do it; and that proves that they have some reason for sparing me and leaving me in the level. I can’t leave here without doing something for Wild Bill and Nomad.”

The scout started toward the shaft with the candle. As Dell followed, she kicked against something on the floor. Picking the object up, she found it to be a pine knot, soaked in kerosene.

“That gang that attacked Wild Bill and me,” said the scout, “probably brought that along with them. They didn’t have time to light it, and it was lost in the scuffle. We’ll make use of it ourselves,” and he held the candle to the oil-soaked knot.

The torch blazed up on the instant, and the scout blew out his candle and put it in his pocket.

They went on to the shaft, and, when they got there, another one of Dell’s “disagreeable surprises” awaited them. The rope which Dell had left swinging from the plank platform was gone!

The girl recoiled with a cry of dismay.

“I’m getting used to this sort of thing, Dell,” said the scout grimly. “The unexpected is sure to happen in this mine—you meet it at every turn.”

“Could Cayuse have pulled up the rope?”

“Hardly. It’s a safe guess he wouldn’t leave the horses.”

“Then it must have been Lawless and his men?”

“That’s the way I figure it.”

“If that’s the case, it naturally follows that the outlaws have some way of getting to the surface, aside from using this shaft?”

“That’s right, pard. Lawless and his men appear to have everything their own way. They can come and go as they please, and they can dodge in on us and dodge away again without leaving any clue. If you were on the surface, the loss of the rope wouldn’t bother me very much. I have just found out what I was going up to discover. There is a concealed shaft, and the outlaws had to make use of it in order to get to the top of the ore-dump and pull up that rope.”

“You think they knew I was down here?”

“It’s an easy guess. Now that we’re likely to have to stay down here for a while, we had better make ourselves as secure as possible. The safest place in the mine, it strikes me, is that ‘drift’ where Wild Bill found the gold. We’ll carry our grub-sacks and water-cans in there, then put out the light, lay low, and wait for developments. We’ll have plenty of them, if I’m any prophet. I never saw such a place for things to happen.”

While Dell held the torch, Buffalo Bill picked up some of the canteens and provision-bags and carried them into the “drift.” A few canteens were left in the level, and Dell went back for them.

The scout, in the dark end of the short passage, was stowing away the bags and canteens, when he heard an unusual sound just beyond the opening leading into the “drift.” He glanced up and stared toward the place where Dell was standing with the torch.

The unexpected had happened, just as the scout had surmised it would, but nevertheless he was mightily taken aback by what he saw.

An Indian girl was standing in front of Dell. The newcomer had a catamount skin over her back and a knife in the uplifted hand. Dell, it was plain, had been startled by the Indian girl’s appearance—as well she might be; and no less by her appearance than by the fierce hostility that gleamed in her black eyes.

In three leaps the scout gained the level and had grasped the Indian girl’s uplifted arm.

“Wah-coo-tah!” thundered Buffalo Bill; “what does this mean?”

The Indian girl stared into the scout’s face, and her upraised arm slowly dropped. As the scout’s grip relaxed, she drew away a step, and a soft look came into her eyes.

“Pa-e-has-ka,” she murmured, “why you come here? You no want um mine—know um no good. You want um Lawless, but you no ketch um. Lawless kill Pa-e-has-ka, all same.”

“Wah-coo-tah,” asked the scout, “where are my pards, Nomad and Wild Bill?”

“Lawless got um.”

“That’s what I supposed; but where has Lawless taken them?”

“All same secret level.”

“Are they in any immediate danger?”

“Lawless no kill um yet. Him wait till he kill um Pa-e-has-ka.”

“Why didn’t he kill me a while ago, when he had the chance?”

“Him wait to kill you another way. Nuzhee Mona!”

Here were the same words that had already aroused the curiosity of the scout and his pards. Wah-coo-tah, it was now proved, had spoken them in the basement of the Alcazar, pinned them to the hotel door with the dagger, and written them in smoke on the roof of the level.

“How did you get here, Wah-coo-tah?” asked the scout.

“Come by secret door in rocks,” answered the girl.

“Have you been trying to warn me, and keep me away?”

“Ai, but Pa-e-has-ka no stay away. Him here now, and him die.”

“Why did you leave the hotel like you did?”

Wah-coo-tah glared over the scout’s shoulder at Dell Dauntless.

“No like um yellow hair squaw,” she said savagely.

“What harm have I ever done you, Wah-coo-tah?” asked Dell.

“Huh!” said the Indian girl scornfully, hunching up her shoulders and folding her arms. “Me like um Pa-e-has-ka; you like um.”

At that a light dawned on the scout. He could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses. As soon as he became certain there was no mistake, an amused laugh broke from his lips. He would have laughed had his situation been ten times as perilous as it was.

A faint smile curved around Dell’s red lips. Wah-coo-tah, watching and listening with catlike vigilance, lashed herself into another burst of temper.

“Me come here to kill Yellow Hair!” she cried. “Me watch up top o’ ground; me see her come down shaft; then me pull up rope, come by secret door into tunnel.”

Like a panther, Wah-coo-tah flung herself toward Dell.

With a quick move, the scout placed himself in Wah-coo-tah’s way. Her lifted knife dropped until the point touched his breast, and she stood in front of him with flashing eyes and heaving bosom, a living picture of murderous hate.

“There, there, Wah-coo-tah,” said the scout, reaching up his hands and unclasping her fingers from the knife. “You’re making a big mistake.” He took the weapon from her resisting grasp and slid it into his pocket. “You don’t understand the situation at all. Yellow Hair Pa-e-has-ka’s pard, all same Nomad, Wild Bill, and Little Cayuse. Wah-coo-tah Pa-e-has-ka’s pard, too. Sabe?”

The girl was only half-convinced, only half-placated.

“Ugh!” she muttered, “me no like um Yellow Hair.”

“If you want to be friends with Pa-e-has-ka, Wah-coo-tah,” proceeded the scout earnestly, “you must also be friends with Yellow Hair.”

“No!” Wah-coo-tah screamed in sudden frenzy; “mebbyso, bymby, me kill um Yellow Hair.”

“That’s the Indian of it,” muttered the scout. “When you’re dealing with a redskin you never can tell which way the cat is going to jump.”

Looking Wah-coo-tah in the eyes, he addressed her directly.

“If you wanted to warn me,” said he, “why didn’t you come out, face to face?”

“Lawless watch Sun Dance Camp,” answered Wah-coo-tah. “Mebbyso he see Wah-coo-tah make talk with Pa-e-has-ka, he kill Wah-coo-tah.”

“Ah! so that’s the way of it? You came to the Alcazar when we were talking with the gambler?”

“All same under floor; try make Pa-e-has-ka stay ’way from mine. Pa-e-has-ka no stay. Me get into Alcazar by window in cellar; get out same way.”

“Can you write, Wah-coo-tah?”

“My father he teach me how to make letters.”

“And you made letters on a piece of bark and pinned them to the hotel door with a dagger?”

“All same. When me come from Alcazar me watch. See um Pa-e-has-ka, Yellow Hair, and rest Pa-e-has-ka’s pards come from Alcazar, meet Piute, hold powwow; then me put birch bark on hotel door. Hope mebbyso Pa-e-has-ka see um—no go to mine.”

“You came back to the Forty Thieves from Sun Dance?”

“Ai.”

“And you came into this level, took a candle, and wrote those words on the wall with the candle-smoke?”

“Ai. Me no like to think Pa-e-has-ka die. Pa-e-has-ka big brave. Wah-coo-tah like um.”

“Don’t be foolish, Wah-coo-tah,” said the scout. “Such talk is for zinga zingas (children).”

“Mebbyso Yellow Hair talk like that,” said Wah-coo-tah angrily, “you no say she talk like zinga zinga.”

“Yellow Hair has too much sense to talk in that way.”

“Huh!” exclaimed the Indian girl contemptuously.

“How is Lawless planning to get even with me, Wah-coo-tah?” went on the scout. “Why didn’t he take me out of this level at the time he dragged Wild Bill away?”

“Him got better way to kill Pa-e-has-ka. No want to use um knife or bullet. Pa-e-has-ka die in Forty Thieves Mine.”

“How?”

“Nuzhee Mona!”

“What does that mean?”

The girl shook her head, and shivered as though struck by a draft of icy air.

“Tell me what the words mean!” insisted the scout.

“Nuzhee Mona all same god of Injun; god slay Pa-e-has-ka.”

“I reckon I’m able to defend myself against any of these heathen gods,” said the scout.

“Pa-e-has-ka no save himself from Nuzhee Mona.”

“We’ll see. How many men has Lawless with him?”

“So many,” and Wah-coo-tah held up seven fingers. “Clancy, Seth Coomby, Tex, Andy, all same three Injun—Cheyennes.”

“Lawless fixed up this mine for a trap, eh?”

“Mine been fixed for many moons. Lawless got bad heart, do bad things white man no like. Him fix mine so he get away when white pony soldiers come to ketch um.”

“This ‘plant’ of his was originally devised for his own safety, then? Well, I reckon he thinks he is putting it to good use now. If you had come to me in Sun Dance, Wah-coo-tah, and had told me about the layout here, I would have taken extra measures looking to the safety of my pards and myself.”

“Pa-e-has-ka great brave, but him no can fight Lawless. Lawless Wah-coo-tah’s father, but Wah-coo-tah no like um. Wah-coo-tah know, when Lawless driven by Pa-e-has-ka from gulch, that Lawless make try kill Pa-e-has-ka. So Wah-coo-tah go to Lawless, learn what he try to do, then warn Pa-e-has-ka. Pa-e-has-ka no pay any ’tention,” and rebuke and sadness lurked in the last words.

“Had I known more, Wah-coo-tah,” said the scout, “I should have paid more attention. Are Wild Bill and Nomad bound?”

“Ai. Lawless no let um get ’way.”

“Are all of the outlaws watching them?”

“Plenty men watch um.”

“Won’t it be possible for Dell and me to go through the secret door you speak about, and rescue my pards? I can’t leave them in the hands of Lawless.”

“Pa-e-has-ka want to die, quick? Him go through secret door, him be shot down, pronto. Door watched all time.”

“How did you get through it to come here?”

“Cheyenne watch um door. Cheyenne like um Wah-coo-tah, let Wah-coo-tah come.”

“See here, Wah-coo-tah,” went on the scout, “can’t you contrive to set Nomad and Wild Bill free, then get them past the Cheyenne at the secret door?”

“What good, huh? Then you all die here by Nuzhee Mona.”

“We’ll take our chances with Nuzhee Mona if you’ll help my pards.”

Wah-coo-tah bowed her head in thought for a moment; then, drawing herself erect, she took a swift step toward the scout.

“Mebbyso Pa-e-has-ka send Yellow Hair away, huh? Then Wah-coo-tah save um pards Pa-e-has-ka.”

“Why is she so bitter against me?” breathed Dell. “As she puts it now, I am standing between Nomad and Wild Bill and safety.” She whirled on Wah-coo-tah. “How can Pa-e-has-ka send me away, Wah-coo-tah? We are in the mine—there is no way out, for you have taken away the rope.”

“Mebbyso me go back, let down rope, then Pa-e-has-ka and his pards get ’way, huh? Injun girl more able to do things than white squaw. Wah-coo-tah save Pa-e-has-ka, Nomad, and Wild Bill, you promise go ’way never see Pa-e-has-ka again?”

Wah-coo-tah bent her hard, stony eyes on the white face of Dell.

The Indian girl must have understood the struggle that was taking place in Dell’s breast, for a gloating exultation overspread her face. Dell was her enemy, and she exulted in the torture she had caused.

“Yes,” said Dell slowly: “if you will save Nomad and Wild Bill, and then let down the rope so that we may all get out of this mine, I—I will leave Buffalo Bill and never see him again.”

At that instant, Wah-coo-tah’s keen ear detected something that led her to snatch the torch from Dell’s hand and crush out the flame under her moccasins.

“Good!” she muttered, in reply to Dell’s promise. “Me save um. Just now Lawless come; get in here, quick.”

With her hands, Wah-coo-tah pushed the scout and Dell through the mouth of the “drift.”

While they crouched there, the scout fingering his revolvers, they heard stealthy movements along the tunnel in their direction.

“Pa-e-has-ka make parley with Lawless,” whispered Wah-coo-tah to the scout. “Pa-e-has-ka tell um Lawless Pa-e-has-ka kill um Wah-coo-tah if Lawless no get back through secret door. Sabe?”

The scout understood. The stealthy sounds were coming nearer and nearer along the tunnel, and the scout would rather have met his enemies with bullets than with words, but just then Wah-coo-tah’s plan seemed best.

“Lawless!” the scout cried.

The movements stopped, and a low, mocking laugh came out of the heavy gloom.

“Who speaks?” demanded a voice.

“Buffalo Bill.”

“What do you want, Buffalo Bill?”

“I want you to stand where you are, and not come another step this way.”

“What you want, and what you’ll get,” was the taunting reply, “are two different things. I have the upper hand here. You came to the Forty Thieves thinking you would trap the trappers; and you thought I did not know Wild Bill had discovered that rich vein in the ‘drift.’ I knew about that when I made out that deed, and I knew very well the rich vein would tempt you to come here. However, I let you suppose I thought the Forty Thieves worthless, and that I was summoning you here to pit my strength against yours.”

Captain Lawless gave another laugh—a laugh that held a ringing note of triumph.

“I am not the fool you think me,” he went on. “The Forty Thieves is a bonanza, but it will never belong to you. You and your pards are on my trail, and when you are out of the way, I can take possession of the mine and work it myself. There is a method in my plans. Your greed to get possession of the mine, which you knew to be valuable, and which you believed I thought worthless, has placed you in the jaws of death. Two of your pards are already in my hands. By to-morrow noon their scalps will swing from the girdles of my Cheyennes; but you—well, yours is to be a different fate. That is why I left you here when I could have had you dragged away with Hickok; that is why I did not let a Cheyenne knife do its work with you; and so sure was I that I would ‘get’ you, that I did not even trouble to remove your weapons.”

Silence followed Lawless’ words.

“How did you learn about the rich vein?” asked the scout.

“When you thought you chased me and my men out of the cañon, some days ago,” replied Lawless, still in his high, mocking voice, “we took refuge in the secret workings of the mine. We were here when you rode off; and it was then we examined the drift and saw the vein of gold. More than that, I was lurking close at hand when you and your pards came here on your last visit and looked over the vein for yourselves. I am obliged to you, Buffalo Bill, for spoiling that deal of mine with Bingham. Thinking the mine worthless, I was on the point of handing him a bonanza. Now, as soon as you and your pards are out of the way, I shall have the bonanza for myself—and not a man in Sun Dance Cañon will lift a hand to interfere with me in working the mine.”

“What fate have you selected for me, Lawless?”

“In two hours it will be sunrise. Listen, then, and you will hear your doom rushing upon you. Nuzhee Mona!” and a diabolical laugh came with the last words.

“I have heard scoundrels of your stamp make their threats before,” flung back the scout defiantly. “Talk is cheap.”

“You will find that I am not making empty threats. You will be caught like a rat in a trap.”

“If my fate is not to overtake me before sunrise, why have you come into this part of the mine now?”

“I am looking for that girl of mine.”

“Then you need look no farther. She came spying upon me, and I have her here, a prisoner.”

An exclamation of anger escaped Lawless.

“Turn her loose, at once!” he commanded.

“I shall keep her as a hostage for my own safety,” said the scout. “Whatever fate comes to me, will come to her; and if you do not instantly leave this level, she shall suffer.”

Lawless called out something in the Cheyenne tongue. Wah-coo-tah answered, and her words were like the screech of an enraged panther.

“Wah-coo-tah,” went on Lawless, “is ready to die to help her father, if need be. Your fate will come to you at sunrise, Buffalo Bill, and I will have my revenge, even if it is necessary to sacrifice the girl. That ought to show you I mean business.”

“It shows me that you are a more contemptible scoundrel than I had supposed,” answered the scout calmly. “Are you going to get out of this level?”

“At once. Farewell, Buffalo Bill, king of scouts! The government will look far before another man is found to take your place. When you crossed the path of Captain Lawless, of the Forty Thieves, you tackled a bigger job than you had imagined.”

Sounds of retreating steps came along the level, fading abruptly into silence.

“He doesn’t think much of Wah-coo-tah,” said Dell, “from the way he talks.”

“He doesn’t think much of any one but himself,” replied the scout. “What did he say to you, Wah-coo-tah?”

“Him want to know if Pa-e-has-ka speak true when he say he ketch um Wah-coo-tah,” answered the girl. “Me tell um me here, but that me no tell Pa-e-has-ka way into secret passage, and that mebbyso me get ’way before Nuzhee Mona come.” She gave a low, sibilant laugh. “Me fool Lawless,” she added. “Bymby me get back, fool um some more. Me hate um! Him my father, but me hate um. He try sell me to Ponca warrior for five ponies.”

“Wah-coo-tah,” spoke up Dell, “will have to get away from here and liberate Nomad and Wild Bill and ourselves before sunrise. If she waits beyond that time it will be too late.”

“Mebbyso Lawless no let Nuzhee Mona go till Wah-coo-tah get through secret door. We got plenty time. Lawless give Wah-coo-tah chance to save herself.”

Silence fell for a space, and then the scout took the candle from his pocket, lighted it, and opened one of the provision-bags.

They all felt the need of food and water, and began a leisurely meal, relying on Wah-coo-tah’s confidence that Nuzhee Mona—whatever that mystical name represented—would not be released until she had had a chance to effect her escape.

In the midst of their meal, they were all three startled by a perceptible quivering of the rocks about them, followed by a muffled explosion that rolled like distant thunder.

A cry fell from Wah-coo-tah’s lips, and she leaped to her feet excitedly.

Loosened stones could be heard crashing from the roof of the level to the floor.

“What is it?” exclaimed Dell, in consternation.

“Wah-coo-tah!” cried Buffalo Bill, springing up and catching the Indian girl by the arm. “Is this Lawless’ work? What is he doing?”

The girl started for the level, but halted and turned back.

“Yellow Hair make um promise to leave Buffalo Bill, huh, if I save um?” she said quickly.

“Yes, yes,” returned Dell. “Only be quick!”

Wah-coo-tah raced into the level and along it toward the breast. The stones had stopped falling by that time, and the scout and Dell, with the candle, hastened to follow the Indian girl.

Suddenly, as they ran around a sharp angle of the corridor, they saw Wah-coo-tah. She stood in a blaze of light that poured over her from a square opening in the wall. She cried out something, and tried to push into the opening, but she was met by a clattering volley of shots, and reeled backward with a groan. Then, silently, the door closed over the glare, and only the gleam of the scout’s candle lighted the level.

“They’ve shot her!” murmured Dell; “Lawless has shot his own daughter!”

“Perhaps not Lawless, but some of his men!” returned the scout. “Oh, the fiends! the dastards! They thought she was helping us, and that is the way they took to stop it.”

Running to the girl’s side, the scout knelt down. A trickle of red was running over the girl’s breast. The catamount skin, which she had worn over her back, had fallen off.

“Wah-coo-tah,” said the scout gently, “are you hurt?”

“Me live to fool um yet!” answered Wah-coo-tah spasmodically. “You help me, Pa-e-has-ka! Quick! Take me to shaft.”

“You can’t move——”

“Ai, all same you help.”

She struggled fiercely, and Buffalo Bill, seeing her determination, helped her up. Dell took the candle and tried to be of some assistance, but Wah-coo-tah, with all her waning strength, repulsed her. Even in that tragic moment, she would have none of Dell.

Supporting the girl, the scout led her, reeling, back along the level and toward the shaft.

Before they had covered much more than half the distance, a low roaring broke on their ears. Wah-coo-tah, flinging her hands to her breast, gave a convulsive spring.

“Nuzhee Mona!” she wailed, and sank limply in the scout’s arms.

“Water, Dell!” cried the scout. “Hurry.”

As Dell darted into the “drift,” the scout listened, while the roaring grew louder and louder.

CHAPTER XIV. LITTLE CAYUSE ON GUARD.

The gully, which the scout had selected as a fitting place to hide the horses, was admirably adapted to the purpose.

The mouth broke into the wall of the cañon some fifteen feet above the cañon’s bed, and a slope, formed of ancient washings from the gully, led upward to the entrance of it.

It was narrow, filled with a growth of scrub, and its bed sloped upward from the point where it entered the cañon.

Besides, it was a blind gully, running into the hills for a few hundred feet and terminating in a sheer wall. All the other walls were equally steep and unscalable. There was no getting into the gully in any way except from the cañon.

Little Cayuse took due account of all these advantages, and gave a grunt of satisfaction. The horses he tethered among the bushes, and then returned to the gully’s mouth, and sat down to watch and wait.

Hours passed, and the boy, through all that time, sat like a bronze statue, wonderfully alert, but neither hearing nor seeing anything that claimed his attention. Perhaps he would not have been so calm and passive could he have known what was taking place in the depths of the Forty Thieves!

The sun went down, daylight faded out of the west, and one by one the stars stole over the sky. Cayuse watched them as they brightened overhead.

At last he began wondering about Dell. She had been a long time on watch at the shaft, and it had been agreed between them that she should come to the gully, in three hours, and look out for the horses while Cayuse watched the shaft. More than three hours had passed, and Dell had not come.

The boy stepped out into the cañon and cast his eyes in the direction of the mine. The defile was plunged in gloom, and Cayuse could see nothing.

He threw back his head and gave the bark of a timber-wolf. No answer came. He tried again, but still without securing a response.

It was a signal well known among the scout’s pards, and if Dell had heard it she would surely have signified that she had by a similar answer.

Why had she not heard?

A thrill of alarm ran through the boy. He feared something had happened to the girl, and he stole cautiously forward to investigate.

As he neared the ore-dump, he saw a figure on the platform, over the shaft. It was the form of a woman—he could tell that much—and he supposed it was Dell.

“Yellow Hair!” he called.

The figure started up, holding something, and darted down the side of the dump and out of sight among the dusky bushes.

Cayuse glided after the form, and before it had disappeared he discovered that it was the form of an Indian girl, and made up his mind that it was Wah-coo-tah.

Knowing Wah-coo-tah was a friend of Buffalo Bill’s, the boy called her name, and darted into the bushes after her. When he got into the chaparral, however, Wah-coo-tah had disappeared.

Puzzled by Wah-coo-tah’s actions, Little Cayuse climbed to the top of the ore-dump and peered into the black shaft.

At that time, the scout and Dell were talking in the main level, and the boy could not see or hear anything of them. He felt under the rim of the platform. Not finding a rope, he naturally concluded that Dell was not in the mine. Ignorant of the fact that Wah-coo-tah herself had removed the rope, the boy naturally supposed that Dell had fallen into the hands of Lawless and his men.

Skulking about in the chaparral, he hunted for some traces of the white scoundrels. He was unsuccessful. Knowing that much might depend upon the horses, he could not leave the animals unwatched, and so, with a heavy heart, he made his way back to the gully.

For hour after hour the boy continued his lonely vigil, imagining all sorts of things, but unable to do anything to settle his misgivings. In the east he saw a gray streak of dawn hovering above the rim of the cañon, and realized with a start that the night had passed, and that day was at hand.

Perhaps, he reasoned, as daylight gathered and brightened the surroundings, he might be able to discover what had become of Dell. Meantime, the horses must not be neglected.

There was a pool in front of the gully’s mouth, and Cayuse led the animals down, one at a time, and let them drink.

By the time he had finished this duty, the morning was well advanced toward sunrise. As he picked his way out of the scrub in the direction of the cañon, casting about in his mind as to the best course for him to follow in looking for Dell, he came to a sudden and astounded halt.

Looking out through the narrow opening into the cañon, he had abruptly caught sight of three mounted men, and of another on foot.

The man on foot he recognized as Captain Lawless, Buffalo Bill’s enemy; those on the horses Cayuse also knew, and they were Clancy, Seth Coomby, and the scoundrel called “Tex,” all three members of Lawless’ gang.

Dropping instantly to his knees, Cayuse crept closer to the mouth of the gully. There, crouching behind a boulder, he watched and listened with sharp eyes and ears.

The men were talking, and from his present position the boy could hear them distinctly.

“I want you, Clancy,” Lawless was saying, “to set off those blasts as soon as you can fire the fuses. The time to wipe out Buffalo Bill and his pards has come. Quick work will do the trick.”

“An’ what’s ter become o’ us, arterwards?” asked Tex moodily. “Pickin’ off a lot of fellers like Buffler Bill and his pards is li’ble ter mean somethin’ ter us.”

“If you’re getting cold feet, Tex,” snapped Lawless, “now’s your time to quit. Ride out of this cañon, if you want to, and go where you please. If you do that, however, you’ll not come in for anything we get out of the Forty Thieves. There’ll be just so much more for the rest of us, and I’m figuring the mine will make us rich.”

“Don’t be a fool, Tex,” growled Seth Coomby. “Who’s goin’ ter know thet we done fer the scout an’ his pards? It’ll look like er accident.”

“Accident, nothin’,” scoffed Tex. “Didn’t the cap’n send the deed ter Gentleman Jim, an’ along with ther deed didn’t he send a line darin’ the scout ter stay three days an’ nights in the mine? Shore he did! An’ thet means, when Buffler Bill an’ his pards aire done up, thet the hull bloomin’ job is tacked onter us.”

“Are you going with Clancy and Coomby, Tex,” demanded Lawless angrily, “or are you going to cut yourself out of this herd? Make up your mind, for we haven’t any time to spare.”

“I’m game ter go on,” returned Tex. “I’m in so fur, now, thet it don’t make much diff’rence, anyways.”

“That’s the way ter talk!” approved Clancy.

“Sure you’ve placed those loads right, Clancy?” asked Lawless, turning to the other man, now that the business with Tex was settled.

“You bet! Them blasts’ll do the trick. Meanwhile, cap’n, you see to it that no one gits on top o’ the dump an’ lets down a rope.”

“If any one tries to do that,” scowled Lawless, “he’ll be shot off the dump. One of the Cheyennes is watching, and has his orders. But who is there to help Buffalo Bill out of the hole? We’ve captured the only two men he had with him, and he’s now bottled up in the level and shaft, powerless to do anything to help himself. But ride on, ride on. You boys understand what’s wanted, and there’s no use wasting time in further parley.”

At that, the party separated, Clancy, Seth Coomby, and Tex riding down the cañon, and Lawless retreating toward the cañon wall.

The alarm of Little Cayuse had increased almost to a panic. What he had heard had struck him like a blow between the eyes.

Nomad and Wild Bill captured! Buffalo Bill helpless in the depths of the mine, and a horrible doom of some kind about to be released and sent down upon him!

What should he do?

That was the question that ran through Little Cayuse’s brain like a searing-iron.

If he went back to the ore-dump, and tried to let down a rope to the scout, the Cheyenne would kill him; if he followed Lawless—but Lawless had already vanished; at least, Little Cayuse concluded, he could follow the three basemen down the cañon, and perhaps might find a way to interfere with their nefarious designs.

Rushing back up the gully, Cayuse untied Navi, twisted the buckskin thong into a hackamore, and bounded upon the pinto’s bare back; then, riding cautiously out into the cañon, he made after Clancy, Coomby, and Tex.

Never had the faithful Piute boy felt that more was required of him, and never had he felt so doubtful of his own powers.

Following three men in broad daylight, and at the same time keeping out of their sight, was a difficult piece of work. What helped Cayuse most, however, was the fact that the three white men were utterly unsuspicious. They seemed to feel that they had no enemies at large in the cañon, and they did no watching along the back track.

For the rest of it, the Piute took advantage of every patch of brush and every convenient boulder that lay along his course.

Two miles down the defile, as Cayuse judged, the three horsemen turned their mounts and set them directly at the high wall. In this place the wall was a steep slope, yet the horses scaled it and vanished over the rim with their riders.

For Cayuse to take Navi up the slope might mean discovery, and yet the boy knew that he himself must climb to the top of the wall if he was to learn what work the three men were to do.

Hitching Navi in a convenient thicket, at the foot of the wall, Cayuse took his small repeating rifle and started on foot up the ascent.

He climbed the steep slope swiftly and so carefully that he did not displace a single stone. Where he gained the cañon’s rim there was a fringe of hazels, and he was able to crawl over into the bushes and peer through them, thus keeping out of sight.

In front of him was a lake, its surface almost level with the top of the cañon wall, and a comparatively thin barrier of stone keeping its waters out of the cañon.

The three white men had taken their horses well around the edge of the lake, and were dismounting. There was little talk among them. Clancy and Coomby had thrown off their coats and Tex was holding the three horses.

Presently Clancy and Coomby returned around the edge of the lake and halted for a space at the cañon’s rim. Cayuse, scarcely breathing, crouched lower among the hazels and watched with staring eyes.

“Thar’ll be a reg’lar tidal wave goin’ along ther cañon in a couple o’ shakes,” said Clancy, with an evil laugh.

“It’ll rush down on ther mine,” said Coomby, “purvidin’ the cap’n is right in his calkerlations.”

“He’s gin’rally right.”

“Seems ter me, though, the water’ll flow directly away from the mine.”

“From hyer ter the mine, Coomby, the bed o’ the cañon pitches down-hill, in spite o’ the fact thet, taken by an’ large, this Sun Dance deefile pitches to’ther way. The lake is down-cañon from the mine, but the bed o’ the cañon is down-grade all the way from hyer ter the Forty Thieves.”

“Waal, we’ll see. Let’s git down ter the fuses.”

Thereupon the two men lowered themselves over the top of the wall.

Cayuse, craning his neck, was able to see them applying a match to the ends of the fuses. The men climbed quickly to the top of the wall, and stood there, peering downward at the sputtering flames.

By that time the horror of the situation, so far as Buffalo Bill was concerned, had flashed over the boy.

It was Lawless’ plan to blow away the stone barrier separating the waters of the lake from the cañon! The waters, thus released, would rush over the cañon wall, down the cañon, and flood the shaft and level of the Forty Thieves! If Buffalo Bill was in the mine, he would be drowned—there was no possible way for him to escape.

With every nerve tense, Cayuse pulled himself to one knee and lifted his rifle to his shoulder. If he could shoot down the two men and extinguish the blazing fuses——

This was the boy’s thought, and he would have executed the plan, or tried to, had not fate played against him. The slight noise he made in shifting to his knee and lifting the rifle had been heard.

“What’s thet, thar in the bresh?” yelled Coomby.

“I heerd er noise, too,” began Clancy, “an’——”

Just then the Piute’s repeater spit forth a bullet. The piece of lead was aimed at Clancy, but the instant the trigger was pulled Clancy jumped forward to investigate the bushes.

The bullet, therefore, missed Clancy by an inch.

That shot was enough for the two scoundrels. Jerking out their revolvers, they sent a volley into the hazels. That Cayuse was not killed out of hand was due to the quickness with which he rolled over the edge of the wall.

He shot down the slope head over heels, and was half-way to the place where he had left Navi before he could regain his footing. He was bruised, but that was no time to take account of bruises. His life had been saved, although Clancy and Coomby were dancing around like madmen on the top of the wall and still taking potshots at him.

Muttering anathemas on his hard luck, the boy raced in a zigzag line toward the thicket where his horse was waiting, tore the animal loose, leaped to his back, and sped off up the cañon.

He looked back over his shoulder as he raced and saw that Clancy and Coomby had beat a retreat from the vicinity of the blasts; and, while he looked, the boy saw a veritable geyser of broken stones leap upward and outward from the cañon wall.

A great gap had been torn through the barrier, and the boy saw a Niagaralike flood leap through the opening and roll, foaming and roaring, down the cañon.

Could he beat that flood to the gully? Cayuse’s life depended on it, and Navi was fleet and well in the lead.

Two miles lay between Cayuse and safety, but the miles were down-grade—Clancy had said so, and he had got his information from Lawless. Lawless probably knew, for the vengeful and murderous leader had so far laid his plans cunningly and well.

Navi seemed to understand what depended upon him. The roar from behind filled his ears and frightened him. In a perfect frenzy, he stretched himself out in a race that was to save his rider from death.

And what of Buffalo Bill, in the level of the Forty Thieves?

Something like a sob rushed through the lips of Little Cayuse. He shook one clenched hand behind him, toward a wall of water that filled the cañon from side to side, tossing and churning itself to foam and throwing arms of spray high into the air.

The roar was deafening. Water continued to pour through the break in the cañon wall and to push forward the flood that raced down the defile.

How Navi ever covered those two miles Little Cayuse never knew. He realized, after what seemed like a thousand years of torment but which in reality was less than a thousand seconds, that he was caught by the rushing waters half-way up the slope leading from the cañon’s bed to the mouth of the gully.

With Navi almost swept from his feet, and a greater flood following the first on-rush of water, Cayuse was only saved from being drowned by a riata that dropped over his shoulders just as he was being torn from Navi’s back.

Hanging to the rope with one hand while the noose tightened about his body, and with the other hand clinging to the end of the hackamore, Cayuse and the pinto were brought, wet and floundering, into the mouth of the gully.

Utterly exhausted, the boy straightened out on the rocks, while Navi, with drooping head and lathered hide, puffed and panted beside him.

“Blamed if it ain’t Buffler Bill’s Injun pard!” cried a voice, above the rush and swirl of water.

“How the blazes does he happen ter be hyer? He got out o’ that cloud-burst by the skin o’ his teeth, an’ no more.”

This was from a second speaker, and yet a third chimed in with:

“Where’s Buffalo Bill an’ the rest o’ his pards? That’s what gits me. D’ye think they was caught by the flood?”

Little Cayuse turned over on his back and looked up.

Hank Tenny, Lonesome Pete, and Henry Blake were beside him, each with an arm hooked through the loop of his bridle.

Cayuse rose to his knees and struck one hand fiercely against his forehead. His eyes were on the tumbling waters which, by then, had filled the valley from wall to wall and were creeping slowly up toward the gully.

“Whar’d ye come from, kid?” asked Hank Tenny.

“Whar’s Buffler Bill?” inquired Lonesome Pete.

“What’s the matter with ye?” demanded Blake. “Have ye gone plumb daft?”

Staggering to his feet, the boy made his way to the side of the gully’s mouth and began to climb.

“What ails the kid?” muttered Tenny. “’Pears like he didn’t hev no sense at all.”

“Whar ye goin’?” Pete roared after Cayuse.

Cayuse called back something which was drowned by the rush of the water, and beckoned with his hand.

“Kain’t hear what he says,” said Blake, “but he wants us ter foller. We’d better go, I reckon. The hosses will be safe enough here.”

Dropping their bridle-reins, the three men proceeded to follow the boy.

It was a stiff climb to the top of the gully wall, but when the men pulled themselves over and got alongside Cayuse, they had a good view of the ore-dump of the Forty Thieves—or, rather, of the place where the ore-dump ought to be.

The dump, some seven or eight feet high, together with the entire flat on which it had been piled, was covered with water!

The boy, his eyes fixed on the swirling, seething flood, dropped to his knees and began a weird, monotonous chant. The rush of air along the troubled waves caught up the boy’s voice and tossed it back and forth in uncanny cadences. Now high, now low, swelled the chant, as the Piute words burst from the Indian’s lips.

“Thunder!” Blake shouted in Tenny’s ears, “it’s a death-song.”

“Whose death is he croonin’ erbout?” returned Tenny; “Buffler Bill’s?”

“It’s hard ter tell who he’s——”

Blake broke off with a wild yell. At that instant the morning sun struck fire from a blade which Cayuse had plucked from his belt and lifted above his bare breast, point down.

The boy’s hand dropped, but Pete was quick to catch the descending arm, hang to it, and wrench the knife from the hand.

“Darn!” whooped Pete, “the leetle red was goin’ ter knife hisself! It was his own death-song he was singin’. He thinks his pard, Buffler Bill, has hit the long trail, an’ he’s pinin’ ter foller. Whoever heerd o’ sich doin’s? Stop yer squirmin’, Cayuse,” Pete added to the boy, who was fighting to free himself. “We ain’t goin’ ter let ye kick the bucket, now thet we went ter all thet trouble ter snake ye in out o’ the wet.”

With a tremendous effort, Cayuse jerked free of Pete’s hands, whirled about, and suddenly grew calm. Pete, Tenny, and Blake started toward him.

Cayuse turned on them, his eyes glittering like a catamount’s in the dark, laid a finger on his lips, and pointed.

The eyes of the white men, following the boy’s finger, rested on a point of the cañon wall, fifty feet below, and to the right of them.

At this place there was a sort of shelf on the wall, a small level, covered with an undergrowth of bushes. Horsemen were riding out of the bushes, and striking into a path that mounted upward toward the top of the wall.

Lawless, a look of gloating triumph on his face, was in the lead. At his heels rode three Cheyenne bucks, and two of the bucks carried each a white prisoner, bound hand and foot, across his pony behind him.

One of the prisoners, as those above could see, was old Nomad.

And the other was Wild Bill!

CHAPTER XV. THE RESCUE OF NOMAD AND WILD BILL.

Following the two Cheyennes, behind whom were the prisoners, rode another white man. This white man Cayuse recognized as Andy. Andy brought up the rear of the little procession.

“Hyer’s a how-de-do!” exclaimed Hank Tenny. “Is thet Lawless an’ his gang, kid?”

“All same,” said Cayuse. “White men git um guns, muy pronto; then we make run to top of cañon, ketch um Lawless, save Nomad and Wild Bill.”

“All the guns we got,” answered Lonesome Pete, “are strapped on us. Them fellers has rifles.”

“At close quarters,” put in Blake, “our six-shooters are better than rifles. I’m plumb anxious ter try out these new barkers o’ mine. Then, too,” he added darkly, “I owe Lawless somethin’, an’ here’s my chance ter even up. Couldn’t let it slip, nohow. Follow me, you fellows!”

Blake took to the rocks, with which the country contiguous to the top of the cañon was covered, and worked his way swiftly toward the point where the path Lawless and his men were following came over the edge of the wall.

Pete, Tenny, and Little Cayuse leaped briskly after Blake. The lust for combat was running hot in the veins of all, and this, in particular, was true of the Piute boy.

The latter’s grief over the fate of Buffalo Bill had given place to a feeling of hope. Nomad and Wild Bill were alive, and there was a possibility that the scout was equally well off.

The hope was slight enough, for Cayuse remembered the talk he had overheard between Lawless, Clancy, Coomby, and Tex, and from that he had gathered that the flood was to do the work for the scout. But, in spite of appearances, it might be that the flood had failed.

The thought was enough to take Cayuse out of his gloom and dejection and to send him eagerly into a pitched battle with the outlaws. Whatever else befell, at least Nomad and Wild Bill could be rescued.

Before Blake and the others reached the top of the path, Lawless had ridden over the edge of the wall and laid his course among the boulders. Blake’s account was with Lawless himself, and the miner drew one of his brand-new revolvers and ran after the leader of the outlaws.

Pete, Tenny, and Cayuse, on the other hand, were thinking only of rescuing Nomad and Wild Bill; so, crouching among the rocks, they waited for the first Cheyenne to climb off the slope, and then gave their attention to the two Indians behind him.

Pete selected one of the two Indians, and Tenny the other. As they rose from behind the rocks to use their weapons, they were seen by the Cheyennes.

A furious yell from the savages spread the alarm. The Cheyenne ahead turned back, but Lawless already had his hands full with Blake and could give no help to the rest of his gang.

The crack of six-shooters began instantly, while the yell of alarm was still on the lips of the Cheyennes. Of the two with the prisoners, one fell at the first fire; the pony gave a frightened jump, and Nomad, who was laid across the pony’s back, tumbled to the ground.

Cayuse had lost his rifle at the time he had had his encounter with Clancy and Coomby. Pete had given him back his knife, but a knife was of little account in such a combat.

The instant the Cheyenne dropped from his pony, Cayuse leaped to the side of the savage and drew a couple of six-shooters from the belt at his waist.

Meanwhile, the other Cheyenne with Wild Bill behind him, had dug his heels into the sides of his cayuse and was making a terrific effort to get away. He used a revolver, by way of holding his white foes in check, but his shooting, owing to the plunging of his horse, was anything but accurate.

The Indian who was not hampered with a prisoner had whirled his pony about, thrown his rifle to his shoulder, and was drawing a bead on Tenny.

As Cayuse straightened up, after securing the revolvers from the slain Cheyenne, he saw the leveled rifle and realized Tenny’s peril. The only thing that would save Tenny was a quick shot.

Without taking aim, Cayuse let fly a bullet. As fortune would have it, the bullet struck the Cheyenne in the arm. The rifle was discharged, but, its aim being deflected at the moment the trigger was pulled, Tenny was saved by the fraction of an inch.

The Cheyenne, with one arm useless, decided he had had enough of the fight, and headed his horse the other way.

Wild Bill, on the back of the other Cheyenne’s horse, had taken account of what was going on, and managed to twist himself around and drop. As he fell, Andy, who was galloping past, sent a bullet at him; but Andy was riding too fast, and had fired in too much of a hurry. Wild Bill escaped the bullet, and the long strides of Andy’s horse had carried the outlaw too far for another shot.

Meanwhile, Blake had been doing his utmost to shoot Lawless. He succeeded in putting a bullet into the scoundrel’s shoulder, and, in exchange, got one through the wrist himself. It was Blake’s right wrist, and his six-shooter dropped.

As Blake bent down to recover the weapon, Andy and the Cheyennes galloped past. Lawless was reeling in his saddle, and he would have fallen had not Andy spurred alongside and steadied him with one arm.

Thus the two white men and the two Indians, having lost their prisoners, plunged away among the rocks, leaving the field to Cayuse, Pete, Tenny, and Blake.

When Blake, with a handkerchief bound about his injured wrist, got back to the top of the path, he found his jubilant companions just freeing Nomad and Wild Bill.

“What luck, Blake?” cried Pete.

“He stopped one o’ my bullets,” Blake answered, “an’ one o’ his men had ter help him get away.”

“Was ye hurt?” asked Tenny.

“Winged,” was Blake’s sententious response, “but I don’t reckon it amounts to much. Anyway, I’d have been glad to get a bullet through both wrists fer the chance o’ hittin’ Lawless. Mebby I haven’t paid him all up fer the ride he give me on that steer, but I’ve gone a long ways to’rds settlin’ the account.”

Nomad and Wild Bill, having been freed of their ropes, sat up and began rubbing their benumbed limbs.

“Whar’s Buffler?” asked Nomad.

“Thet’s more’n we knows, amigos,” replied Pete. “We ain’t seen him sense yesterday, when you all tripped anchor an’ sailed out o’ Sun Dance.”

“Waal, Pete,” went on Nomad, “ef ye kain’t tell me whar Buffler is, mebbyso ye kin ease my mind some as ter how you an’ Tenny an’ Blake happened ter be eround hyar ter lend Leetle Cayuse a helpin’ hand?”

“We was ridin’ down ther gulch, this mornin’,” went on Pete, “jest ter see what was goin’ on at ther Forty Thieves. Blake allowed he was some cur’ous, an’ I knowed Tenny an’ I was. Jest as we got clost ter ther ore-dump, we seen a slather o’ water, high as the wall of a ’dobie, makin’ a dead-set at us. We climbed out o’ the way, and stood thar ter watch ther flood slam past. While we was lookin’, we seen Cayuse tryin’ ter git out o’ the cañon. Tenny is some punkins at riata-throwin’, so he uncoils his rope an’ draps it over Cayuse’s head; then we hauls Cayuse in, bronk an’ all. We crawled up on the gully wall, a little arter that, an’ seen Lawless an’ his outfit climbin’ up the side o’ the cañon, so we all made a pasear around among the rocks with the intention o’ headin’ the gang off, an’ gittin’ you fellers out o’ their hands. I reckon we done it, hey?”

“I reckon you did, old sport,” said Wild Bill, “and you’ve got our gratitude. They were after our scalps, those fellows, and they’d have taken them before they had carried us far from the cañon. That’s the sort of a duck Lawless is. I’ve been mixed up with him enough so that I know his caliber. Whoosh!” and Wild Bill got up and stretched his arms. “I’m feeling like a back number this trip, Nomad. The way the pair of us was snaked out of that level, leaving pard Cody to take care of himself, is something I’m going to remember with regret as long as I live. I say, Cayuse!”

The boy, who had been standing at the edge of the cañon, turned around.

“Where did all that water come from, do you know?” went on Wild Bill.

“From down-gulch,” said Cayuse.

“And flowed up-hill, eh?”

“Thet’s what bothered me,” said Pete, “whar it all come from an’ why it was flowin’ contrary ter natur’.”

“It wasn’t flowin’ contrary ter natur’,” said Tenny. “Jest below hyer the gulch bottom pitches this way, an’ thar’s quite a sink a mile farther to’rds Sun Dance. I’ve noticed thet lots o’ times while I was goin’ an’ comin’. But whar the water come from is a mystery. Thar ain’t been no cloud-burst, as fur as I’ve seen.”

Cayuse, in a very few words, explained where the water had come from.

As Lawless’ diabolical plot to wipe out the scout was borne in upon the mind of old Nomad, his rage became tremendous.

“Confound ther pizen, no-’count whelp!” he shouted, shaking his fists in the direction the outlaws had taken. “Instid o’ snakin’ Buffler out o’ thet level, he left him thar ter drown! Did ther water come up over ther top o’ thet ore-dump?” he asked suddenly, turning to Pete and the others.

“The water buried thet ore-dump clean out o’ sight!” declared Pete.

Nomad stood for an instant as though stricken, then rushed for the rim of the cañon and looked down.

The waters were receding as quickly as they had risen. The ore-dump of the Forty Thieves was already shouldering aside the waves.

Nomad stared, realized what must have happened, then flung himself down and covered his face with his hands.

Wild Bill scowled, his eyes glittered, and he whirled away from the cañon.

“If Captain Lawless has wiped out Cody, the best and truest pard a man ever had,” said he, between his clenched teeth, “Nomad and I will run out his trail—and, at the end of it, we’ll take all the pay the murderous whelp can give us.”

“Ye speak true, Hickok,” growled Nomad, looking up; “Lawless owes us er heap, an’ he’ll hev ter settle.”

CHAPTER XVI. THE CURTAIN-ROCK.

The scout, his girl pard, and Wah-coo-tah, it will be recalled, were left in the level of the Forty Thieves, hurrying, as fast as the Indian girl’s wound would permit, toward the shaft.

Dell, returning from the drift with a flask of water, was about to hand the flask to Buffalo Bill when Wah-coo-tah started forward with a sudden access of strength.

“Pronto, pronto,” breathed the girl; “mebbyso I live to fool Lawless and save um Pa-e-has-ka—mebbyso.”

“What is it?” asked Dell wildly, following the scout and Wah-coo-tah and listening to the seething roar.

“Nuzhee Mona, Nuzhee Mona!” wailed Wah-coo-tah; “him Rain Walker, Big Water, Flood!”

“Ah!” muttered the scout: “there has been a cloud-burst in the cañon, and the water is coming down on us!”

“No cloud-burst, Pa-e-has-ka,” said Wah-coo-tah huskily; “Nuzhee Mona all same lake, close to cañon, high up. Lawless him use giant-powder, blow away rock, let Nuzhee Mona down into the cañon——”

The girl broke off abruptly. They had reached the shaft, and Wah-coo-tah, throwing herself down, tried to pull a boulder away from the foot of the wall. The task was too much for her strength.

“Quick, Pa-e-has-ka!” she panted.

The scout laid hold of the stone, Dell holding the candle for him to see, and threw the stone to one side.

“See um iron?” gasped Wah-coo-tah. “My eyes all same go blind, no can see.”

Dell, her hands shaking under the menace of weird, unknown perils, held the candle lower.

“Here’s an iron bar, Wah-coo-tah!” cried the scout.

The roar from the cañon was now so great that it was necessary for him to raise his voice in order to be heard.

“Pull um bar, Pa-e-has-ka,” screamed Wah-coo-tah, “pronto, pronto!”

Seizing the bar with both hands, Buffalo Bill gave a long, steady pull. A screech of rusted machinery followed, and the bar gave slowly; and slowly, high up toward the top of the shaft, a curtain of rock obtruded itself across the well, and by degrees closed out the daylight.

Then, when the bar would yield no more, and not a ray of light came from above, Buffalo Bill took his hands from the lever and straightened up.

A swishing roar passed over their heads, and drops of water trickled down on them.

“Saved!” murmured Dell, leaning nervelessly against the side of the shaft.

“Aye,” said the scout, as the baffled waters thrashed and tossed about the ore-dump, “saved in the nick of time, and by a method I had not dreamed of. That bar, Dell, works a rock curtain near the mouth of the shaft. By pulling the bar, the curtain is shoved across the opening, below the platform. When I first saw this mine, I wondered if it was not in danger of being flooded by a cloud-burst. In order to avoid the danger, it must be that Lawless contrived the rock curtain. Was that the way of it, Wah-coo-tah?”

There was no answer from the Indian girl, and the scout looked down, to discover that she had fallen in a limp heap on the shaft bottom.

“We have neglected her wound too long, Dell,” said the scout. “She has fainted, I suppose, as she came so near doing while we were on our way to the shaft. We will get her back to the ‘drift’ and do what we can for her.”

Picking Wah-coo-tah up in his arms, Buffalo Bill carried her back along the level and into the “drift.” There she was laid down on the rocky floor, the scout’s rolled-up coat serving as a pillow for her head.

While Dell bathed the Indian girl’s face with water, and chafed her temples, the scout was examining her wound.

“What do you think, Buffalo Bill?” Dell asked, as the scout straightened up on his knees.

“It’s a bad wound,” he answered, shaking his head. “What the girl needs is a doctor, and there is not much time to lose. And to think,” he added, in a fierce undertone, “that it was her own father’s men who did this! I always knew a squawman was pretty low down, but I never thought him as mean as that.”

With handkerchiefs and torn cloths they made shift to get a bandage about Wah-coo-tah’s wound; then they sat beside her and waited for her to recover consciousness.

“She saved us,” said Dell tremulously, “and it may be that she has given her life to do it.”

“The girl has a good heart,” returned the scout, “and you might wonder at that, considering what sort of a father she had.”

“This Nuzhee Mona is a lake, then?” asked Dell.

“I believe, now, that I have heard of such a lake, but this is the first time I have connected that name with it.”

“I thought Wah-coo-tah said it was the name of an Indian deity.”

“All same,” came softly from the lips of Wah-coo-tah, and the scout and Dell looked, to see that her eyes had opened. “Nuzhee Mona all same god, Rain Walker, Flood. You sabe?”

“The god of the waters, Wah-coo-tah?” returned the scout.

“Ai,” she answered; “him god of waters and name of lake, ’way up, alongside cañon. Lawless blow out um rock, and let water come. Him think Pa-e-has-ka no understand about rock door at top of shaft, and that Nuzhee Mona come into mine, fill it, strangle scout. Ai, ai! but we fool um. Lawless shoot Wah-coo-tah so she no tell Pa-e-has-ka.”

“Was it Lawless himself who fired that shot?” demanded Buffalo Bill.

“Ai. Me speak to um first.”

“What did you say to him, Wah-coo-tah?”

“Me say, let Pa-e-has-ka out through secret door with Wah-coo-tah. If you no let us out, me say, Wah-coo-tah show Pa-e-has-ka how to slide door across shaft. That make Lawless heap mad, and he shoot. But we fool um,” she crooned; “Pa-e-has-ka live, and we fool um Lawless. Ah, ah!”

“How do you feel, Wah-coo-tah?” the scout asked, in a kindly tone.

“Like pretty soon me go to better place, to the hunting-grounds of all good Cheyennes.”

“No, no, Wah-coo-tah,” whispered Dell, bending down and taking one of the girl’s hands; “you are going to get well. We shall take you to a doctor, at Sun Dance, and he will cure you.”

“You like Wah-coo-tah to get well?” the Indian girl asked.

“Yes, yes,” breathed Dell tearfully; “I want you to live so I can prove to you that I am your friend, always your friend.”

“Mebbyso Yellow Hair talk with two tongues?”

“No, Wah-coo-tah,” said Dell earnestly, “I never talk with two tongues.”

“Mebbyso; but Wah-coo-tah Injun. If she get well, go back to Cheyennes, mebbyso her sold again to some Injun she no like. Better Wah-coo-tah die, better Yellow Hair stay with Pa-e-has-ka, be Pa-e-has-ka’s pard.”

“Wah-coo-tah,” interposed the scout, “will Lawless and his men stay in the other part of the mine?”

“No; him leave when him think flood come. Him think Nuzhee Mona come into other part of mine, too, you sabe?”

“Then we can get out through that secret door?”

“Ai.”

“The quicker we get out the quicker we can take you to Sun Dance; and the quicker you get into the doctor’s hands, the more chance there is of saving your life.”

Wah-coo-tah smiled a little at that.

“You like to save Wah-coo-tah, but Wah-coo-tah no care. Ou, di! Take me to secret door, Pa-e-has-ka. Me show you how to get through.”

Cody looked at Dell, and nodded. Thereupon Dell picked up the candle, and the scout gathered the Indian girl in his arms. With the coat under her arm, Dell led the way along the level to the place where she and Buffalo Bill had seen the glare breaking through the wall.

Here the scout laid Wah-coo-tah down, took the candle, and hunted over the wall for the crevice that would mark the edge of the stone door. So cleverly was the door fitted into the rock that it defied detection.

“See um big black stone, Pa-e-has-ka?” Wah-coo-tah asked, turning her head toward the wall.

The scout saw the stone, and laid his hand on it.

“Push,” said the girl.

Cody made ready to use considerable strength, but found that it was not necessary, for the big stone was so nicely balanced that it yielded at a touch. The entire stone swung outward, leaving a ragged gap two feel wide by three feet in height. Beyond the gap was darkness.

“Lawless gone,” said Wah-coo-tah weakly; “all safe, Pa-e-has-ka. We go on now. Go on till you see um daylight.”

“That’s our cue, Dell,” said the scout. “The outlaws must all be gone. If water had come into the mine, the flood would surely have forced the stone door and let it into the secret level. Lawless and his men would not dare to remain here. Take the candle, pard, and lead the way.”

After the scout had again taken Wah-coo-tah in his arms, Dell picked up the coat and the candle and forced her way through the secret door.

The passage in which the scout and Dell found themselves ran at right angles with the main level. It was no larger than the passage they had left, but presently it opened out and formed a sort of chamber.

In this chamber there were evidences that both men and horses had recently made the place a rendezvous.

“Horses in a mine!” exclaimed the scout. “I wonder how Lawless got the animals down here?”

“Plenty soon you find um out, Pa-e-has-ka,” murmured Wah-coo-tah.

After leaving the wide part of the passage, the bore narrowed to its original dimensions, and the floor took the form of a slope.

“We’re climbing!” exclaimed Dell.

“This secret shaft is an incline,” returned the scout. “It’s clear, now, how the horses got down here. I’m beginning to understand, too, how it was that Lawless and his men disappeared so mysteriously that time we thought we had chased them out of the cañon. All they did, then, was to ride to the top of this incline and hide themselves away in the underground workings of the Forty Thieves.”

It was a long climb they had to the top of the subterranean slope; but after a while they saw a glow of daylight ahead of them. The glow brightened and brightened, until they came out of the inclined shaft and stood upon a brush-grown shelf jutting out from the cañon wall. Here the scout put down his burden, and all of them rested and filled their lungs with the pure outdoor air.

“I never expected to get out of that hole alive,” said the scout. “If I had known more about the mine than I did, I should not have been so brash about going into it; but who’d ever have expected to find such a layout of secret passages and inclined shafts? Lawless did a good deal of dead work hunting for that lost vein.”

“If we only knew where Nomad and Wild Bill were,” said Dell, “I should feel easier in my mind.”

The scout’s brow clouded.

“Of course Lawless and his men took them along when they left the mine.” The scout turned to Wah-coo-tah. “Where would Lawless be apt to go from here, Wah-coo-tah?” he asked.

“Mebbyso to Medicine Bluff,” the girl answered.

“Then, as soon as I get you to Sun Dance, I’m going to pick up a few men and ride post-haste for Medicine Bluff. I can’t believe that Lawless would put Nomad and Wild Bill out of the way; still, a scoundrel who would shoot his own daughter would be capable of anything.”

“He would!” averred Dell fervently. “I’m worried about Nomad and Wild Bill, and we must ride for Medicine Bluff as soon as we can.”

“I wonder just where we are?” said the scout, getting to his feet and pushing through the bushes to the edge of the shelf.

Dell did not follow but remained beside Wah-coo-tah.

“You tell Wah-coo-tah,” said the Indian girl, as soon as they were alone, “that you leave Pa-e-has-ka as soon as Wah-coo-tah get you out of mine; and you say,” the girl added sharply, “that you no talk with the double tongue.”

“If you insist that I leave the scout and his pards,” said Dell, “I will. I have a ranch in Arizona, and my mother is there. I intended to leave my pards very soon, anyway, but I should like to stay with them until Lawless is captured and forced to pay the penalty of his crimes.”

“You go then?”

“Yes.”

“Then Wah-coo-tah glad you stay. Mebbyso Yellow Hair got good heart, and Wah-coo-tah got bad heart? Quien sabe?”

“No, no, Wah-coo-tah,” whispered Dell, “you’ve got a good heart, and you’re a brave girl; only there are some things you don’t understand.”

She took the girl’s hand, bent over, and touched her lips to her forehead. Wah-coo-tah’s eyes softened under the caress.

“Me no hate you any more,” the Indian girl whispered. “Wah-coo-tah all same Yellow Hair’s friend.”

Just then the scout came back from the edge of the shelf and noticed, with much satisfaction, the friendliness of the two girls toward each other.

“We’re on a little ledge, half-way up the cañon wall,” he announced. “From the edge of the shelf I could look down on the ore-dump and shaft of the Forty Thieves. The flood has been ’way over the top of the dump, for the platform, and the stones are dripping wet, but the water is receding rapidly.”

“How are we to get away from here?” asked Dell.

“There’s a bridle-path to the top of the cañon and another one to the bottom, but I think we had better get out by the top of the cañon and take that route to Sun Dance. There’s no telling how much water we would find between here and the camp if we tried to follow the bottom of the gulch. Our first move must be to get the horses from the gully. I suppose it will be best to leave you here, Dell, to stay with Wah-coo-tah, while I go for the horses.”

“I will take care of Wah-coo-tah, pard,” returned Dell, pressing the Indian girl’s hand affectionately as she spoke. “You ought to find Cayuse in the gully.”

“Wherever the horses are, I think I am pretty certain to find the boy. Whenever he is told to do a thing, he generally does it, so I feel confident he has stayed with the live stock. I won’t be gone long,” the scout added, as he took to the bridle-path and began the ascent.

In mounting to the top of the cañon the scout was able to observe below him the extent of the flood which had been turned into the defile by the blasting operations of Captain Lawless.

A line on the opposite wall of the gulch showed him the height the water had reached, and indicated how quickly the Forty Thieves would have been flooded had not the curtain of rock been thrown across the top of the shaft.

He shivered as his imagination pictured the plight of Dell and Wah-coo-tah and himself, down in the level, with the water pouring in upon them, and Lawless and his men keeping them back from the secret door with their rifles.

“It’s a long road that has no turning,” thought the scout grimly, “and Lawless has run up a score which I shall call upon him to settle. When I am done with him, I shall come back to the Forty Thieves and stay out the three consecutive days and nights; then, when I have earned the deed, I shall turn the property over to Wah-coo-tah—if she lives; and if she does not live, then it shall go to Wah-coo-tah’s mother, the Cheyenne woman.”

This procedure was strictly in line with the scout’s generous nature. As for staying in Sun Dance Cañon and developing the Forty Thieves, the very thought of it brought a smile to his lips.

He could not imagine himself turning from the free life of the plains and mountains to the narrow confines of a mine and the life of a miner.

First, however, he must trail down Captain Lawless and rescue old Nomad and Wild Bill. He would not allow himself to suppose that Lawless would deal cold-bloodedly with his pards, and thought only of pursuing the outlaw to Medicine Bluff and effecting a rescue.

While he was climbing upward, and turning these matters over in his mind, he little dreamed that within a few minutes Chance was to strike one more unexpected note in the odd tune she had recently been playing for his benefit.

Yet so it fell out when, presently, Buffalo Bill stepped from the path he had been following onto level ground at the brink of the cañon.

What he saw first was a dead Cheyenne; beyond the Cheyenne was a group consisting of five men and a boy. The men were in close and animated conversation, and did not see the scout.

To his amazement, the scout discovered that two of the men were Nomad and Wild Bill; the other three were Lonesome Pete, Hank Tenny, and Henry Blake. The boy, of course, was Cayuse.

“Buffler has been my pard fer many a year,” old Nomad was saying, in a husky voice, “an’ I was hopin’, when he cashed in, thet fate might let the pair o’ us be standin’ shoulder ter shoulder, so thet we both mout begin ther long trail tergether. I’ve never felt wuss in my life than what I does this minit, Buffler!” and the old trapper lifted his face skyward, “whyever didn’t ye wait fer yer old pard Nick?”

“How long do you want me to wait, Nick?” called the scout.

For an instant the entire group seemed paralyzed; then Nomad turned slowly around, stared for a moment, let off a cry that was half-joy and half-consternation, and galloped toward the scout with both hands outstretched.

CHAPTER XVII. THE TURN OF FORTUNE’S WHEEL.

“Kin I believe my eyes?” roared Nomad, as, gripping both the scout’s hands, he stood staring into his face. “Is et shorely my pard, Buffler, as I had given up as drowned like er rat in er trap down thar in ther Forty Thieves? Howlin’ hyeners! Why, his clothes ain’t even wet! Say, what new brand o’ Cody-luck was flashed on ye at this hyer turn o’ fortune’s wheel? Tell me, pard!”

“Tell us all,” chimed in Wild Bill, as he and the rest crowded around the scout; “we want to know, Cody.”

“Fortune’s wheel has turned queerly for all of us,” answered the scout, “but I think we’d better put off our explanations until some more favorable time—over some more of that maverick steer at the Lucky Strike, for instance. Eh, Blake?”

“I’m eating that steer with a good deal o’ relish,” grinned Blake. “If you say so, Buffalo Bill, we’ll wait till then.”

“Where Yellow Hair, Pa-e-has-ka?” asked Little Cayuse.

“She’s safe, boy,” answered the scout. “What have you done with the horses?”

“They’re safe, too, Buffler,” spoke up Lonesome Pete.

“Everybody seems to be safe,” smiled the scout, “with the exception of Blake. What ails your wrist?” he added to the miner.

“Exchanged tokens of esteem with Lawless,” explained Blake; “I put a bullet inter his shoulder, an’ he recippercated by puttin’ another across my wrist. Not much more’n a scratch, howsumever, but I’m almost willing to bet I’ve put Lawless down an’ out.”

“Too good ter be true,” muttered Nomad.

“Talking about bein’ safe,” said Hank Tenny, “ye come within one o’ losin’ yer Piute pard, Buffler Bill.”

“How’s that? Did Lawless have a try at him?”

“Nary. Cayuse, thinkin’ you was wiped out, sung a leetle death-song all fer himself. Ef Pete, thar, hadn’t been quick, Cayuse would have put a knife into his own breast.”

The scout turned and looked at the boy. Their eyes met, and what passed between them will never be known, but the scout reached out a kindly hand, drew the boy toward him and patted him on the shoulder.

“Cayuse would do a lot for Pa-e-has-ka,” said he, “and he knows Pa-e-has-ka would do a lot for him; but when Pa-e-has-ka takes the long trail, as some time he must, he does not want to think that Cayuse will sing his death-song and follow. This life was made to live as long as we can; then, when our time comes to quit it, to pass out like brave men who have fought well and are willing to go.

“But,” and here the scout turned briskly away, “enough of this. Wah-coo-tah is on the shelf, below the brink of the cañon, and Dell is with her——”

“Wah-coo-tah?” exclaimed Nomad.

“Yes—she was the ‘spirit,’ Nick, who spoke to us from the cellar of the Alcazar, and she may become a spirit in reality if something is not done for her very soon. She was shot, by Lawless himself, in the level of the Forty Thieves.”

“By Lawless!” echoed Wild Bill angrily. “There’s a hound for you. His own daughter, amigos.”

“Lawless is capable of anything,” went on the scout; “but just now that is neither here nor there. Dell and I were in the level and it was Wah-coo-tah who saved our lives. She must be taken as soon as possible to Sun Dance. Is there a doctor there, or shall we have to take her to Montegordo?”

“Gentleman Jim,” said Hank Tenny, “is a better man with the surgeon’s knife and with medicine than he is with the keerds. He ampertated Gusty Williams’ leg, thet time a blast went off an’ smashed it, an’ he——”

“Gentleman Jim will do, anyhow, until we can get another doctor from Montegordo. But we need the horses. Is it possible to get them up here from the gully?”

“Wuh!” said Little Cayuse.

“He means,” said Pete, “thet we kin git the critters up the same way us fellers come. But it’ll be a scramble.”

“We’ll do it, though,” declared Hank Tenny. “Leave the scout with his pards, boys, an’ we’ll go arter the hosses.”

Blake, Tenny, Pete, and Cayuse started off among the boulders toward the point where the gully entered the cañon. Blake assured Cayuse it wouldn’t be necessary for him to go along, but Cayuse would let no one besides himself do anything with Navi.

“While the horses are coming, pards,” said the scout to Nomad and Wild Bill, “we might go down to the shelf and bring up Wah-coo-tah. Two of us can carry her up easier than she could ride.”

“Thet’s the tork,” seconded Nomad.

They descended to the shelf and broke through the brush before the astounded eyes of Dell Dauntless.

“Why—why——” the girl faltered, “is that really you, Nomad? And Wild Bill, too! Oh, what luck! Where did you find them, pard?” and she shifted her gaze to the scout.

“I found them on top of the cañon wall,” answered the scout, “and Nick, there, was in a complaining mood.”

“Shucks, Buffler,” muttered Nomad.

“He was complaining because I had crossed the divide without taking him along,” smiled the scout. “How is Wah-coo-tah?”

“Me all right,” spoke up Wah-coo-tah for herself.

“She’s far from all right, Buffalo Bill,” said Dell. “I’m anxious to get her where she can receive medical aid.”

“It won’t be long now until we have her in Sun Dance,” returned the scout. “Cayuse, Lonesome Pete, Hank Tenny, and Henry Blake have gone to bring the horses from the gully.”

“Cayuse is all right, too?” cried Dell.

“Chipper as a cricket,” said Wild Bill. “All he needed to make him a happy Indian was a glimpse of the scout, alive and hearty. Cayuse has had it, and he’s feeling fine, thank you. And we hope,” he added, turning a sympathetic glance upon Wah-coo-tah, “that you will soon be feeling fine, too. You’ve done a heap for the scout and Dell—Cody has told us about it—and the whole possé of us feel like we couldn’t do enough for you. We’re going to carry you up the hill, Nomad and me, so you’ll be able to travel just as soon as the horses come along.”

“You plenty good to Injun girl,” said Wah-coo-tah.

Never before in her whole life, perhaps, had she been treated with such consideration. The lot of an Indian woman is a hard one, from the very time she begins it, on a papoose-board, until she leaves it, and is wrapped in her best blanket and hoisted into some tree, or buried deep under a pile of rocks.

Lifting Wah-coo-tah gently, old Nomad and Wild Bill carried her up the steep path, taking care to make the journey as comfortable for her as possible.

When they reached the top of the wall, Cayuse, Pete, Tenny, and Blake were coming with the horses. Bear Paw threw up his head and whinnied at the sight of the scout, and Navi, Cayuse’s pinto, and Silver Heels, Dell’s white cayuse, likewise seemed to recognize their owners; but Hide-rack, Nomad’s mount, didn’t seem to care a particle whether his owner was around or not.

“Pizen old critter, anyway,” said Nomad. “Honest, he’s so plumb full o’ pizen ye kin scrape strychnin off’n his neck with er shingle. But he’s so blame indiff’rent ter me thet I like him fer et. Et shows character; an’ I ain’t got no tender feelin’s when I gives him er wallopin’. Whoa, ye onnery, knock-kneed, gangle-legged ole speciment, you! Ye’ll never know how nigh ye come ter losin’ me, an’ I reckon ye don’t keer. But hyar I am, big as life, so don’t ye git sassy.”

As soon as Buffalo Bill was astride Bear Paw, he took Wah-coo-tah up in front of him.

The return to Sun Dance was then begun.

For a time the riders picked their way along the rim of the cañon among the boulders; then, striking the Montegordo trail, they had a better course, and rode faster.

From time to time the trail gave them glimpses of the bottom of the cañon. The flood had almost entirely subsided, save in one place where the down-grade struck the rise that continued to the foot of the “flat” on which the mining-camp was perched. In the low place a lake had formed, extending for a mile up and down the gulch.

“Lucky thar wasn’t any placer-miners at work in this part o’ ther gulch,” remarked Blake. “Ef thar had been, they’d hev had little chance o’ escapin’ with their lives.”

“The flood never got very clost ter Sun Dance,” observed Tenny. “The old gulch is too much up an’ down; thar ain’t no decent river as would run through it.”

“I reckon Nuzhee Mona Lake is down some,” said Pete. “It couldn’t lose all thet water without feelin’ it. I’ve thought, fer a long time, thar’d be doin’s if anythin’ ever happened ter thet wedge o’ stone thet kept it out o’ the cañon. I don’t reckon all the wedge was blowed out, kase if the hull lake had spilled over it would make more of a showin’.”

“It made a big enough showin’ ter suit me,” said Tenny. “When I seen thet wall o’ water rushin’ at me, I went over my ‘Now I lay mes’ for’ard, back’ard, an’ sideways.”

“An’ scramble!” cried Pete; “gee, man, how us huskies scrambled fer thet gully. Oh, I reckon, arter all, thar was water enough.”

Half an hour later the horsemen filed down the cañon top toward the camp of Sun Dance.

“Last time I traveled this hyer road,” said Blake, “I didn’t know a thing about it.”

“An’ ye wouldn’t never hev knowed a thing about it if it hadn’t ’a’ been fer Dell Dauntless,” spoke up Tenny.

“As I said afore, an’ now say ag’in,” said Blake, turning in his saddle and removing his sombrero—a new one, recently purchased at the place where he had secured his six-shooters—“I take off my hat to Dell Dauntless.”

“We all do that,” added Wild Bill, “and likewise to Wah-coo-tah.”

CHAPTER XVIII. THE ROUND-UP AT SPANGLER’S.

Wah-coo-tah was taken to the Lucky Strike Hotel and placed in Dell’s room; the room from which, one night not long before, she had taken French leave. Nomad stopped at the Alcazar and summoned Gentleman Jim.

Cayuse, Pete, Blake, and Tenny took care of the horses, and Buffalo Bill, Wild Bill, and Dell sat in Dell’s room and waited anxiously for Gentleman Jim to come.

When he arrived, which he did in a very few moments, he carried a professional-looking grip.

“Your three days are not up yet, Buffalo Bill,” said Gentleman Jim, with a smile.

“I’m going back to the Forty Thieves to-morrow,” returned the scout, “to finish them up. I didn’t know you were a doctor, Gentleman Jim.”

Something of a sad expression crossed the gambler’s face.

“I used to be a doctor back East,” he answered, and turned to the cot where Wah-coo-tah was lying.

The scout knew, as did every one else in Sun Dance Cañon, that Gentleman Jim’s past held a story—and not a particularly pleasant story, either. But just what that story was no living man had ever heard from the gambler’s lips.

Gentleman Jim’s soft, white hands moved about Wah-coo-tah with almost womanly tenderness. After he had made a brief examination, he opened the satchel and took out an instrument-case.

“I shall hurt you a little, Wah-coo-tah,” said he, “but it can’t be helped. You can bear it without taking anything to smother the pain?”

“Ai,” said the girl; “me used to pain; me stand um, all right.”

For two or three minutes the probe was deep in the wound, and all the time Dell held Wah-coo-tah’s hands and soothed her with gentle words. At last Gentleman Jim straightened up and dropped a small piece of lead on the table.

“That is what did the harm,” said he. “Now we will dress and bandage the wound, and I think Wah-coo-tah will get along well enough.”

“There is no danger?” asked Dell.

“There is always danger of blood-poisoning in a case like this, but I think in Wah-coo-tah’s case the danger is quite remote.”

Wing Hi was pounding his supper-gong when Gentleman Jim finally finished his work, and left the Lucky Strike.

“She’ll get well, Buffalo Bill,” he said to the scout, as he passed through the office.

“I’m glad of that,” answered the scout. “I’m going to get a deed to that mine, Jim, and turn it over to Wah-coo-tah.”

“That would be like you, Cody,” the gambler said.

This favorable news concerning Wah-coo-tah put the scout and his pards into an agreeable mood, and when they “sat in” at their table, in the dining-room, that evening, they were in the best of spirits. Dell was not with them, as she preferred to take her supper in her room, where she could be with Wah-coo-tah; but Lonesome Pete, Hank Tenny, and Henry Blake were of the supper-party, and the fresh meat was heartily enjoyed.

As on another occasion when the scout and his pards had returned from a conflict with Captain Lawless and his followers, the meal was made the occasion for an exchange of experiences, to the end that the tangled skein of events might be set right in everybody’s mind, and thoroughly understood.

Buffalo Bill led off with the contents of the envelope Blake had brought into camp in such an unusual manner, following it up with the talk in the Alcazar, and the voice of warning that had come from the cellar; then he followed the recital down to where he and his pards had reached the mine, and he and Wild Bill and Nomad had gone into the shaft, leaving Cayuse and Dell to take care of the horses.

“You were the first one to disappear, Nick,” the scout said, at this point, “so you had better tell us what happened to you.”

“Waal, et happened so pesky quick thet what I recomember is sort o’ hazy,” said the old trapper. “You had jest been through ther level, Buffler, an’ ye said thar wasn’t any one down thar but us. When I drapped ther truck I had kerried from ther shaft, I moseyed off toward ther breast o’ ther level with my candle. I hadn’t gone fur, afore a hole opened up in ther wall alongside o’ me, an’ a light shot out thet made my candle look like er glow-worm alongside of er locomotive head-light. Nacherly I let off er yell; then I was grabbed afore I could use my fists er guns, an’ snaked inter another part o’ ther mine.

“Mebby I wasn’t surprised when Lawless looked down at me an’ told er couple o’ Cheyennes how ter tie me so’st I couldn’t move. Arter I was in thet condition I was snaked off ter a place whar the level was wider, and whar thar was some hosses, an’ left thar ter commune with myself.

“Next thing I knowed Wild Bill was dragged alongside er me ter keep me comp’ny. He told o’ the fight you an’ him had had, an’ how he didn’t know but mebby you mout be killed, Buffler. While he was sayin’ thet, Lawless yelps out from somewhere thet ye wasn’t killed, but thet ye was goin’ ter be some time along erbout sunrise.

“Arter thet not er bloomin’ thing happened ter Wild Bill an’ me till we was loaded onter cayuses behind them Cheyenne bucks, an’ kerried up ter ther top o’ ther gulch wall. I knowed them onnery outlaws had er mortgage on my skelp, an’ I was expectin’ ’em ter foreclose any ole minit, so ye kin imagine how surprised I was when Pete, Tenny, Blake, an’ Cayuse leaped out from behind the rocks an’ purceeded ter make things interestin’. I reckon thet’s all o’ et, so fur’s I’m mixed in ther scrimmage.”

“And you’ve told my part of it, Nick,” said Wild Bill. “Knocked down in that fight Buffalo Bill and I was having, my wits took a vacation. When they got back again I was alongside of you, in the other part of the mine.”

“Now it’s up to you, Cayuse,” said the scout. “We’ll get all these fag-ends bunched together, and then I’ll finish off with what happened to Dell and me.”

Cayuse was more gifted with the hand-talk than he was with English. He was extremely brief, but his information—concerning, as it did, the letting loose of the waters of the lake—was most valuable.

“He don’t star hisself none,” commented Hank Tenny, “but I bet ye he was a hull lot of a hero, all the same.”

“He always is,” said the scout.

“Me lose um gun,” mourned Little Cayuse.

“I’ll get you another, boy, silver-mounted,” said the scout, and Cayuse’s eyes sparkled.

The scout now plunged into the run of events, and wound up the recital.

“Ain’t et astonishin’ what things kin happen ter a feller?” remarked Nomad, who had been neglecting his meal to listen, open-mouthed, to his pard’s yarn; “an’ ain’t Buffler ther boy ter git things ter comin’ his way, right in ther nick? Jest s’posin’, now, anythin’ had gone wrong with thet thar stone curtain at ther top o’ ther shaft. Why, ef thar had, us fellers could hev gone fishin’ in ther Forty Thieves.”

“Fishing for me,” added the scout grimly.

“By gorry, yes!” exclaimed Wild Bill. “But the rock curtain worked like a charm, the flood covered the ore-dump, and rippled over the top of the curtain, and Buffalo Bill, Dell, and Wah-coo-tah were as dry as if they had been here in the Lucky Strike. A little thing now and then makes a heap of difference in the run of events.”

“It was a lucky thing for Cayuse,” spoke up the scout, “that Tenny, Blake, and Pete took it into their heads to ride down the gulch. If they hadn’t—— Well, I don’t like to think of what might have happened if Tenny’s rope hadn’t helped Cayuse into the mouth of the gully. I don’t know how Buffalo Bill & Company could get along and do a successful business without their Piute pard.”

“Ugh,” grunted Cayuse; “Pa-e-has-ka make Piute boy feel like squaw with string of glass beads.”

“Ye’re a desarvin’ little feller,” said Hank Tenny, “an’ I’d be tickled ter death ef I had ye fer a pard o’ mine. But you must like the scout er heap er ye wouldn’t hev tried ter tag arter him on the long trail.”

Cayuse bent his head and made no reply to this. Nor did the scout make any comment. What each felt was locked in his own breast.

True to his word, on the following day the scout, Wild Bill, and Nomad returned to the mine and hived themselves up in it for three days and nights. They beguiled the time with “seven-up.”

Nothing went wrong with them at all, and Dell rode out every day to report how Wah-coo-tah was getting along. The Indian girl continued steadily to improve.

While at the mine the mechanism that worked the “rock curtain” was examined by the pards and found to be very cleverly contrived. They all decided that it had been placed in the shaft for the purpose the scout had already supposed, viz: to keep out of the mine any floods that might come down from above.

When the scout and his pards returned to Sun Dance, the scout took his deed, made out another in the name of Wah-coo-tah Lawless, and sent both to Montegordo to be recorded. He did this with the entire approval of all his pards.

“And now,” said Wild Bill, when the deed had been duly executed, recorded, and delivered, “we still have Lawless to find and lay by the heels.”

“We can’t make any plans about that,” answered the scout, “until we learn whether Lawless got over the effects of Blake’s bullet or not.”

“That’s so,” agreed Wild Bill, “but I’m hoping for the best.”

Just what he meant by “the best” he did not explain.

CHAPTER XIX. THE STAGE FROM MONTEGORDO.

“What’s yer name, anyhow?” asked Lonesome Pete.

The man in the “boiled” shirt, the red vest, and the tight trousers coughed and looked embarrassed.

“I almost hate to tell you,” said he.

“Whoa-up, thar, yeh gangle-legged Piute!” yelled Chick Billings, the stage-driver, reaching for the off-leader with his whip-lash. “Calls hisself a hoss, that critter does,” he added to Pete and the stranger; “but he acts more like a blame’ coyote.”

“Thar’s a hull lot o’ folks out hyer as kinder fergits what their names useter be,” went on Pete, addressing the stranger. “A feller’s got a right ter change his name when he crosses the Missoury, comin’ West, if so be he thinks proper.”

“Not me—not on your life!” exclaimed the stranger hastily. “My record is clear——”

“Every ole hardshell in these parts, some on ’em with half a dozen notches, ’ll say that,” cut in Pete, with considerable sarcasm.

The stranger laughed. He had a pink-and-white complexion, and his laugh was mixed up with a vivid blush.

“Sakes alive!” muttered Pete dismally. “If ye had on a sunbunnit, ye’d look like er schoolgal.”

“You see,” and the stranger’s laugh became a trifle more masculine, “my name is Reginald——”

“Wow!” grunted Pete.

“De Bray, Reginald de Bray,” finished the speaker. “I don’t think there’s much in a name, you know, but everybody out in this country sort of pokes fun at mine.”

Lonesome Pete threw back his head, filled his lungs with air, and released his voice with a roaring “He-haw, he-haw!” after the fashion of a restive mule.

Chick Billings laughed.

Reginald de Bray pulled a little note-book from his pocket and made a mark in it with a lead-pencil.

“What’s that fur?” asked Chick Billings.

“I’m just keeping track,” answered the young man softly, as he put away the pencil and the book.

“Keepin’ track o’ what?” asked Lonesome Pete distrustfully.

“Why, of the number of times that ‘he-haw’ racket has been worked on me when I’ve told my name. Your performance was the thirty-sixth time.”

Reginald de Bray heaved a long breath of patient resignation.

The Montegordo stage—which was nothing more than a mountain-wagon drawn by four horses—was well on the road to Sun Dance.

Pete and De Bray were riding with the driver. On the seat behind was a woman—a slender figure of a woman she was, with her face closely veiled. The woman’s seatmate was a rough-and-ready miner named Hotchkiss.

The seat behind the woman and Hotchkiss was occupied by Little Cayuse.

These six—the driver, Pete, De Bray, the woman, Hotchkiss, and the Indian boy—comprised the load. Around the Indian was heaped a carpetbag, two grips, and a mail-pouch.

The woman had not spoken a word since leaving Montegordo. Hotchkiss was almost as silent, being thoughtful and busying himself with his pipe. The Indian was like a graven image, so far as talking was concerned; but, unlike an image, nothing in his vicinity escaped his keen eyes and ears.

Conversation was confined entirely to the three on the driver’s seat.

“Ho-hum!” yawned Lonesome Pete, stretching his long arms. “This hyer ride is plumb tiresome. Mister De Bray,” he added, with elaborate politeness, “the sight o’ such a gent as yerself, in these parts, is almost as uncommon as the sight of a lady,” and his eyes shifted over his shoulder significantly. “Mind tellin’ what yer bizness is in this section?”

“Just looking around the West, that’s all,” replied Reginald de Bray buoyantly.

“Ain’t seen much of it yit, hev ye?”

“Just started.”

“So I reckoned,” muttered Lonesome Pete. “Them clothes o’ your’n is a danger-signal. A real collar an’ a b’iled shirt, say nothin’ of a red vest, is purty nigh a death-warrant fer a man in these parts. The cimiroons what inhabit this hyer waste don’t like sich displays. As soon as we git ter Sun Dance, I’d advise ye ter duck inter a store an’ git inter a rig less noticeable.”

“Why—why,” fluttered De Bray, “I hadn’t any idea that—that——”

“Course ye didn’t,” interrupted Lonesome Pete soothingly. “Ye’re plumb tender in the feet, an’ yer clothes give ye away. Arter takin’ yer sizin’, the hull camp would want ter hev fun with ye, an’ ye kin bank on it that it ’u’d be rough fun.”

“I heard that Mr. Buffalo Bill was in Sun Dance,” said De Bray, “and I have long wanted to meet him. That’s principally why I came this way from Montegordo.”

“He’s thar, all right,” said Pete. “That’s one o’ his pards on the back seat—Leetle Cayuse, they calls him.”

“By Jove!” muttered De Bray, turning squarely around and staring in awe at the Piute boy. “I’ve heard of that Indian,” he went on, facing about. “He don’t look very dangerous, though, does he?”

“He’s retirin’, an’ about the size of a minner, when thar’s nothin’ doin’, but when he digs up the hatchet an’ hits the war-path, he looks like er whale.”

“Is Dauntless Dell in Sun Dance, too?”

“Big as life! An’ Nick Nomad is thar, an’ likewise Wild Bill.”

“Oh, oh!” murmured Reginald de Bray, in a spasm of excitement. “I wonder if the king of scouts would take my little hand in his and lead me off to where the reds and the white outlaws are thickest? Do you think he would?”

There was something in the words that brought Pete’s eyes with a start to the tenderfoot’s face.

“Give it up,” said Pete gruffly. “’Pears ter me, Mister De Bray, that the best place fer you is behind a bomb-proof shelter some’r’s. S’posin’, now, we was ter meet up with a lot o’ highwaymen? S’posin’ they was ter come out from behind the rocks, reg’lar fire-eatin’ handy-boys that ye dassen’t say ‘No’ to. How’d ye like that?”

“Br-r-r!” shivered Reginald de Bray. “You—you don’t think there’s any chance of that happening, do you?”

“As long as that pirate, Cap’n Lawless, is loose in the country, anything’s li’ble ter happen.”

The woman on the seat behind leaned forward, and asked, with some apprehension:

“Robbers? Is it possible, sir, that we shall meet with any?”

“I don’t want to alarm ye none, madam,” answered Lonesome Pete, who was merely talking for the effect his words would have on De Bray, “so don’t take what I say too much ter heart.”

“I have a hundred dollars with me,” faltered the woman, “and—and if I do not find the—the person I am looking for in Sun Dance, I shall have to use the money to take me to some other place. It would be hard for a woman to find herself without funds in this dreary country!”

“That’s so!” averred Lonesome Pete sympathetically.

“Pete, thar, is only gassin’,” struck in Hotchkiss, knocking the ashes from his pipe and slowly filling it again, “He’s tryin’ ter string the Easterner, mum, so don’t be in a takin’.”

“But my money!” murmured the woman. “I believe I will hide it, just to be on the safe side.”

“I’ve got a hundred dollars, too,” said Reginald de Bray. “When I get through looking around in Sun Dance, and travel back to Montegordo, there’ll be a draft there for me; but it would be mighty awkward to lose that hundred.”

The woman, taking a handkerchief from the bosom of her dress, had untied one corner and removed a roll of crumpled bills. For a few moments she sat thoughtfully, the bills in her hand. At last she lifted her hands, removed her hat—at the same time being very careful not to displace the veil that covered her face—and took the hat on her lap. The hat was covered with millinery folderols, none too new and all very dusty. In among the feathers and artificial flowers she stowed her hundred dollars, and Hotchkiss chuckled as he watched.

“Good place, mum,” averred Hotchkiss. “Purvidin’ thar was really goin’ ter be a hold-up, ye couldn’t find a better.”

“How would you like to put my money with yours, madam?” asked Reginald de Bray.

“I shall be glad to oblige you, sir,” answered the woman.

Hotchkiss glared at De Bray, and Lonesome Pete shifted disquietly. The woman had a soft, low voice, and it looked rather brutal for the tenderfoot to unload the responsibility of caring for his own money upon such a person.

However, De Bray’s hundred was passed over, and the woman tucked it into the foliage and replaced the hat on her head.

“Now,” she said, with a relieved sigh, “if the worst should happen, I have done what little I could to save my money.”

“I don’t think ye need ter worry none,” said Hotchkiss, glaring at Pete for having started the talk about road-agents.

After this there was silence in the mountain-wagon for a good half-hour. De Bray lighted a cigarette. He also tried to talk, but his attempts were met with chilling silence. Pete, Chick Billings, and Hotchkiss had marked him down in their minds as about the poorest specimen of a tenderfoot they had ever met, and they wanted nothing more to do with him.

At the end of a half-hour a surprise was sprung. The stage-trail, winding along toward the rim of Sun Dance Cañon, entered a stretch where great heaps of boulders massed themselves along each side.

Suddenly a shout, grimly menacing, rang from behind one of the boulders.

“Halt!”

Everybody in the stage gave a startled jump. The unexpected had happened.

Over the tops of the boulders, on each side of the trail, appeared masked faces and leveled rifles.

Chick Billings, recovering from the first shock of surprise, seized his lines in a firmer grip and raised his whip.

“Don’t be a fool, driver!” went on the voice of the unseen speaker. “The leaders are covered, and you and every one in the stage are under our muzzles. You can’t fight, and you can’t run away. Throw up your hands, all of you!”

Lonesome Pete swore under his breath; Hotchkiss muttered angrily; Chick Billings, with a resigned oath, dropped the lines and shoved his hands into the air; De Bray was queerly quiet—considering the fact that he was a recent importation, and the woman, collapsing back in her seat, made not a sound.

As for Little Cayuse, he had vanished from the rear seat, but in the general excitement this fact had not been noticed.

Immediately following his last command, the leader of the road-agents presented himself, riding around a barricade of boulders.

He was well mounted, and, taken altogether, was a striking figure of a man.

His face was concealed by a silk handkerchief, tied just under his eyes. He wore a black sombrero, short, black velvet jacket, with silver-dollar buttons, dark corduroy trousers, and knee-boots of patent leather, with silver spurs at the heels. A gaudy sash about his waist supported a pair of revolvers.

With the guns on each side of the trail drawing a bead on the leaders of the team, and on those in the wagon, the chief of the highwaymen did not find it necessary to draw his own weapons.

Pulling his horse to a halt at one side of the wagon, opposite the front seat, the leader’s black eyes calmly surveyed those whom the rest of his gang held at his mercy.

“Cap’n Lawless!” muttered Lonesome Pete.

With a low laugh, the leader of the robbers pulled the silk handkerchief from his face and thrust it into his pocket.

“I see that I am recognized,” said he coolly. “Very well. It will neither help nor harm matters, as I should probably be suspected of this hold-up, anyway. Throw your property out here in front of me, beside the trail.”

“You ought to know bloomin’ well,” said Chick Billings, “that the driver of this ’ere stage hasn’t any dinero about his clothes. I got a bar o’ chewin’, but——”

“I wasn’t referring to you,” cut in Lawless, “but to the others. The man on your left, who seems to have met me before—I’d like to hear from him first.”

“Shucks!” returned Pete; “I’m just comin’ back from Montegordo, whar I’ve been ter see the sights. How kin ye expect me ter hev any money?”

Lawless pulled out a watch and studied its face.

“I’ve got just three minutes to make a clean-up,” he scowled; “and if I’m not done by that time, my men will open up on the lot of you. You ought to have some consideration for the lady, seems to me.”

“See how much consideration you’ve got fer her!” snapped Hotchkiss, throwing a well-worn wallet on the ground, in front of Lawless.

“Any jewelry?” asked the robber.

“Do I look like a feller that kerried it?” sneered the miner.

Pete pulled a handful of silver money out of his pocket, and threw it after Hotchkiss’ pocketbook.

“Now, you,” went on Lawless, nodding to De Bray.

“Honest,” quavered De Bray, “I haven’t got more’n a couple of dollars about me!”

“What the blazes is a man dressed like you doing in this country with no more than that? That won’t do. If you don’t want to be sent back East in a box, you’ll strip yourself, and be quick about it. It looks to me as though you thought I didn’t mean business.” Lawless’ passive face twisted itself into a demoniacal expression, and he jerked one of his six-shooters from his sash and leveled it. “I’ll give you just a minute, my friend,” he added, “before I shoot you off that seat!”

“Don’t be too quick with your shooting,” begged De Bray, and immediately began pulling his pockets inside-out.

One of the pockets contained two silver dollars. De Bray flung them down at the trailside.

“I told you!” he exclaimed.

“You’ve got more than that!” snapped Lawless. “Fork over, or I’ll shake a load out of this gun!”

De Bray’s eyes grew glassy, and he shivered.

“I—I did have a little more,” he answered; “but—but——”

“But what?” roared Lawless. “Do you think I’m going to stay here all day, palavering with you?”

He made a threatening gesture with his six-shooter.

“I gave it to the lady behind me,” said De Bray desperately. “She hid it among the flowers in her hat, along with——”

Hotchkiss swore a great oath.

“Kill him, Lawless! He ain’t fit ter live!”

Lonesome Pete reached over with a clenched fist, and Chick Billings turned half-around in the seat, with the evident intention of hurling De Bray into the trail.

“Steady, there, all of you!” ordered Lawless. “Keep your places, and hold up your hands. Who’s bossing this game, anyhow? I don’t care a rap what you do with the tenderfoot after I get away from here, but just now it’s my innings. The Easterner has saved his life—you can’t blame him for that.” He spurred his horse a step forward. “Madam,” he added, to the trembling woman, “I’ll trouble you to take your money from the hat and throw it into the road. Did this tenderfoot speak the truth?”

“Y-y-yes!” gasped the woman.

“Then give me the money.”

“Oh, sir,” pleaded the woman, stretching out her hands supplicatingly, “let me keep what’s mine, and——”

“I’m a man of business, and not of sentiment,” said Lawless harshly, “and I may add that I’m not in this dangerous business for my health. The money, quick!”

With a sob, the woman lifted her shaking hands to her hat, tore away the roll of bills, and dropped it beside the rest of the plunder on the ground.

“The meanest coyote thet ever skulked around these hyer hills,” cried the indignant Hotchkiss, “stacks up purty high alongside o’ you, Cap’n Lawless!”

“Another yaup like that,” said Lawless savagely, “and I’ll give you your ticket!”

Life is dear to every man, and Hotchkiss, knowing that another word from him would spell his doom and not result in any benefit to the woman, or any one else, smothered his righteous wrath and glared at the man on the horse.

Hot words had also been on Pete’s lips, but he held them back.

“Lawless,” he said, “the rest o’ us aire men, an’ what we got we kin lose, but this hyer happens ter be a woman, an’——”

“Cork!” interrupted Lawless sententiously. Then, again facing the woman, he went on: “Any rings?”

“One,” she whispered; “just one!”

“Throw it after the money!”

“Have you no heart?” wailed the woman. “Spare me the ring!”

“Throw it on the ground!”

Lawless, when he so willed, could be fair-spoken and act the gentleman; but at heart he was a demon, and Hotchkiss’ taunt had driven him to do his worst.

The ring, a plain gold band and plainly a wedding-ring, was dropped on the ground.

“There’s a locket at your neck,” pursued Lawless relentlessly, flashing his fiercely mocking eyes at the scowling Hotchkiss, “and I must have that.”

The woman tore away her veil, revealing a middle-aged face that must once have been very beautiful, and was even now comely withal the lines of sorrow and suffering that crossed it.

A pair of hazel eyes pleaded for the locket, pleaded even more than lips could have done, but fruitlessly.

Slowly the woman unclasped the golden chain, half-stretched the round locket toward Lawless, then drew back the hand and pressed the trinket to her bosom.

“No, no!” she gasped; “I would rather you took my life!”

Leaning suddenly forward in his saddle, Lawless caught the locket away with brutal force.

“This is no time to go against my orders,” he snapped, as the woman, utterly unnerved, sank back in her seat and covered her face with her hands. “Drive on, you!” he added to the driver of the stage. “Don’t stop until you have gone two miles, and don’t one of you dare to look back while you are within gunshot of this place. You’ll be covered as long as you’re within range—mark that!”

Chick Billings stooped down and picked up his lines.

“G’lang, ye pack o’ buzzards!” he spat out at the horses. “Git us out o’ hyer in a hurry, or I’ll be cuttin’ loose an’ makin’ a fool o’ myself.”

Snap, snap went the whip about the leaders’ ears, and the four-horse team bounded away.

Agreeably to orders, no one looked backward; but the final words of the scoundrelly Lawless followed them:

“Buffalo Bill is in Sun Dance. Tell him how Captain Lawless made his clean-up; and tell him that if he wants to follow me and my men, and make a clean-up of his own, we’re only too anxious for him to try!”

What those in the wagon thought was not made known. Hotchkiss, Lonesome Pete, and Chick Billings were furious; Reginald de Bray was quiet and filled with a strange calm; the woman was crying softly in her hands.

The trail made a curve at that point, to avoid a shallow offset of Sun Dance Cañon. When the stage had got well around this curve, two miles from the scene of the hold-up, and almost opposite it, Billings jerked back on the bits, and brought his team to a stop.

“Why,” cried De Bray, starting up from his seat and looking backward, “what’s become of the little Indian, Buffalo Bill’s pard?”

But Chick Billings was not thinking of Little Cayuse just then; nor was Lonesome Pete, nor Hotchkiss.

“You ornery whelp!” breathed Billings, gripping De Bray about the shoulders, “hyer’s whar ye gits yours, an’ git it plenty! Thar’s a rope under the seat, Pete. Lay holt o’ it, an’ reave a noose in the end. We ain’t fur from a tree hyer, an’ I reckons we know what ter do!”

Without a word, the irate Pete reached under the seat.

CHAPTER XX. DOUBLE-CROSSED.

“What’s the matter with you fellows, anyhow?” asked De Bray.

“Ye ain’t fit ter live,” said Lonesome Pete.

“That’s right,” cut in Hotchkiss. “Ye didn’t hev the nerve ter call Lawless’ bluff, but had ter rough things up fer the little woman back hyer.”

“You don’t understand the layout, my friends,” said De Bray, his eyes twinkling and the shadow of a smile hovering about the corners of his mouth.

His manner was one of cool unconcern. Billings, Pete, and Hotchkiss could not understand him, but this did not in the least tend to placate them. There had been a mysterious note in the tenderfoot’s manner ever since the stage had left Montegordo. Billings, Pete, and Hotchkiss, however, were in no mood to figure out a conundrum. Taking De Bray as they found him, he was a pretty low-down proposition.

Pete, having brought out the rope, was engaged in making a slip-noose in the end of it. Hotchkiss was pushing back his sleeves in a businesslike way. Billings had firm hold of De Bray’s arm.

At this point, the woman leaned forward and dropped a trembling hand on Billings’ shoulder.

“You are not going to hurt him?” she pleaded, in her soft, gentle voice.

“It’ll be about as painless, mum, as sich things usually aire,” said Hotchkiss.

“I am the cause of this,” she went on, “and I could not bear to think that a human life has been sacrificed on my account.”

“He sure looks human,” said Lonesome Pete, trying the slip-knot with his hands, “although he didn’t act it, not noways.”

“Anyhow,” spoke up De Bray, “you might put this off until we get to Sun Dance—out of consideration for the lady’s feelings, if not for mine.”

“The lady won’t see a thing,” said Billings. “The tree I referred to is out o’ sight around them rocks.”

“I can tell you something,” pursued De Bray, “that will open your eyes, but I don’t think it’s safe to let the secret out before we reach Sun Dance.”

“Thet’s a play ter gain time,” averred Hotchkiss, “an’ it won’t go down with us.”

“Your temper is hot just now,” said De Bray, “and all of you will feel different when you give it a chance to cool.”

“I hopes,” growled Pete, “that when I see a real lady imposed on I’ll allers have the sand ter take her part, whether I’m in temper or out o’ it.”

Hotchkiss jumped from the wagon.

“Throw him out ter me, Chick,” said he.

“Please, please do not let this go any further,” said the woman, stretching out her hands earnestly. “He did only what any one would have done to save his life. What are a ring, and a locket, and two hundred dollars compared with a human life? What you intend doing would be a terrible thing—so terrible that I can hardly believe you’re in earnest. For my sake, spare him!”

Hotchkiss drew his sleeve over his forehead.

“Pussonly,” said he, “if the whelp ain’t hung, he ort ter be tarred an’ feathered.”

“I ain’t never goin’ ter let it be said,” ground out Chick Billings, who noted that Hotchkiss was wavering, “that anythin’ like what jest happened took place on a stage o’ mine an’ me never doin’ nothin’ ter play even.”

“I’d hate ter hev it said in Sun Dance,” said Pete, “that us fellers allowed sich a whelp as this Easterner ter pollute the camp with his presence—knowin’ the things about him that we do.”

“The hangin’,” finished Billings, “will purceed. Hotchkiss, ye kin help er not, jest as ye please.”

“I’ll help, o’ course,” said Hotchkiss; “but it’s my natur’ allers ter oblige er lady, when it’s possible. Sorry, mum,” he finished, turning to the woman, “but ye see how it is.”

Reginald de Bray threw back his head and laughed. The mirth seemed untimely.

“Quit it!” snorted Chick Billings. “Ye ort ter be sayin’ yer prayers, ’stead o’ laffin’.”

“You fellows force my hand,” answered De Bray. “Take your hands off me for a minute, Billings, so I can show you something.”

“An’ when I let go my hands,” jeered Billings, “ye’ll make er break.”

“Hold a gun on me, one of you,” suggested De Bray.

Hotchkiss drew a revolver. As he leveled it, Billings released De Bray. The latter, bending down, pulled up his trousers and drew something from the top of his shoe. The object proved to be a roll of bills. De Bray opened out the roll on his knee, and the eyes of those about him began to widen.

The bill on top of the pile was of the $1,000 variety. As De Bray thumbed over the rest of the bills, it was seen that they were all of the same denomination.

“Waal, I’ll be jiggered!” muttered Billings.

“Wouldn’t thet rattle yer spurs?” gasped Pete.

“Thar’s money enough ter start a Fust National Bank,” commented the astounded Hotchkiss.

“I was told in Montegordo,” explained De Bray, “that it was a little bit reckless for a man to carry twenty thousand dollars in cash over the trail between there and Sun Dance. But I’ve got to get to the camp and see Buffalo Bill, and, inasmuch as I’ve usually been able to take care of myself, I thought I’d risk it.

“I don’t think any of us expected to meet highwaymen. When Lonesome Pete mentioned the subject, though, I thought it a good chance to take time by the forelock, as the saying is, and make myself secure against a possible surprise. So I asked the lady”—here he turned with one of his rosy smiles toward the woman in the back seat—“to hide my hundred in her bonnet, along with her own.

“I don’t think there’s the least doubt,” he went on, “but that the little trick saved my twenty thousand for me. As soon as we get to Sun Dance I shall reimburse the lady for the money and jewelry she lost. All I can say at the present time is that——”

De Bray stopped suddenly. The attention of every one in the mountain-wagon was focused upon De Bray and his pile of bills. Abruptly a movement of swift feet was heard, followed by a frightened jump on the part of the leaders of the team.

On the instant all eyes were lifted. A masked man, with a rifle slung from his shoulders by a strap, was holding the leaders by the bits. Beside the masked man stood Captain Lawless, he having reappeared on that part of the trail as if by magic. Six masked men, with rifles at their shoulders, had sprung up around the stage as though out of the very ground.

“Sorry to bother you again,” said Lawless, “but I changed my plans somewhat when I saw that gold locket, and I and my men have scrambled across the arm of the cañon. If you hadn’t stopped here so long, we shouldn’t have been able to overtake you. Lucky thing we did, as twenty thousand is something of a haul. Right here is where you fellows are going to get the double-cross.”

This second surprise was even more telling than the first had been. Billings and the rest had not dreamed of encountering Lawless and his gang a second time. It is popularly supposed that lightning never strikes twice in the same place, yet here was proof to the contrary.

What was there about the woman’s locket to bring the road-agent and his rascally followers across the arm of the cañon? Whatever it was, the change in Lawless’ plan had worked out badly for De Bray. De Bray had his $20,000 on his knee, and no subterfuge could now avail to save the funds.

Billings, Pete, and Hotchkiss realized that they themselves were to blame. If they had not halted so long on the road for the purpose of palavering with De Bray, and if they had not forced him to an explanation, his money might have been saved.

Hotchkiss had his revolver in his hand. The hand had dropped at his side, and he was pondering the advisability of resistance. There were eight of the road-agents—eight against three, and if resistance was offered, the fight which followed would surely imperil the woman. Hotchkiss, brave though he was, hesitated to do anything that would endanger one of the gentler sex.

Lawless came closer to De Bray.

“For a tenderfoot,” said Lawless, “you’re a fine specimen of a fox; but here’s where I call you. Fork over!”

He held out his hand.

“Bound to take what I’ve got, are you?” queried De Bray.

His tone was noticeably cool and his manner steady.

“The pickings were slim before,” flung back Lawless. “This will be a raise worth while, and——”

At that instant something happened. Dropping the money into the bottom of the stage, like lightning De Bray flung himself across the forward wheel, gripped Lawless by the throat, and bore him to the ground.

For an Easterner, inexperienced in Western ways, Reginald de Bray showed an abnormal amount of pluck and rough-and-ready incentive.

Pete, Billings, and Hotchkiss were not slow in following up his attack.

Hotchkiss, already on the ground, sprang to the side of the wagon and pushed the woman into the bottom of the box.

“Down!” he cried, and no sooner had he placed the woman in comparative safety than the rifles of the road-agents began to talk.

Bullets slapped into the side of the wagon, sang through the air, and in other ways made their presence disagreeably apparent.

Lonesome Pete fired his six-shooter, and one of the masked men dropped his rifle and fell face-downward; before he could fire again, a piece of lead caught him in the shoulder and flung him down against the dashboard, dazed, helpless, and out of the fight.

Billings, plying his whip frantically, tried to drive the leaders over the man at their heads. The robber, although lifted from his feet with every jump of the frightened horses, managed to keep his hold.

One of the robbers rushed to the spot where De Bray was struggling with the leader of the gang, and fetched the Easterner a blow with the stock of his gun. De Bray pitched forward to the ground, and lay silent.

Lawless jumped to his feet. A bullet from Hotchkiss’ revolver whipped past his ear and struck the man at the horses’ heads. The man let go his hold with a wild yell, and the four-horse team would have sped onward but for Lawless.

The leader of the gang in no uncertain way demonstrated his prowess. A bullet from one of his weapons tore its way through Hotchkiss’ arm, and sent the miner reeling backward against the mountain-wagon.

The wagon was already leaping over the ground, and Hotchkiss slid from the revolving rear wheel and sprawled full length across the trail.

Quick as thought, Lawless made a flying jump for the driver’s seat, and, as luck would have it, gained a position at Billings’ side.

A blow from the butt of his revolver sent Billings down on the crouching form of Lonesome Pete, and Lawless caught the lines as they were flickering over the dashboard.

Throwing himself back on the bits with all his strength, the leader of the robbers brought the frantic horses to a halt.

The short, sharp battle was practically over. Numbers had won. De Bray was still lying unconscious on the ground; Hotchkiss was lifting himself on his uninjured arm, and staring at his revolver, which lay at a distance from him; Pete and Billings were huddled against the dashboard, and four masked men had their rifles leveled to prevent any further act of resistance.

“Take the horses’ heads, one of you!” yelled Lawless. “No more shooting; we’ve got this little game right where we want it. The woman has fainted. Two of you take her and carry her to the horses—one of you is enough to keep track of this bunch.”

While two of the scoundrels, swinging their rifles over their shoulders, advanced and lifted the woman from the place where Hotchkiss had put her, another went to the heads of the plunging leaders.

The minute the man had the leaders well in hand, Lawless bent down, collected the scattered bills, and stuffed them into his pocket.

The woman, limp and unconscious, was carried out of sight.

Lawless, grabbing Billings by the collar and jerking him upright, stared venomously into his eyes.

“See what’s happened!” growled Lawless, “and you have only yourselves to blame. Here’s something else for you to tell Buffalo Bill—and it’s something more to make him take my trail and try for a clean-up. That’s what I want. I’m ready for the king of scouts, and we’ll see how he comes out. Meanwhile, here’s something for you to deliver to Gentleman Jim, in Sun Dance—a locket, a ring, and a note. He’ll understand. Tell him that Lawless never forgets his debts.”

By then, the two men who had carried away the woman reappeared. They picked up the fallen desperado and likewise bore him out of sight among the boulders.

Leaping down from the wagon, Lawless walked quickly to the man who had been wounded by Hotchkiss. The fellow was sitting up at the trailside. Lawless helped him to his feet and supported him toward the rocks.

“That will do,” he called to the man with the gun and to the man who was holding the horses. “Now for a quick getaway.”

By then, Chick Billings was able to take the lines. When the horses were released, he held them where they were, and watched the robbers vanish.

Following this, Chick Billings swore, easing his pent-up feelings after the manner of stage-drivers generally.

“Pete!” he called.

“Hyer,” answered Pete.

“Bad hurt?”

“Nicked in the shoulder.”

“Waal, brace up, pard. We got ter git out o’ this. The quicker we git ter Sun Dance an’ set a possé on the track o’ these hyer scoundrels, the more show o’ success the possé’ll hev. I say, Hotchkiss!”

“Coming,” replied the miner, getting to his feet and picking up his revolver. “Thet was brisk, while it lasted,” he said grimly, walking toward De Bray.

“If thar’d been one or two more o’ us,” mourned Pete, “we might hev had a diff’rent story ter tell in Sun Dance. How’s De Bray?”

“I’ll do,” De Bray himself answered, climbing slowly to his feet and picking up his hat. “I—I never thought the butt of a musket was so hard,” and he put both hands to the back of his head.

“Yer money is gone, De Bray,” announced Billings.

“So I supposed,” was the calm rejoinder.

“Look hyer,” cried Lonesome Pete, wincing with the pain of his wound, but unable to repress his curiosity, “ye’re no tenderfoot. That dodge ye worked, an’ the way ye went fer Lawless, proves thet.”

“Maybe I’m not a tenderfoot,” answered De Bray; “but that’s all you lads need to know. How did Lawless and his gang manage to overhaul us here?”

“They come across the arm o’ the gulch,” explained Billings. “The stage-trail winds around the arm, an’ they made a short cut.”

“But why? My brain isn’t just as clear as it might be, and I can’t figure it out.”

“None o’ the rest o’ us kin figger it out, either,” said Hotchkiss. “Somethin’ about thet locket sent Lawless arter us ag’in—an’ arter the woman.”

“The woman?” queried De Bray, startled.

“Yep; the villains took her away.”

“It’s a big mystery,” put in Billings. “Lawless left a note, the ring, an’ the locket fer me ter take ter Gentleman Jim.”

“Who’s Gentleman Jim?” asked De Bray.

“He’s erbout the only squar’ gambler I knows anythin’ erbout. He hangs out in Sun Dance, an’ is a friend o’ Buffler Bill’s.”

“They came back to get the woman,” mused De Bray, “and they got here just in time to see me showing you fellows all that money.”

“We’re some ter blame, I reckon,” said Hotchkiss. “If we hadn’t stopped hyer as long as we did, roughin’ things up with you, this wouldn’t hev happened. It give Lawless an’ his outfit a chance ter come up with us ag’in.”

“I can’t blame you,” answered De Bray; “it certainly seemed pretty low-down, the way I acted. The thing looked wrong, but needed an explanation to set it right. The quicker we get to Sun Dance, the better.”

“Right ye aire,” seconded Pete. “Climb in, you two, an’ we’ll vamose.”

De Bray and Hotchkiss got into the wagon and took the second seat.

“I don’t reckon it ’u’d do us any good ter try ter see whar thet gang went with ther woman, hey?” said Pete.

“Thar ain’t any o’ us in shape ter foller the whelps,” answered Hotchkiss. “We’ll git ter Sun Dance an’ lay the hull play before Buffler Bill. He’ll know what ter do if any one will.”

“You bet!” emphasized Pete.

“Besides,” struck in Billings, as he set the horses to a gallop, “one o’ Buffler Bill’s pards is somehow mixed up in this.”

“Meanin’ Little Cayuse?” asked Pete.

“Who else?” returned Billings.

“Blame’ queer whar thet kid went ter, all of a sudden. He must hev got out o’ the wagon before Lawless an’ his gang come down on us, thet fust time. Anyways, it seems sure Lawless didn’t see him.”

“Maybe he was scared,” hazarded De Bray.

“Him? Scared?” Pete threw back his head and laughed huskily. “Why, De Bray, thet leetle Piute is skeer-proof. More’n likely he got an idee in his heathen mind, an’ laid out ter kerry it through. He’ll be heerd of, if I’m any prophet.”

“Well,” muttered De Bray, “I’m out twenty thousand, but I’d say good-by to the money with pleasure if we could only have that little lady back in this wagon with us.”

“I’d have stopped a bullet with my other arm for that,” put in Hotchkiss.

“Too bloomin’ bad!” growled Pete, trying to tie up his shoulder with a handkerchief. “Whyever did he want ter take the woman away with him, this hyer whelp of a Lawless? He wasn’t figgerin’ on thet the fust time.”

“Thet locket had everythin’ ter do with it,” said Billings.

“That letter you’re to take to Gentleman Jim may give us a clue to the scoundrel’s actions,” suggested De Bray.

“Thet’s what I’m hopin’,” remarked Hotchkiss.

“You say this Gentleman Jim is a square gambler, and a friend of the scout’s?”

“Yes. He got mixed up with ther scout in the matter o’ the Forty Thieves Mine, an’ it was Lawless as done the mixin’. At fust, it seems, Lawless trusted Gentleman Jim; an’ then, bekase Gentleman Jim did ther squar’ thing, Lawless got a grudge at him. Runnin’ off ther woman has somethin’ ter do with thet grudge, an’ I’ll bet money on it.”

“We’ll know more,” spoke up De Bray, through his clenched teeth, “before we’re many hours older.”

And in this De Bray was right.

CHAPTER XXI. BUFFALO BILL AND GENTLEMAN JIM.

Unaware of the exciting events transpiring on the Montegordo trail, the little adobe camp of Sun Dance lay sweltering in peaceful quiet on its “flat” half-way up the wall of Sun Dance Cañon.

In front of the Lucky Strike Hotel Spangler was dozing in the shade, wondering, whenever he opened his drowsy eyes and had a lucid thought, why in Sam Hill the stage did not show up.

Old Nomad and Wild Bill were playing a game of seven-up in the room of the Lucky Strike, which was called, by virtue of its function, the “office.”

Dell Dauntless was in a room off the office, reading a book to Wah-coo-tah, who was sitting up in a chair, blanketed and pillowed.

In Gentleman Jim’s private room in the Alcazar the scout and the gambler were talking.

As a rule, the king of scouts had no more use for a gambler than he had for any other robber, but there was something about the quiet, polished Gentleman Jim, and his reputation for “squareness,” that attracted the scout. Then, too, Gentleman Jim was a good deal of a mystery, and there is always something attractive about a mystery.

Gentleman Jim had a “past,” but, up to that moment, he had never spoken to any one about it. The scout, it may be observed, was with the other at the gambler’s own request. Evidently, Jim had something on his mind of which he wished to relieve himself.

The two men had lighted cigars, and were smoking as they talked.

“It’s history now, Buffalo Bill,” the gambler was saying, “how Lawless sent to me a deed for the Forty Thieves Mine, executed in your name, with the understanding that the mine was to be yours if you went out to it and remained for three consecutive days and nights in its shaft and underground workings; it’s history, too, how you went there, fell into a trap Lawless had set for you, and were only saved from death by Wah-coo-tah; and it’s history how Lawless and his men escaped, and are now at large, still laying their traps to get the best of you—and me.”

“Laying their traps to get the best of you?” repeated the scout, puzzled. “I don’t understand it that way. What has Lawless got against you? Didn’t he send that deed to you, trusting you with it, and telling you to turn it over to me as soon as I had remained in the mine for the three days and nights?”

“That is why he has taken a grudge against me—for giving you the deed.”

“You only carried out his instructions.”

“I know that; but there is something you do not know, Buffalo Bill, and I have brought you here to tell you about it. You thought Lawless had been seriously, perhaps mortally, wounded, at the time you and your pards escaped from the mine?”

The scout nodded.

“Well, I don’t think he was even severely wounded. At any rate, while you were in the mine, staying out the three days and nights, I received a letter from Lawless.”

“A letter?” echoed the scout. “Why didn’t you tell me about that before, Gentleman Jim?”

“It was a threatening letter, and I didn’t want to bother you with it. Lawless, it appears, had gigged back on his proposition. He said you had gone to the mine, and you had not stayed there for the length of time he had specified. That it had not been his intention to give you two trials, and that, consequently, when you went back to the mine the second time, and stayed out the required three days, you were not fulfilling your part of the contract. Of course, it was only a quibble. Lawless had seen that he had failed to play even with you, and that he was going to lose the mine. In his letter to me, he said that if I did not leave the deed on a black boulder at the foot of Medicine Bluff on the night the letter reached my hands, he would put me on his blacklist along with you, and deal with me accordingly.” A slight smile curled the gambler’s lips. “I was not intimidated. When you had stayed in the mine the length of time agreed on, I gave you the deed; you made out another deed to Wah-coo-tah Lawless, and the Forty Thieves now stands, in the recorder’s office at Montegordo, in the name of Wah-coo-tah. It is out of Lawless’ hands.”

“The mine should belong to Wah-coo-tah,” said the scout, “and you did exactly right, Gentleman Jim. Lawless is a contemptible scoundrel, with no more heart in him than a timber-wolf. In losing the mine, he got his come-up-with for that part of his trickery.”

“I am not afraid of Lawless. But what is Wah-coo-tah going to do with the mine, Buffalo Bill? She knows no more about mining than a babe in arms.”

“I have foreseen that part of the difficulty,” the scout returned. “A friend of mine in Denver, by the name of Reginald de Bray——”

“Reginald de Bray!” laughed Gentleman Jim. “That sounds as though there wasn’t much of a man back of it.”

“Exactly; and the name has fooled more people than I know how to tell about. De Bray looks the part, too. He is a mining-man, however, and one in a thousand. I have interested him in the Forty Thieves, and have advised Wah-coo-tah to sell him a half-interest for twenty thousand dollars, and then to let De Bray go ahead and develop the property. He’ll do it, and give Wah-coo-tah every cent that is coming to her. My last advices from De Bray assured me that he would be here on the afternoon stage. I sent Little Cayuse to Montegordo to see if he reached there, and, if he did not, to forward a telegram to him, telling him to hurry. Little Cayuse will also come in on the stage.

“Whenever De Bray travels, he takes it upon himself to act as guileless as he looks, and as his name suggests him to be. This is a whim of his, but he turns it to good account, now and again. He’ll be here, I’m sure, and then the matter of the Forty Thieves Mine can be wound up, and I and my pards can take to the trail and finish our affair with Lawless.”

“You’re going to run Lawless to earth?”

“I am; and I shall not leave this part of the country until I have done so.”

Gentleman Jim got up and took a thoughtful turn about the room. The scout watched him curiously. Suddenly the gambler came to a halt in front of the scout.

“Buffalo Bill,” said he, “I presume you are aware that all gamblers are more or less superstitious and given to premonitions. I have a premonition that there is something on the cards for me, important if not vital. What it is I do not know, but events are forming which will make or mar me. If the worst happens, I have ten thousand dollars in the First National at Montegordo—honest money, not even won by the cards in honest games—and this I want you to hold in trust. I have drawn a check for the amount in your name; if need arise, you will find the check here.”

Gentleman Jim stepped to his desk, and pulled out a concealed drawer. The scout nodded, and the gambler closed the drawer.

“I am to hold the money in trust—for whom?” Buffalo Bill asked.

A sad look crossed the gambler’s face.

“For the only woman I ever loved,” he answered, sinking into a chair; “for my wife, Alice Brisco, if she is living.”

“How am I to find her?”

“We must leave that to fate,” Gentleman Jim answered, with a foreboding shake of the head. “All I know about Alice you will find in that drawer, with the check. If the money is never claimed, it is to be yours.”

“You’re gloomy to-day, old man,” said Buffalo Bill. “This talk of premonitions is all foolishness.”

“Not in this case,” asserted the gambler, with vehemence. “Something, for good or ill, is going to happen to me and make a decided change in my affairs. If the worst comes, you are the one man I know whom I can trust.”

Seeing that Gentleman Jim was deeply impressed by his forebodings, the scout remained silent. For a long time they sat, smoking and gazing thoughtfully into the wreathes of vapor that floated about them.

“What a fool a man can sometimes make of himself!” the gambler exclaimed abruptly. “Five years ago I was a physician, in an Eastern city, with a large practise, a loving wife, a happy home—everything a man could need to have comfort and make life a success. The gambling fever took hold of me—perhaps it was in my blood, and had to come out. Be that as it may, I neglected my practise for the cards, losing—losing all the time—money, friends, reputation. My wife’s people heard how I was going, and took Alice away from me. I promised to do better, and she came back. Once more I went to the dogs, and she left me for good. Getting together the remnants of my fortune, I sent the pitiable sum to Alice, then I came West and made gambling my profession. I have tried to be square, and have been fairly successful. But what is it all worth, Buffalo Bill, compared to the love and companionship of a woman? There is no happiness for me, and never has been since I cut away from every tie that made life worth living.”

The gambler, stirred by some slumbering impulse, got up and once more began pacing the room.

“This,” he went on, “is what the cards have done for me. They have robbed me of everything that made existence worth while, and here I am in Sun Dance, an outcast, a pariah, a human bird of prey that wrings the wherewithal to live from the honest toil of others. I—I——”

He stopped, one clenched hand lifted in air. The hand dropped nervelessly, and he broke off with a bitter laugh.

“What’s the use of crying over spilled milk?” he added. “I have made my game, and I must play it through. What I have said, Buffalo Bill, is between ourselves. No other man has ever heard it from my lips before—and I speak now because I trust you.”

“Your trust, Gentleman Jim,” returned the scout, with feeling, “shall not be betrayed.”

The gambler started to say something more, then suddenly wheeled about and peered through a window.

“By Jove!” he exclaimed, startled. “The stage is coming into camp, and it looks as though they had had trouble of some kind.”

“Is there a stranger aboard?” inquired the scout, starting up.

“Yes.”

“Ah! That will be De Bray. And Little Cayuse?”

“I can’t see him.”

The scout’s brow clouded.

“His orders were to come in with to-day’s stage,” said he, “and Little Cayuse never disobeys orders. You’re right, Jim, something surely has gone wrong.”

With that, the scout hurried from the room, through the deserted Alcazar and out into the street, Gentleman Jim following curiously.

CHAPTER XXII. LETTER, RING, AND LOCKET.

The sides of the mountain-wagon were splintered in several places, and the only one of the wagon’s four passengers who did not show any visible signs of wear and tear was the mild-faced stranger who sat in front with Chick Billings.

Billings had bound a handkerchief around his head, over the bruise made by the butt of Lawless’ revolver, and Hotchkiss wore a bandage around his arm, while Pete was similarly decorated at the shoulder.

Buffalo Bill and Gentleman Jim appeared to be the only two who had glimpsed the stage. Spangler dozed in front of the hotel, and Wild Bill and Nomad shuffled, and dealt and played, oblivious of the fact that the stage was coming, and that it had met with any trouble.

“Buffler Bill, by hokey!” cried Chick Billings.

“Ye’re the feller we’re lookin’ fer!” chimed in Lonesome Pete.

“You bet y’u!” added Hotchkiss.

The moment Billings drew to a halt, De Bray tumbled over the wheel and grabbed the scout’s welcoming hand.

“Hello, Cody!” cried the Denver man. “You’re looking husky as ever.”

“Feeling that way,” answered the scout, with a smile. “You appear to stack up pretty well, De Bray.”

“Then I stack up a whole lot better than I feel. I’ve got a lump on the back of my head as big as your fist, and a hole in my pocket as big as a tunnel.”

“A hole in your pocket?”

“It was big enough for twenty thousand to slip through.”

“Why—why, I thought ye didn’t know Buffler Bill?” gasped Lonesome Pete.

“He was sayin’,” added Hotchkiss, “that he wanted Buffler Bill ter take his little hand an’ show him the sights. Woof! Darned if he ain’t deceived us all around.”

“What happened to you fellows, anyhow?” asked the scout. “It’s a clear case that something went wrong. Did the stage slip over the rim of the cañon?”

“Worse’n thet,” said Chick Billings. “We met Lawless an’ his gang twicet.”

“Fust time wasn’t so bad,” added Pete, one hand wandering to his injured shoulder; “but the second time—wow! Say, thar was fireworks, ground-an’-lofty tumblin’, an’ a hull lot o’ other trimmin’s.”

“Do you mean to say you’ve been through a hold-up?” demanded Buffalo Bill, his brow clouding, “and that Lawless was back of it?”

“He wasn’t back o’ it, Buffler Bill,” said Pete, “not as any one could notice. He was right up front, mighty conspickerous.”

“Did he appear to be injured in any way?”

“Injured? Him? Waal, not so’s ter interfere with his moving about. He was mighty soople; an’ the way he got around was a caution. I know what ye’re thinkin’, Buffler Bill. Ye’re thinkin’ how Hank Blake, from Pass Dure Cañon, allowed he’d notched Lawless, mebby fer keeps. But the whelp didn’t show any signs. He seemed as well as ever, an’ about twicet as active.”

“This is a pretty layout,” muttered Buffalo Bill. “How many men were with Lawless?”

“Seven; but thar ain’t so many, by one,” came from Hotchkiss. “Pete dropped one of ’em, an’ I put another on the retired list.”

“An’ he sent word ter you, Buffler,” spoke up Pete; “Lawless did. He said ye was ter be told he’d made er clean-up, an’ thet he was achin’ ter hev you trail arter him an’ his gang an’ try ter make a clean-up o’ yer own.”

“Then he’ll get what he wants,” said the scout grimly.

“Ain’t got so many passengers as we left Montegordo with by two,” mourned Billings.

“How’s that?” the scout asked quickly. “I was expecting Cayuse back on this stage, and——”

“Waal, he left ’Gordo with the stage, all right, an’ he was roostin’ on ther back seat with the mail an’ ther luggage up to jest afore we hit Lawless fer the fust time. About then ther leetle Piute disappeared.”

“Did Lawless or his men see him, do you know?”

“I reckon not; Cayuse was gone when ther gang come down on us.”

The scout’s face cleared.

“The boy’s all right,” said he; “he scented trouble, and ten to one he’s trailing the gang. We’ll hear from him. But you spoke of two passengers. Who was the other?”

“T’other was a woman——”

“A woman!” exclaimed both the scout and Gentleman Jim, becoming mightily interested.

“Exactly,” said Billings.

“Did the woman disappear with Little Cayuse?” asked the scout.

“Nary, she didn’t. I wisht it had been thet away, but it wasn’t. Lawless had her kerried off, second time he come down on us.”

“The scoundrel!” muttered the scout between his teeth, his eyes flashing. “What was the woman’s name?”

“She didn’t say what her name was.”

“Why was she coming to Sun Dance?”

“Lookin’ fer a man, I think, jedgin’ from somethin’ she said; an’ I reckon, also, jedgin’ from somethin’ else she said, thet she wasn’t more’n half-expectin’ ter find the man.”

“Well,” said the scout briskly, “tell us the whole of this, and tell it quick. You, Hotchkiss. Time is scarce, and we want the important points.”

Hotchkiss jumped into the recital, and carried it through quickly. What made the greatest impression on the scout and the gambler was that part of the story which had to do with the ring and the locket.

“I’ll take them, and the letter,” said Gentleman Jim, stretching out his hand.

Billings handed him the locket. At the mere sight of it Gentleman Jim’s face went pallid. Opening it quickly, he stared with glassy eyes at two pictures the locket revealed, a low groan dropped from his lips, and he staggered back.

“What is it, Jim?” asked the scout, stepping toward the gambler.

Gentleman Jim did not reply. Apparently beside himself, he did not wait for the note and the ring, but turned about unsteadily and reeled into the Alcazar.

Those in the buckboard, and around it, stared after him.

“I never seen Gentleman Jim in sich a takin’ as thet afore,” mumbled Chick Billings.

“What ails him, anyways?” asked Pete.

“Mebby the woman was some kin o’ his,” suggested Hotchkiss.

“Possibly,” answered the scout shortly. “Give me the ring and the note; and I’ll take them to him in a few moments.”

Billings tendered the remaining two articles to the scout, and he dropped them into his pocket.

“Drive on to the post-office and the hotel, Billings,” went on the scout. “Wild Bill and Nomad are at the hotel—tell them just what you have told me, and say that I want them to get our horses ready for the trail. It’s the war-path for us, and muy pronto. First, though, I must have a talk with Gentleman Jim. This note may contain clues of some value. De Bray,” he added, to the Denver man, “you’re playing in hard luck——”

“That wasn’t all of my pile, though,” cut in De Bray; “remember, I’m still in on the deal as soon as I can get more dinero from home.”

“We’ll talk of that later. Go on to the hotel and introduce yourself to my pards there. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

The stage trundled on. De Bray walking beside it, and the scout hurried into the Alcazar, through the big, deserted gambling-hall to the door of Gentleman Jim’s private room.

The door was open. Through it he could see the gambler, seated at his desk. His head was bowed in his arms, and the locket lay open in front of him.

It was hardly a time to intrude on a man, unnerved by grief as the gambler was at that moment, but other matters connected with Lawless were pressing.

The scout entered the room and passed to the gambler’s side.

“Jim!”

The gambler locked up with a start.

“I’m glad you came, Cody,” said he, in a hoarse voice. “See, here.” He picked up the locket. It contained two pictures, one of a fair-faced woman and the other plainly that of Gentleman Jim himself. “This—this,” faltered the gambler, “belonged to Alice! It was she whom those scoundrels stole away—and to play even with me on account of that mine!”

“We’ll talk of that later, Jim,” said the scout, laying the ring on the table and dropping the note beside it. “There are the other two things Billings brought. Let’s read the note. It may contain something of importance.”

Although the note was the main thing in Buffalo Bill’s mind, and the contents of it what he wanted to get at as quickly as possible, yet he could not show impatience when Gentleman Jim picked up the wedding-ring first.

“This was Alice’s,” said he, in a low voice. “I gave it to her—it seems as though that was in another life and in another world. Look!”—and he held up the gold band and indicated some tiny lettering on the inside—“there’s my name and hers—‘James to Alice,’ and the date. Sad memories, Buffalo Bill,” said he, with a long sigh, dropping the ring beside the locket.

“She must have been coming here to you,” said the scout.

“Yes—coming to me!” Gentleman Jim’s eyes flashed murderously. “And now to have Lawless strike such a blow at my happiness, to—— But I’ll find her! By Heaven, I’ll follow that scoundrel to the ends of earth, if necessary, and get Alice away from him. Then I’ll make him pay—pay to the uttermost.”

“That’s the way to talk, Gentleman Jim,” approved the scout. “I intend to take the trail just as soon as we can get our plans into working shape. The note may guide us. Read it.”

Gentleman Jim picked up the note and read it aloud.

“The inhuman brute!” broke from the scout’s lips.

“You understand the situation, Buffalo Bill?” asked the gambler. “I am so overcome by what has happened that I am hardly able to think or plan. But your head is clear. Put yourself in my place, then do for me as you would do for yourself.”

“In the first place,” said the scout, after a few moments’ thought, “Lawless is not a man to be trusted, anyway we plan.”

“I know that,” breathed Gentleman Jim.

“Even if you allowed him to intimidate you, and even if Wah-coo-tah would give a deed, if the document was taken to Medicine Bluff to-night, you have no assurance that you could trust Lawless to send your wife here to-morrow.”

“I understand.”

“It seems to me, then,” pursued the scout, “that the one thing to do is to take Lawless’ trail at the earliest possible moment.”

“Where shall we pick it up?”

“At the place where the trail curves around the arm of the gulch.”

“But how shall we follow the trail when we once find it? Lawless is cunning. He will blind his course.”

“Little Cayuse will help us.”

“Ah! I had forgotten Little Cayuse. You think the boy is on the track of the gang?”

“I am as sure of that as I am that I stand here this minute. It is just like Cayuse. He scented trouble before the first hold-up, and he got out of the stage before the thieves saw him. It’s a safe bet that he’s on the track of Lawless right now.”

“I believe you are right,” mused the gambler. “Cayuse is our one hope. If he cannot help us find Lawless, no one and nothing else can. The scoundrel has laid other plans to get even with you, Buffalo Bill, and he will be wary in carrying them out. He will profit by past experience, and will make sure he has you safe before he strikes.”

“He is not counting on Little Cayuse,” said the scout grimly, “and we are. The boy has never yet failed me.”

“Lawless is eager for you to follow him,” pursued the gambler; “that was the word he sent by Billings.”

“That was only bluster,” said the scout lightly. “Lawless’ weak point is bluster. He lays clever plans, but he usually overreaches himself. Offering to give me the Forty Thieves Mine if I would stay in it for three days and nights is only a sample of his harebrained schemes.”

“What a cur the scoundrel must be,” growled Gentleman Jim, “to take such trinkets from a woman!”

“He was no more of a cur then than he was when he shot his own daughter,” said the scout.

“I suppose not, but what has happened to-day hits me nearer home. If I can get Alice back——”

“You can,” said the scout, with quiet confidence.

“Well, when I do, I shall change my whole course of life. I shall never touch another card as long as I live. Alice and I will go back East, and I will return to my old profession and make another name for myself. I am only forty-five——”

“Just in your prime, Gentleman Jim!” interposed the scout heartily.

“Not too old to carve out another place for myself, do you think?”

“Certainly not!” and the scout reached over and caught his friend’s hand in a hearty grip. “You have too good stuff in you to waste your talents on cards and the green table.”

“Well, let us think for a little.” The gambler settled back in his chair. “The first hold-up gave Lawless the ring and the locket. He saw my picture in the locket, and my first name in the ring. From that it was easy for him to figure out that Alice was my wife, and that she was going to me at Sun Dance. By cutting across the arm of the gulch, he and his men could overtake the stage. On the way, Lawless wrote that note. When he came up with the stage, he found those aboard wrangling over what they were going to do to your friend, De Bray.”

“They had got over wrangling, I reckon,” said the scout. “De Bray had shown them twenty one-thousand-dollar bills, and had explained his actions. De Bray’s intentions were all right, and he would have won out, and nothing would have happened, if Billings hadn’t insisted on stopping the stage. As it is, Mrs. Brisco is missing, and so is De Bray’s twenty thousand, along with a little more money belonging to Pete and Hotchkiss. This ‘clean-up’ of mine, as Lawless has referred to it, is going to be comprehensive.” The scout’s eyes flashed resolutely. “We are not only going to rescue Mrs. Brisco, but we are also going to get back De Bray’s money, and wind up the career of Lawless into the bargain.”

Gentleman Jim, suddenly alert and feverishly eager, bounded to his feet.

“When do we start?” he asked.

“As soon as we can get ready. I believe my old pard must be getting the horses under saddle now.”

“I’ll be ready by the time you are,” said the gambler.

Opening the secret drawer, he started to put the locket and the ring into it; then, changing his mind, he put only the ring into the drawer, and placed the locket in an inside pocket of his coat.

“Great events,” said Buffalo Bill, “sometimes hang upon trifling incidents.”

He had reference to Lawless’ getting the locket, looking at the pictures inside, and suddenly making up his mind to overhaul the stage and spirit away the gambler’s wife.

At the same time, the placing of the locket in his breast pocket by Gentleman Jim, though a trifling incident, was destined to have a vital bearing on the trend of the gambler’s affairs.

Leaving Gentleman Jim to make his preparations, the scout hurried out of the Alcazar and off down the street toward the Lucky Strike Hotel.

Spangler was wabbling excitedly about in front of his hostelry, spluttering his ideas and opinions regarding the double hold-up to Dell Dauntless. At sight of the scout, the girl ran toward him, her eyes sparkling.

“At last, pard,” she cried, “your chance has come to bring things to a finish in this matter of Captain Lawless.”

“Right you are, Dell,” he answered: “and the chance has come somewhat before I had expected it.”

“Of course I’m going with you,” said Dell.

“Who will stay with Wah-coo-tah?”

“She says she can take care of herself now, and wants me to go.”

“You understand don’t you, Dell, that Lawless expects us to follow him, and that he has probably prepared another of his ingenious traps for us?”

“I understand; but this trap, whatever it is, will fail, just as that other one did at the mine.”

“Of course! But I think I would rather you stayed here. We have men enough, you know.”

“This is the last time I shall ever ride with you, pard,” said Dell. “I am going back to Arizona, you know, as soon as Lawless is captured. You’re going to let me go, aren’t you? For the last time?”

Dell’s intention of returning to Arizona had been talked over among the pards for several days. Dell’s ranch, the “Double D,” was needing her, and she and the rest of the pards were near the time when their trails forked. Under those conditions, the scout could not deny the girl her wish.

“All right, Dell,” said Buffalo Bill, “but I hope this ride will not be the last we have together.”

“I thought it would be all right,” said Dell, “so I asked Nomad and Wild Bill to bring up Silver Heels with the rest of the horses.”

Dell ran into the hotel to make ready, and just as the scout was turning away he saw a fog of dust down the street. Two riders soon broke out of the fog, and had evidently ridden into camp from the upper rim of the cañon.

One of the riders was Hank Tenny, and the other was a Cheyenne Indian.

Both horsemen drew to a halt in front of Buffalo Bill.

“What’s to pay, Hank?” queried Buffalo Bill, staring at Tenny’s face keenly. “Got something up your sleeve?”

“Not me, Buffler,” replied Tenny, “but the red has.” He turned to the Cheyenne. “Out with it, Hawk,” said he. “Here’s the scout, the feller ye was wantin’ ter find.”

The Indian leaned forward from the back of his horse, jerked a strip of birch-bark from his girdle, and thrust it into the scout’s hand.

“Little Cayuse send um,” said he. “Me heap good Cheyenne, all same friend Little Cayuse, Buff’ Bill. Me bring um.”

CHAPTER XXIII. PICTURE-WRITING.

As renegade Cheyennes had been helping Lawless in his criminal work, Buffalo Bill was not taking offhand this Indian’s word that he was a friend.

“You know Little Cayuse?” queried the scout.

“Wuh!” answered the Cheyenne; “me know um for long time.”

“When did he give you this?” The scout held up the piece of birch-bark.

The Indian pointed to the sky, indicating the place of the sun an hour before.

“Where?” went on the scout.

“On trail to Pass Dure.”

“I reckon I know what ye’re gittin’ at, pard,” said Hank Tenny. “Some Cheyennes hev been helpin’ Lawless, an’ ye think mebby thet the Hawk ain’t straight. But I know him, an’ ye kin take my word fer it thet he’s straight goods. What’s the matter, anyways? ’Pears like thar was somethin’ unusual goin’ on hyer.”

At that moment, Wild Bill and Nomad came galloping around the hotel from the direction of the stable. They rode their own horses, and were leading the scout’s big black, Bear Paw, and Dell’s cayuse, Silver Heels.

“My pards will tell you what’s up, Tenny,” said the scout, and turned and went into the hotel office.

Dell was just coming out of her room, spurred, “heeled,” and ready for her ride with her pards.

“Here’s something, Dell,” called the scout, dropping into a chair by a table and laying the piece of birch-bark in front of him. “A Cheyenne just rode in with this and said Little Cayuse gave it to him.”

“Some of Cayuse’s picture-writing!” exclaimed Dell, drawing near and leaning on the table beside the scout. “It must be a clue to the course taken by Lawless and his gang—that is, if it isn’t a trick Lawless is trying to play on you.”

“I don’t think it’s a trick,” the scout answered. “Unless I’m wide of my trail, Lawless doesn’t know Cayuse is following him, so he wouldn’t have any reason to send in a treacherous red with a piece of birch-bark and say the same came from the boy. Besides, Tenny rode into camp with the Indian, and says he is straight goods.”

“Good!” murmured Dell exultantly. “That means, pard, we’ve got a clue, first clatter out of the box.”

She studied the picture for a space.

“That looks like Cayuse’s work,” she said finally, “and that little horse, down in the right-hand corner, is the way he always signs his name. But I can’t make anything out of it. Can you?”

It took a keen mind to decipher the Piute boy’s communications. Having a keen mind himself, he credited everybody else with the same shrewdness, and drew his symbols with a free hand.

The strip of bark was comparatively fresh, and the picture was drawn with a knife-point on the soft surface that had lain next the tree. Wherever the steel point had traveled it had left a plainly perceptible line.

“Off to the right here,” mused the scout, “is an odd-looking hill.”

“It looks about as much like an adobe house as it does like a hill,” countered Dell.

“Trees don’t grow on adobe houses, Dell. That thing on top of the hill is a tree.”

“Right you are,” assented the girl. “What are those two figures at the top? They seem to be drawn on the margin, and are merely a suggestion of something, it strikes me, and have nothing to do with the main picture.”

The figures to which Dell referred were drawn close to the edge of the piece of bark, and were exactly alike. Evidently they represented one and the same man; but over one was drawn a pair of mule’s ears.

“By George!” exclaimed the scout. “Those figures represent a white man, with a mustache and a sash. Who but Lawless wears a sash? A belt is good enough for every one else in these parts.”

“It’s Lawless,” agreed Dell, “but why are there two of him? And what do those mule’s ears mean over one of the figures?”

“Give it up; that’s something for us to puzzle out later. That part of it is only what you might call a marginal note, anyway. The main picture shows Lawless again, with a figure that is plainly intended to represent a white woman. The woman is Mrs. Brisco, whom Lawless and his gang carried away.”

“Mrs. Brisco?” queried Dell. “I thought no one on the stage knew her name?”

“Some facts,” answered the scout vaguely, “were brought out by that note Billings brought to Gentleman Jim from Lawless.”

The scout did not intend, as yet, to reveal Gentleman Jim’s secret even to Dell. In his own good time, Gentleman Jim himself could tell the people of Sun Dance about his wife.

“Those six marks,” went on the scout, indicating the marks as he spoke, “represent six followers, showing the gang to be composed of seven members, all told.”

“I understood from Billings that there were eight, all told.”

“One was killed by Pete, during the fight that took place at the time of the second hold-up,” explained the scout. Then, proceeding to decipher the picture, he went on: “Back of the marks is an Indian with an eagle-feather. That, of course, is Cayuse, trailing. Over there, in the upper left-hand corner, is a cross representing the four cardinal points of the compass. The hill appears to be northwest of us.”

While this conversation had been going on in the office, the horses had clattered up, and Tenny had been engaged in an excited conversation with Nomad and Wild Bill. Presently some one else joined them, and they all came into the hotel.

“Got any clues from thet pictur’, Buffler?”

The scout looked up and saw the old trapper, Wild Bill, Gentleman Jim, and Hank Tenny.

“It’s from Cayuse, all right,” answered the scout.

“Good enough!” exclaimed the gambler, pressing closer to the table. “It’s a clue, is it, Cody?”

“Yes. Little Cayuse is following the gang, which consists of seven, including Lawless. They have a white woman prisoner along.”

A tremor ran through Gentleman Jim’s lithe form at mention of the woman prisoner; but he quickly pulled himself together, and bent his eager eyes upon the crude drawing.

“There’s a hill there,” pursued the scout, laying one finger on the queer-shaped elevation. “Dell thought it might be a house, but I claim it’s a hill because that thing on top of it is a tree. It lies northwest of here, and the gang with their prisoner are apparently headed toward the hill.”

Gentleman Jim gave a start.

“Look here, Tenny,” he called. The cowboy miner leaned over beside him. “Doesn’t that look like Medicine Bluff?” asked the gambler.

“It shore does!” declared Tenny. “Thar’s a lone tree on the Bluff, too.”

Gentleman Jim turned his eyes on the scout.

“Did Little Cayuse know anything about Medicine Bluff, Buffalo Bill? Had he ever seen it?”

“Sure he’d seen it!” struck in Wild Bill. “The boy used to be a bugler with one of the companies at Fort Sill. He has traveled all over this part of the country with the doughboys.”

“Hickok is right,” agreed the scout. “If Cayuse ever saw that hill once, he’d be able to draw it a hundred years from now. He never forgets anything.”

“Then,” murmured Gentleman Jim, “Lawless and his gang are headed for Medicine Bluff with my—with their prisoner, and our clue is a hot one. There’ll be no need to go to the arm of the gulch, to pick up the trail on the scene of the second hold-up, for, if this is really from Cayuse, we can mount and ride straight for the Bluff, thereby saving time.”

“Thet’s our cue!” exulted Nomad. “Ye kin trust Leetle Cayuse ter do a thing like this up proper, ev’ry time. Thet kid ain’t got his ekal anywhar in ther West. I’ll back him agin’ all comers, white er red, bar none o’ ther same size an’ y’ars.”

“Are you ready for the trail, Gentleman Jim?” inquired the scout.

“I will be, as soon as I look after Hotchkiss and Pete,” the gambler answered. “It will only take a few moments to take care of their injuries.”

While he was with Hotchkiss and Pete, the scout and the rest of his pards went out in front. Wing Hi was just depositing four war-bags on the ground near the horses. Wild Bill had had the bags filled with rations.

All swung to the backs of their horses, and the war-bags were strapped at the saddle-cantles. Presently Gentleman Jim issued hurriedly from the hotel and climbed into his saddle.

“Hotchkiss and Pete are all right,” he announced. “The only thing that worries them is that they can’t take part in this expedition. If they were to try that, however, I wouldn’t answer for the consequences.”

“They have done their part,” said the scout. “Spurs and quirts, boys!”

Spurs rattled, quirts swished, and the party rode off at a gallop, heading for the rim of the gulch.

There were six of them—Buffalo Bill, Wild Bill, Nomad, Dell Dauntless, Gentleman Jim, and Hank Tenny. Before they had reached the slope leading to the gulch, a yell was heard behind them, and out of a cloud of dust broke De Bray, mounted on a sorrel cayuse, and with a rifle across the saddle in front of him. He was still wearing his “boiled” shirt, collar, red vest, and white trousers, making, all together, a somewhat unusual figure for a foray such as the scout and his pards were then starting upon.

The scout turned in his saddle and looked back; then with a laugh, he remarked:

“It’s a safe bet, pards, we couldn’t lose De Bray.”

“Is he going along with us, in that rig?” queried Wild Bill.

“I presume he didn’t have time to change, Hickok; but he’ll give a good account of himself in any rig.”

CHAPTER XXIV. ON THE WAY TO MEDICINE BLUFF.

“What do you fellows mean by trying to cut me out like this?” cried Reginald de Bray, as he spurred alongside the scout and his pards. There was more of jest than rebuke in his voice, however, as became apparent when he added: “You know, I’m in on this deal to the tune of twenty thousand.”

“Well, De Bray,” laughed the scout, “I had supposed that maybe that lump on the back of your head was giving you trouble, and that you were willing to trust me to look after your twenty thousand and stay in Sun Dance along with Hotchkiss and Pete.”

“It was a stiff blow I got on the back of my head, but it wasn’t hard enough to knock me out of a picnic like this.”

“This won’t be much of a picnic,” said Wild Bill, with a sarcastic look at the Denver man’s clothes. “You look like you were got up for a hoe down.”

“Bother the clothes!” exclaimed De Bray; “the time was short, and I couldn’t change them. I bought this gun and forty rounds”—he slapped his new rifle and the ammunition-belt at his waist—“and then went with a man to buy this horse. All that was necessary, of course, and while I was about it you fellows came within one of giving me the slip. Here I am, though, with one eye out for trouble and the other scanning the hazy distance for my lost dinero. Lawless overlooked my watch during that double mix-up we had with him, and I had to pledge it for the gun, the ammunition, the horse, and the riding-gear.”

“You needn’t have done that, De Bray,” said the scout. “You could have had the outfit charged to me.”

“Didn’t have time to think of that,” caroled the Denver man blithely.

“You act,” said Wild Bill, somewhat mystified by the way the Denver man carried himself, “as though losing twenty thousand was an every-day affair with you.”

“If I do, then I’m acting a whole lot different from what I feel. Twenty thousand is quite a bunch of money, but if I never saw it again it wouldn’t break me.”

When they had climbed to the rim of the cañon, Buffalo Bill resigned the lead to Gentleman Jim and Tenny, who were both perfectly familiar with the country and competent to lay a straight course for Medicine Bluff.

These two rode in the lead: behind them came Dell and the scout, then Nomad, and lastly Wild Bill and De Bray, the two latter hobnobbing as they rode and getting better acquainted. Wild Bill found, as did every one else with whom the Denver man came in contact, that his stirrup companion improved upon acquaintance.

“I wish I could understand the whole of that picture Little Cayuse drew for us,” remarked Dell, as they galloped across the level country that stretched northwesterly from Sun Dance Cañon.

“What bothers you, pard?” queried the scout.

“That ‘marginal note,’ as you called it,” replied Dell. “What do those mule’s ears mean?”

“If it comes to that,” laughed the scout, “they may not be mule’s ears.”

“If they’re anything else, then the mystery is only deepened.”

“Let’s forget the mystery, for now. The main part of the diagram is clear enough, and Medicine Bluff lies ahead of us.”

“I suppose, Buffler,” sang out the old trapper from behind, “thet ther nub o’ this pizen bizness is gittin’ ther woman back.”

“That’s the main point, Nick,” answered the scout. “After that, we can think of the money lost by those on the stage. The woman must be safely rescued.”

“I wish ter thunder, pard,” went on Nomad, “thet ye’d sent me ter Montegordo along with Cayuse. Ef ye had, ’stead o’ settin’ in ther Lucky Strike Hotel, watchin’ Hickok put et all over me at this game they calls seven-up, I’d er been mixed in with things wuth while. Seems like excitement has been side-steppin’ from in front er me ever sence thet fracas at ther Forty Thieves.”

“Which was as many as seven days ago,” returned the scout. “Can’t you stand a week’s lull, Nick?”

“I dunno, pard. I’m so used ter things happenin’ thet ef a day comes in an’ slides out without somethin’ doin’, I begins ter think trouble hes took er vacation. So fur Leetle Cayuse appears ter be hevin’ all ther fun.”

“You may have all the ‘fun’ you want, and more, too, before we have run out this trail.”

“Here’s hopin’,” said the old warrior.

The sun had set about the time the party left the top of Sun Dance Cañon; the darkness deepened, the stars lighted up in the vault, and a crescent moon began to brighten. Night was no bar to the ready knowledge of Gentleman Jim and Hank Tenny, however, and they led the scout and his pards along a bee-line as near as the nature of the country would permit.

Three hours of saddle-work brought the riders into rough country; low hills, bare and sterile, but steep-sided, surrounded them—hills where time was saved by going around rather than by seeking to climb over.

At last, four hours out of Sun Dance, Tenny and Gentleman Jim drew rein in a shallow valley, and waited for those behind to catch up.

“We’re close to Medicine Bluff,” announced Gentleman Jim. “It is no more than a mile from here, and this valley divides into two branches just ahead of us. The right-hand fork will bring us out at the western foot of the Bluff, and the left-hand fork will land us on the eastern side. There’s a slope on the eastern side by which the top of the Bluff can be reached, but it seems to me that the western side would be the one where the outlaws are most likely to be found. Which course shall we take, Buffalo Bill? It’s up to you.”

“We’ll take both forks of the valley,” answered the scout promptly.

“You mean——-”

“I mean that we’ll divide into two parties. If the scoundrels we seek are hiding around the Bluff, and if they have laid any sort of a trap, we can bother them by riding into their game in two detachments. Tenny and you, Gentleman Jim, are familiar with the country, so you’ll have to be separated. Tenny, Dell, and I will travel the left-hand fork; that will leave you, Nomad, Wild Bill, and De Bray to go to the right. Your force will be a little stronger than ours, but it may be that you are going into more dangerous ground. We can come together again at the Bluff.”

“Correct!” exclaimed Gentleman Jim. “This clean-up, Buffalo Bill, must be finished to-night. The—the prisoner must not be left in the hands of that gang a minute longer than necessary. I have ten thousand dollars for the man who brings her to me before sunrise——”

“Jim,” interrupted the scout, “not one of us would take your money. We’ll work just as hard for you as though there was a million dollars at stake.”

“That’s like you, Buffalo Bill,” said Gentleman Jim; “and right here I want you all to know that the prisoner is my wife.”

Startled exclamations came from those not in the secret, and in the midst of the surprise Gentleman Jim used his spurs and started along the valley.

“Come on,” he flung back over his shoulder, “all those who are to travel with me.”

Nomad, Wild Bill, and De Bray detached themselves from the party and galloped after the gambler. Tenny, Buffalo Bill, and the girl watched them vanish into the darkness that lay like a pall over the right-hand fork, then themselves spurred into the left-hand branch of the valley.

“His wife!” whispered Dell, in amazement. “Didn’t you say the woman’s name was Mrs. Brisco, Buffalo Bill?”

“Yes. Gentleman Jim’s name is Brisco; James Brisco, although Sun Dance Cañon has never known him by any other name than that of Gentleman Jim.”

“Right ye aire, Buffler Bill!” exclaimed Tenny. “Gentleman Jim has allers been a queer fish—generous, squar’, an’ a man o’ nerve whenever nerve was needed. But everybody knows thar was somethin’ in his past life which he was keepin’ close. However, thet’s ther case with purty nigh every one in the gulch, an’ no one has ever showed a pryin’ dispersition so fur as Gentleman Jim is consarned.”

“But—well, he’s a gambler,” said Dell. “Even a ‘square’ gambler might be in better business.”

“Gentleman Jim will be in better business before many days,” said the scout. “His wife was coming to Sun Dance to find him, and Jim is eager to meet her, and then to turn his back on the gambling-table, return East and pick up his medical profession where he broke it off. When he leaves Sun Dance, mark my words, he’ll be a credit to any community that has the luck to get him.”

“I hope we shall find Mrs. Brisco,” said Dell softly.

“That’s what we’re here for,” said the scout briskly.

The walls of the left-hand fork began to narrow, and the ground under the horses’ hoofs to become rugged and difficult.

“We’ll do more travelin’ ter cover ther mile thet separates us from the Bluff,” averred Tenny, “than Jim an’ his party will. T’other fork o’ ther valley is tollable easy, compared ter this ’un. They’ll be at the Bluff afore we aire, too, an’ if they meet up with any trouble, it’ll be some leetle time afore we come close enough ter help. If I was ter choose trails, I’d shore hev picked out——”

Tenny was interrupted by a spurt of fire from overhead, followed by the sping of a rifle. His horse jumped, and his hat was whipped off as effectively as though some hand had reached out of the gloom and torn it from his head.

“Outlaws!” cried the scout, his quick wit instantly busying itself with the situation; “press close to the right wall—quick!”

The horses were swerved in the direction indicated, and a jab of the spurs carried them into the heavy shadow of the wall at a dozen jumps.

There, in the screen of thick darkness, the scout and his two companions awaited further developments.

If Lawless and his men were back of that rifle-shot, they were slow in following up the attack. The one shot was all that was fired, and ominous silence followed it. Not a sound was heard by the scout and his friends aside from the heavy breathing of their horses.

“Thet was blame’ sudden,” muttered Hank Tenny, “an’ blame’ near bein’ a bull’s-eye, too. I felt ther wind o’ thet bullet, an’ ther way it snatched off my head-gear made it look as though it wanted ter take my head with it.”

“A miss is as good as a mile, Hank,” said the scout, in a low tone.

While he spoke, his eyes were searching the darkness in the direction from which the shot had come.

“I ain’t grumblin’ none,” continued Tenny.

“The bullet came from the top of the wall,” put in Dell.

“Yes; the men, whoever they may be, are up there.”

“’Course they’re the gang we’re arter,” remarked Tenny, “but they’re showin’ their hands consider’ble this side o’ the Bluff. I reckon,” he finished grimly, “thet ye picked the likeliest fork, Buffler Bill, when ye come ter ther left. We’ve cut out this bunch o’ trouble for our own.”

“Why don’t they follow up the surprise?” queried Dell restively. “A surprise like that doesn’t amount to much unless it is followed up—and followed up quick.”

“I can’t understand why the scoundrels are holding their fire,” mused Buffalo Bill, “unless it is because they can’t locate us, and don’t want to waste their ammunition. Hold my horse, Dell.”

The scout flung the girl his reins and slipped quietly down from his saddle.

“What are you going to do, pard?” whispered the girl anxiously.

“A little scouting,” he replied, “in order to determine what we’re up against. That shot came from the wall, across the valley. Can I climb the wall over there, Tenny?”

“It’ll be a hard scramble,” was the reply, “but I reckon Buffler Bill kin do whatever he sets out ter try. Leastways, thet’s how it seems from the fashion ye’ve been doin’ things sence ye hit Sun Dance.”

“Wait for me here,” said the scout, moving slowly away through the gloom. “If you hear me whistle, Tenny, leave your horse with Dell and come over, for it’s barely possible I shall need you.”

Emerging cautiously from the heavy shadow of the bank, the scout dropped to his knees and crawled across the valley. The bottom of the valley was fairly light, and had the scout not taken advantage of the boulders and depressions, he could easily have been seen by the marksman on the wall, and almost as easily have been snuffed out by a bullet.

But he was a master of the sort of work that now engaged his attention, and he gained the opposite wall without being seen.

The wall was steep and covered with sharp rocks. The rocks, while making the scout’s climb more difficult, at the same time served to shield him from the view of any one above.

To make such a hard ascent without loosening a stone, or sending a spurt of sand down the wall, was the task the scout had set for himself; and that he accomplished it, in the semidarkness, was an added proof of the powers that had made him what he was—king of scouts and prince of Indian-fighters.

And, strange as it may seem, this feat was performed almost under the very nose of a watchful outlaw. The scout, of course, knew nothing about the outlaw’s location while he was making the climb. The discovery came as a surprise when he had crawled over the brink of the wall.

The first object he beheld was a horse, standing about a hundred feet from the rim of the valley. The horse had an empty saddle, and there were no other horses in its vicinity.

The scout immediately drew the conclusion that a lone outlaw had fired the shot at Tenny—perhaps an outpost, placed at that particular point to watch the approach to the Bluff.

Then, just as he had settled this question to his satisfaction, he crawled, snakelike, around a boulder, and saw the man himself.

The man was lying flat down on the other side of the boulder, a rifle in his hands and his eyes scanning the valley. It was plain enough that he was waiting for some sight or sound that would locate the party which had already been a target for him.

Still crawling, although with redoubled vigilance, the scout attempted to come close enough to take the man at unawares and effect a capture. In this he was not successful. The scraping sounds of his forward movement, indistinct almost as the tread of a puma, suddenly struck on the ears of the man with the gun.

He started up, and, just as he rose, the scout sprang erect, and came to hand-grips with him.

“Buffler Bill!” gasped the outlaw.

“Tex!” exclaimed the scout, with a short laugh. “You’re not much of a sniper, Tex. What are you doing with your ears?”

The outlaw swore heartily, and began to fight.

Buffalo Bill had seen this man, whom Lawless and his gang called ‘Tex,’ and it was easy to recognize the fellow’s huge bulk, in spite of the screening darkness.

A powerful man was Tex, and he marshaled all his strength for what he must have believed to be a fight for life.

At close quarters Tex could not use his rifle—in fact, that weapon had dropped the instant the scout had grabbed him—so he sought to break away and draw one of his revolvers.

Buffalo Bill understood perfectly well what Tex’s intentions were, and hung to him with a grip of iron.

Finding himself unable to get clear of the scout’s hands, Tex attempted to draw a bowie that swung in front of him from his belt.

In a mix-up like that a knife was far and away more dangerous than a revolver.

Back and forth, and around and around the two men strained, and the scout was not long in discovering that he had never met a man more worthy of his strength and prowess than was Tex.

Time and again Tex got a hand on the knife-hilt, and time and again the scout caught the hand and wrenched it away, always with the blade still in its scabbard, although once or twice the blade was half-drawn.

For either combatant to gain an advantage seemed out of the question. The contest, the scout early made up his mind, was to be one of endurance.

After the first exchange of words neither of the men spoke. Breath was valuable, and could not be wasted.

But steadily the giant frame of Tex was worn down, and his hard breathing and husky gasps told of the effort he was making to keep the battle at even odds.

The scout, on the contrary, was a man of iron endurance. After ten minutes of nerve-wracking struggle, he was apparently as fresh as when he had begun the fight.

“Yield!” panted the scout.

“Give up an’ stretch a rope, hey?” wheezed Tex; “not me!”

For certain reasons, later to be explained, the scout wanted to capture Tex uninjured, or practically so. But some rough work was necessary, and the chance for it came as Tex finished his defiance.

Several times the pair had weaved about on the brink of the wall. As the final word left the ruffian’s lips, he and the scout were again in that position.

Calling upon all his strength, the scout lifted the outlaw bodily and flung him backward. Tex’s hands were torn away from the scout’s buckskin shirt, and he keeled over backward, down the slope.

The big fellow fell heavily, and began rolling and bounding down the steep descent. The gloom swallowed up his rolling figure, and then the rattle of rocks and loosened débris suddenly ceased.

The scout stood for a second, breathing hard and looking downward into the darkness; then, giving vent to a sharp whistle, he started down the bank.

The whistle was returned from close at hand—from part way up the slope, in fact—and was followed by the voice of Tenny.

“What d’ye want, Buffler Bill?”

“There’s a man down there somewhere: see if you can find him.”

“Did ye hev a fracas with the feller?”

“Yes, and he went over the bank. It’s Tex, one of Lawless’ men. I want to capture him alive, if I can.”

“I heerd a scramble over hyer,” went on Tenny, floundering about on the slope, “an’ reckoned ye might be needin’ me, so I started acrost without waitin’ fer ye ter whistle. I didn’t know but thet—— Woof!” Tenny broke off his remarks abruptly. “Hyer he is, Buffler—I stumbled right over him. He’s wrapped around a big stone, an’ as limp as a rag. Reckon he busted his neck—an’ good enough fer him, if he did.”

Lowering himself carefully downward, the scout presently reached the place where Tex had been halted in his rough descent of the slope.

“He’s all right,” said the scout, after a moment’s examination. “Stunned, that’s all. We’ll get a rope on him before he comes to his senses.”

“I’ll hev ter go acrost the valley ter my hoss ter git a rope,” said Tenny.

“Tex’s horse is just over the brink of the wall. Bring the animal. The chances are you’ll find a riata coiled at the saddle-horn, and there’ll be a heap of satisfaction in tying Tex with his own rope.”

“Thar’d be more satisfaction in hangin’ him with it,” growled Tenny, as he scrambled to the top of the wall and disappeared.

While Tenny was gone, the scout stripped the outlaw of his knife and six-shooters.

The capture of Tex was an unexpected stroke of luck, but just how much luck there was in it the scout could not tell until later.

CHAPTER XXV. A COWED OUTLAW.

Tex was bound and half-dragged and half-carried down the slope to the bottom of the valley. Bringing his horse down was a hard proposition, but Tenny managed to accomplish it by throwing a couple of somersaults and barking his shins on the rocks.

It was very evident that Tex was the only one of Lawless’ men in that immediate vicinity, and the scout and his pards considered themselves fairly secure. Dell rode out from under the sheltering bank leading Bear Paw and Tenny’s mount. She had heard enough of the conversation between the scout and Tenny to understand what had happened.

“He’s a good fighter, Dell,” said the scout, when she and Tenny had both reached his side and they were grouped about Tex and waiting for him to recover his wits. “If he had been as good with his rifle as he is with his hands, Tenny would have been out of the reckoning by now.”

“Did you catch him napping, pard?”

“I blundered right onto him. If his ears had been sharp, he would have heard me climbing up the bank, for I reached the top only a few yards from where he was lying, waiting for a chance to take a shot across the valley.”

“Whyever did ye want ter ketch him alive?” asked Tenny.

“He’s a weak sister, Tenny, in the sense that his allegiance to Lawless’ gang is none too hard and fast. I know that from things I have heard. I think we can use Tex; at any rate, I intend to see what I can do with him.”

Just then Tex gave a gurgle and sat up, straining at the rope around his hands.

“Don’t break loose,” taunted Tenny. “It’s yer own rope we’ve put on ye, an’ you ort ter know how strong it is.”

“No one but Buffler Bill could hev ketched me like that,” growled Tex. “I’ve allers said he was a powerful sort of er man—too powerful for us fellers ter buck ag’inst with any show o’ winnin’ out. He’s beat Lawless twicet at his own game, an’ I reckon he’ll beat him agin.”

“I reckon I will, Tex,” said the scout. “Do you want us to take you to Fort Sill and turn you over to the soldiers?”

“Might as well go ter Fort Sill as ter any other place,” said Tex, with resignation. “I’m up a stump, anyways. It don’t make any diff’rence whether I’m shot er strung up; they both mean the same thing in the end. Thunder! I allers reckoned if I hung onter Lawless long enough this is what ’u’d happen. I didn’t want ter be took alive! Why didn’t ye use a gun on me, Buffler Bill?”

“Because I had other plans,” said the scout briefly. “Where’s Lawless?”

Tex was silent.

“Where has he taken Mrs. Brisco?”

Still Tex would not find his tongue.

“Why don’t you answer me?” asked the scout.

“Ye want ter know a heap,” answered Tex, after a brief period of reflection. “What good is it goin’ ter do me ter tell ye all that?”

“That depends on whether you tell the truth or not.”

“Git down ter brass tacks,” said Tex. “Jest what d’ye mean by sayin’ that?”

“I mean that if you will answer my questions truthfully, just as soon as Lawless is down and out, I’ll set you at liberty—providing you’ll agree to leave the country.”

“I don’t reckon thar’s anythin’ ter be gained by buckin’ you further than what I hev,” mused Tex. “I’ve had plenty of it lately, an’ it ain’t never amounted ter nothin’, ’cept ter git us fellers deeper an’ deeper in the hole. I begun as an honest miner, over thar in Sun Dance Cañon, but Coomby talked me over ter helpin’ Lawless, sayin’ as how we’d all git a slice o’ the Forty Thieves if we hung on. Now the mine has been deeded ter Wah-coo-tah Lawless, an’ us fellers won’t git none o’ it onless Wah-coo-tah Lawless makes out a deed ter Cap’n Lawless, an’ ther deed is left at ther black rock at Medicine Bluff ter-night. Is that deed goin’ ter be left?”

“Not that anybody knows of,” said the scout.

“Thet’s what I told Lawless; but when he gits the bit in his teeth, thar ain’t no doin’ anythin’ with him.”

“I have just begun my clean-up,” said the scout, “and Lawless and his men will be down and out before I’m through. You’re down and out now, Tex, and this is the beginning. You can save yourself, however, if you want to answer my questions. We shall wipe out the gang with or without your information, but you may be able to tell us something that will make the job a trifle easier. What’s the word?”

“How do I know ye’ll turn me loose if I tell ye what I know?”

“You have my word,” said the scout shortly. “If that isn’t good enough for you, we’ll stop negotiations right here, and I’ll send you over to Sill.”

“Waal, I’d a heap rather take chances with you than ter take ’em at Sill,” answered the cowed desperado. “What d’ye want ter know?”

“First off, how did you happen to be on the top of the bank?”

“I was watchin’ fer you, er some o’ the others from Sun Dance. Lawless knowed he’d be follered arter the news o’ the hold-up got ter the camp. I was watchin’ this road ter Medicine Bluff, an’ Coomby was watchin’ the other.”

“Why did you fire at us?”

“Bekase I’d feel a heap safer in my mind if I knowed Buffler Bill had been picked off.”

“You tried to pick off Tenny here, and not me.”

“I was waitin’ for a chance at you when ye jumped me up behind thet boulder,” was the rueful answer.

“How did you know I wasn’t coming to Medicine Bluff to leave the deed?”

“How does a feller know thet water won’t run up-hill? Thet wasn’t ther kind of er play ter ketch you, an’ thet’s what I told Lawless. I ain’t felt easy a minit sence you was in Sun Dance Cañon.”

“Well, we’ll let that pass. Where is Mrs. Brisco?”

“Some’r’s around Medicine Bluff, at last accounts. I don’t know jest whar. I come away ter watch this fork afore Lawless decided jest whar he’d take her.”

“Is she being well treated?”

“She gits the best ther camp affords.”

“Is Lawless with her?”

“By now, I reckon, he’s on his way ter Pima Camp, in Chavorta Gorge.”

“Why is he going to Pima Camp?”

“He’s made up his mind he ain’t got men enough. Andy was put out o’ bizness at ther time o’ ther hold-up, an’ sence then he’s passed out o’ ther game fer keeps. Lonesome Pete kin cut a notch, too, fer Eph Singer—we left him under a pile o’ rocks on ther way ter Medicine Bluff. Thet leaves on’y six in ther gang, countin’ Lawless hisself. Now I’m out, thar’s on’y five.”

“Coomby’s watching the other fork of the valley?”

“Yes.”

“And Lawless has gone to Pima?”

“I jest told ye thet.”

“Did he go alone?”

“He did. He wants ter pick up some men at Pima, if he kin.”

“Then there are only three outlaws at Medicine Bluff with the woman?”

“Yes, purvidin’ she’s at the Bluff. I ain’t a-sayin’ whar she is, kase I don’t know.”

“Where are the renegade Cheyennes who used to help Lawless in his villainy?”

“Stampeded. They was all afeared o’ Buffler Bill. I ain’t blamin’ ’em none, either. I reckon Lawless’ll hev the time o’ his life gittin’ handy boys at Pima, when they hear it’s Buffler Bill they’re ter fight.”

The scout turned to Tenny.

“How far is it to Pima from here, Hank?” he asked.

“Ten mile,” replied Tenny.

“How must a man travel to get there?”

“Waal, if I was goin’ thar from hyer, I’d git up on the top o’ thet bank an’ head due south, keepin Medicine Bluff allers ter the right. When I’d gone five mile, I could see the ridge thet holds Chavorta Gorge. Kain’t miss the gorge. Once inter it, ye foller up ter Pima. But what ye thinkin’ o’ doin’, Buffler Bill?”

“Dell and I are going to Pima,” said the scout, “and overhaul Lawless before he can enlist any more miscreants to carry out his nefarious plans. The iron is hot, and Pima is the place to strike. Not only can we capture Lawless,” added the scout, “but we can prevent him from adding to his force of trouble-makers.”

“You an’ Miss Dauntless aire goin’ ter Pima, ye say?”

“Yes.”

“An’ what am I ter do?”

“You’re to tie Tex to his horse and travel on to Medicine Bluff, effecting a juncture with Nomad’s party. Tell them what has happened; then the lot of you can ride on to Pima. Remember my promise to Tex, Tenny. If his information pans out, he’s going to be a free man. Tell Nomad and Wild Bill what I have promised.”

“I don’t want ter go ter Medicine Bluff,” demurred Tex unexpectedly.

“Why not?” answered the scout. “You’ll not suffer any harm from my pards.”

“Waal, I jest don’t want ter go thar, thet’s all. It ain’t yore pards I’m fearin’, but Coomby an’ the rest.”

“Nomad and Wild Bill have men enough with them to protect you, and that is where you’re going.”

“Jest remember what ye said, Buffler Bill,” went on Tex; “ye said thet ther minit Lawless was down an’ out, I was ter be turned loose.”

“Yes.”

“All right then. I jest want it understood.”

“You’re keeping something back, Tex,” said the scout, studying the ruffian’s face as keenly as he could in the faint light.

“I’m bankin’ my life on the result, ain’t I?” returned Tex. “What I’m keepin’ ter myself ain’t goin’ ter interfere none with yore affairs, an’ it’s li’ble ter mean a hull lot ter me.”

“Well, have it your way. As you say, it is very likely your life swings in the balance.”

The scout and Tenny, between them, swung Tex to the back of his horse and tied him there. Immediately afterward, the rest mounted, and Tenny took the bridle of Tex’s horse, to lead the animal on toward Medicine Bluff.

“Pima is a tough camp, Buffler,” observed Tenny, “an’ thet’s why Lawless went thar ter git fresh men. Every whelp in Pima is of ther same caliber as Tex thar, an’ I’m afeared you an’ Miss Dauntless aire goin’ ter hev yer hands full.”

“Not so full but that we can handle the work, all right,” answered the scout confidently. “A bold stroke, just now, will settle Lawless for good and all. The risk is worth taking. Come on, Dell,” he added to his girl pard; “we’re for Chavorta Gorge and Pima.”

Tenny rode slowly on along the valley in the direction of Medicine Bluff, while the scout and Dell pushed their horses at the wall up which the scout had climbed a little while before.

The scout understood that his suddenly conceived plan for capturing Lawless was a desperate one; but, had he realized just how desperate it was, he would have waited, before carrying it out, to get some more of his pards to go with him.

CHAPTER XXVI. CHAVORTA GORGE AND PIMA.

Buffalo Bill and Dell found it a long ten miles to Chavorta Gorge and Pima, mainly because the night mixed up their landmarks, and they went astray in the barren hills.

Early daylight found them on the crest of an eminence scanning the country to the west and south. Away to the west they discerned a distant uplift, which they took to be Medicine Bluff. To the south stretched a ridge, but there was no sign of a gap in the ridge leading to Chavorta Gorge.

“We’re too far to the east, Dell,” hazarded the scout, “and have been following down the ridge. If we turn west, and keep our eyes on the ridge as we ride, I believe we shall find the gorge.”

“By the time we find it, and get to Pima,” returned Dell, “we may discover that Lawless has secured his new men and gone back to Medicine Bluff. If it turns out that way, Nomad, Wild Bill and the rest may have more on their hands than they can take care of.”

“Tenny will warn them. It is true we have lost a lot of time, but I don’t want to turn back from Pima now, when there’s still a chance of accomplishing our work there.”

They pointed their horses westward, and rode as swiftly as the nature of the ground would permit.

“If Lawless has a permanent headquarters near Medicine Bluff,” suggested Dell, “it may be that Nomad, Wild Bill, Gentleman Jim, and De Bray have already found Mrs. Brisco.”

“I’m hoping for the best,” returned the scout. “If that has happened, Dell, it is up to you and me to give as good an account of ourselves at Pima, as the rest of our pards have done, or will do, at the bluff.”

Half an hour’s riding in a westerly direction proved the truth of the scout’s theory regarding the location of Chavorta Gorge. From a hilltop a look toward the ridge showed them a rent in its buttressed side.

“There’s the gorge!” exclaimed Dell.

“Good!” cried the scout. “Now to get into it, and make the best time possible to Pima.”

The sun was mounting as they entered the gorge, but the gash was so deep and narrow that even at midday a spectral twilight reigned in its depths.

It was a bleak and dismal defile, walled in by gray masses of granite, and with hardly any silt in its bed. The river that had once flowed through the gorge had long since found other channels, and what gold the place yielded had to be dug from the rock crevices with iron hooks and rods.

The scout had heard all about Chavorta Gorge, although this was the first time he had ever inspected it, and as he and Dell clattered along through the gloom, he explained the method of mining in vogue in the place.

“The outcasts of respectable mining-camps flock to the gorge,” the scout added, “and prod and gouge at these granite walls for the nuggets once brought down the defile by the vanished stream. The place has a hard name, and rightly so, for an outcast miner is about as hard a citizen as one can find anywhere in the West.”

“Are there many people at Pima?” asked the girl.

“I suppose the camp is about the size of Sun Dance, although my information is rather limited on that point.”

“What can we do against even a small camp?”

“The miners, I reckon, have heard of Buffalo Bill,” said the scout, with a flash of the eyes; “they know he is in Uncle Sam’s service, and they’ll think twice before they invite a company of regulars over here to drive them out and wind up their layout.”

“The very name of Buffalo Bill,” said Dell, her face lighting with admiration, “has a power everywhere. See how it stampeded the Cheyennes and caused them to break away from Lawless! And see, too, how fearful Tex was, and how ready to save his own neck when he found you had captured him.”

“It isn’t so much the name, pard,” laughed the scout, “as the fact that the United States army is behind it.”

A few miles of twilight brought the scout and the girl to a point where the walls of the gorge began to open out. More daylight entered the depths and dispelled the gloom. The walls were as high and as rugged as ever, but they continued to swerve away from each other.

An abrupt turn in the gorge brought the riders suddenly within sight of the camp.

Knowing that there was no flood to be feared, the founders of Pima had built the camp in the very bottom of the defile. Timber was plentiful on the ridge, and logs had been lowered from the top of the walls and used in the construction of cabins.

Perhaps there were a dozen buildings, all told, in the camp. They were disreputable structures, entirely in keeping with the character of those who occupied them.

The scout halted Bear Paw while he scanned the camp critically. A few horses were feeding out behind one of the buildings, but there was not a human being in sight. Among the feeding horses was one that was equipped with riding-gear.

“Where are the miners?” queried Dell. “Are they up the gorge somewhere, prying their nuggets out of the rocks? This camp is even quieter than Sun Dance during the day.”

“Listen!” said the scout. “There seems to be plenty of life in one of the buildings.”

A roar of voices broke fitfully from a large log structure in the midst of the huddled cabins. The roar died away in silence, and then rose again, proving that there was excitement of some sort going on in the place.

“If Lawless is in this camp,” observed Buffalo Bill, “that’s where I shall find him. I want you to stay with the horses, Dell,” he added, as he dismounted, “and, if I need you, ride at once to that cabin. We may have to get out of the gorge in a hurry.”

“Look well to yourself, pard,” adjured Dell, reaching forward and taking hold of Bear Paw’s bridle-reins.

“I always do that,” said he. “The crack of a revolver will be your cue to gallop into the camp.”

Sitting anxiously in her saddle, Dell watched Buffalo Bill stride rapidly in among the log cabins.

No one appeared to ask the scout questions or to dispute his progress, and it was quite evident that every miner who was not at work in the gorge was at that moment in the structure toward which the scout was laying his course.

This fact, of itself, held a portentous significance. Had Lawless gathered the men of the camp in that building in order to harangue them and take his pick of those willing to join his gang?

As the scout came nearer the structure, he noted the massive logs used in its walls; the wide, high door, the gaping loopholes, cut at intervals at shoulder height, and the strong oaken shutters swinging at the windows.

“It has the appearance of a fort,” he said to himself. “I wonder if the people of Pima take refuge there when the Indians are up, or if they fear the military more than they do the reds?”

A rude sign, on the front wall of the building, near the door, bore the words: “The Taim Tiger.”

The scout chuckled over the sign, for the “Taim” appealed to him humorously.

“That’s about the way to spell it,” he muttered. “I don’t think the sort of tiger they keep here is overly tame. Perhaps, though, I shall be able to clip its claws—we’ll see.”

At the side of the door he halted and looked back to where he had left Dell. The girl was sitting like a statue on her white cayuse.

Buffalo Bill waved his hat to her reassuringly, and then stepped through the wide door of The Tame Tiger.

There were not so many men inside the resort as Buffalo Bill had expected to find. The swift glance he cast around him showed him seven or eight, including a heavy-set person behind a rough board bar, and a supple individual clad in black, with shiny knee-boots and a gaudy sash about his waist.

The man in black, naturally, the scout was overjoyed to find. The scout was not unacquainted with the appearance of Lawless, and this man, even at a rear view, answered the outlaw’s description.

The man behind the bar turned half-around as the scout entered, and stared at him suspiciously. The others in the room, including the man in black, were too much occupied with their own particular business to pay the scout any attention.

Buffalo Bill moved slowly over to the bar and leaned against it.

“There are good pickings everywhere in these parts,” the man in black was saying, “and, with a little nerve, they’re easily got at. How did I pull off that deal on the Sun Dance trail yesterday? How did I take down over twenty thousand dollars at one clip for myself and the boys who were in on the game with me? It was because I know how! I want more men, and if any of you are game enough to ride to Medicine Bluff with me this morning, you’ve got a chance. It’s not often that Captain Lawless has to go drumming for men, and the chance won’t come your way again.”

It was plain that Lawless had been spending money freely for liquor. The men who listened to him were in an amiable and receptive mood. While he indulged in his particularly bold talk, roars of approval, such as the scout and Dell had heard at the edge of camp, went up again and again.

A roar, louder than any of the rest, greeted the finish of Lawless’ remarks. It was this noise, more like Bedlam turned loose than anything else, that drowned the warning shout of the man behind the bar. The barkeeper realized that Lawless was going too far in the presence of a stranger. It was not the barkeeper’s shout that drew the outlaw’s attention to Buffalo Bill, but the sudden quiet that fell over the rowdies to whom he had been talking.

These men, all of them with vicious faces, had suddenly become aware of the scout’s presence. Lawless, observing the direction of their glances, whirled about.

At sight of the scout, leaning unconcernedly back against the bar, the outlaw’s face went blank. He recoiled a step, staring as though he could scarcely believe his eyes.

The next moment, apparently assuring himself that he was not dreaming, he cried out an oath and jerked a revolver from his sash.

Silence had fallen over the room. The ruffians spread out, some of them, it seemed likely, for the purpose of helping Captain Lawless, and others with the intention of bolting, or dodging under the tables, in case bullets began to fly.

“Don’t shoot,” said the scout, transfixing Lawless with a steady glance.

He made no move to draw his own revolvers. When he got ready to draw, he would do it so quickly that the movement would be imperceptible.

Lawless, bent on making a show of himself for the benefit of possible recruits, did not make an attempt to use the revolver he had drawn.

“Well, now,” said he, “if here isn’t Buffalo Bill, the great and only W. F. Cody, flash-light warrior and so-called king of scouts! Why”—and Lawless turned a mocking glance into the faces of the men behind him—“he blows right into Pima as though he belonged here. I wonder if he knows he’s off his beat?”

“I wonder!” said the scout, with a jeering undernote. “You’re off your beat, too, just a little. Drumming up recruits, eh?” The scout turned his eyes on the men who had spread themselves out behind Lawless. “This scoundrel”—and the scout indicated the man in black with a contemptuous nod—“is a murderous outlaw. He lost two men at the time of the hold-up he has just been bragging about, and he finds it necessary to get more men in order to fight the force I have brought against him. That’s what he wants you for—to help fight me and my pards and save the twenty thousand dollars he took from the man on the Sun Dance stage. His chestnuts are still in the fire, and he wants you to help him rake them out.”

“That’ll do you!” shouted Lawless, waving his revolver. “You came into this honkatonk on your feet, Buffalo Bill, but you’ll be carried out. I’ve had enough of your meddling, and here and now is the place for me to settle the score I have run up against you.”

“You’ll settle no scores, Captain Lawless,” said the scout; “on the contrary, the law you have so long defied has reached out after you, and inside of two days you will be turned over to the authorities at Fort Sill.”

“I will, eh?” sneered the bandit. “By whom?”

“By me.”

“You talk as though you were a whole company of doughboys! But that’s your style—all talk and nothing doing. Now you’re up against me and these men, all of whom are going to join my band of free-lances. We’re eight against you.”

Buffalo Bill did not reply to Lawless at once. There was a bit of work for him to do, and before he answered the outlaw he had to do it, or find himself completely at the mercy of those in The Tame Tiger.

His back was to the bar, and he was facing Lawless and the ruffians in the room; but, although his face was turned from the barkeeper, he did not allow the actions of that worthy to escape his notice.

Out of the tails of his eyes the scout saw the barkeeper duck down and pick up a heavy wooden mallet. As soon as he had the mallet in his hands, the barkeeper began a stealthy movement in the scout’s direction, along the inside of the bar.

A heavy bottle stood on the bar conveniently to the scout’s hand. Just as the barkeeper had raised the mallet to deal the scout a treacherous blow from behind, the intended victim made a lightninglike move.

It was difficult for those who were looking on to see exactly what had happened. The scout did something, there was a crash of broken glass, and the barkeeper wilted down behind the rough boards. The bottle had vanished from the scout’s elbow.

“You say you are eight against me,” said Buffalo Bill as calmly as though nothing had happened, “but what are eight criminals against the authority of the United States government? Lawless, you are my prisoner!”

This calm statement was astounding, not only to Lawless himself, but to the others in the room as well. The quietly effective way in which Buffalo Bill had back-capped the barkeeper had made a profound impression upon the rascals whom Lawless was trying to interest in his criminal operations. Now to have the scout call Lawless his prisoner hinted of more power than he visibly possessed. How could one man stand up against eight and appear so confident?

Anxious eyes wandered to the door, but no force was in evidence in that direction.

“He’s bluffing!” cried Lawless. “He knows that all we’ve got to do in order to nail him is to make a surround, and his only hope is to make us think he’s got friends outside.”

Lawless realized that he could not dally with the situation any longer. If he would save himself, and get the better of Buffalo Bill, he must act now, or never.

“Say, you fellows!” Lawless cried to the ruffians, “are you going to stand there like a lot of dummies, and let one man come into this camp and run it? Are you going to let Buffalo Bill knock down the barkeeper of this joint, and never lift a hand to interfere? Buffalo Bill! Pah! He’s no more of a man than any of the rest of you. He’s the government’s hired man, that’s all——”

Lawless’ remarks glided into the crack of a revolver and the snarl of a bullet. Under cover of his talk, the outlaw had fired from his hip; but his haste, and the unusual position of the weapon, had militated against the accuracy of his aim.

The scout’s hat-brim was seen to twitch, but the scout still stood leaning back against the bar, as calm and unruffled as before.

“Your hand isn’t as steady as it ought to be, Lawless,” remarked the scout. “I repeat, you are my prisoner. I want to take you out of Chavorta Gorge alive, but, if you make another attempt on me with that revolver, you’ll leave the gorge feet first.”

Then, keeping his steely gaze fixed on Lawless, the scout stepped toward him.

“Keep away from me!” shouted the outlaw, backing toward the door. “One or the other of us will never leave this place alive, and that shot goes as it lays.” He turned partly toward the rest of the men, addressing them, but keeping his eyes on the scout. “What are you hanging back for?” he demanded fiercely. “What sort of fighters are you, anyhow? If you want to join my gang, show me what you can do. I’m holding my hand, just to give you the chance.”

This was a sure-enough bluff, and it brought a laugh from the scout; then, suddenly, Dell Dauntless, on her white cayuse, appeared in the wide, high doorway. The girl’s face was white and determined, and she held her riata ready for a throw.

What had brought such a plan into the girl’s head the scout could not guess, but it was plain that she had a set purpose in mind, and was there with the determination to carry it through at all hazards.

If Lawless had heard the hoof-falls of Silver Heels, he gave them no heed. He dared not. To turn his face from the scout even for an instant would have spelled inevitable disaster for him. And yet the outlaw was not entirely ignorant of the danger behind him. The startled exclamations of the others in the resort apprised him of the fact that something unusual was taking place at the door.

In order to cut short the tension of the moment, Lawless started to lift his revolver for another and a better shot at Buffalo Bill. Before his arm was half-raised, a noose dropped over his head and tightened about his body at the elbows.

It was an easy throw for Dell, and she at once set Silver Heels to backing, drawing the rope taut and preventing the astounded bandit from struggling clear of the noose.

“Bravo, Dell!” shouted Buffalo Bill, as the girl backed slowly through the doorway, dragging the squirming Captain Lawless at the end of the rope.

The instant the outlaw had vanished from the room, the scout faced the gaping and amazed men he had left behind.

“I don’t know whether any of you really intended to join Lawless’ gang or not,” said he sternly; “but, if you did, I have kept you from making a bad mistake. The reputation of this camp of yours is none too good, and if you want to stay in the gorge and dig your gold out of the rocks, I’d advise you to be a little less ready to take up with such scoundrels as Lawless. That will be all!”

And the scout, with the final word, went out of The Tame Tiger and closed the door after him.

Dell was still backing Silver Heels over the ground outside, not daring to let the riata grow slack between her and Lawless, for fear the latter would be able to widen the noose and free himself.

Running up to the helpless bandit, the scout threw him to the ground and held him there.

“Cast off the rope, Dell,” he shouted, “and bring Bear Paw! Hurry up, pard. We’ve got this camp paralyzed, for the moment, but there’s no telling what will happen if we don’t make a quick getaway.”

Dell flung the end of her rope from the saddle-horn, and, while the scout made the struggling Lawless secure, wrist and ankle, she rode around the side of The Tame Tiger, and brought Bear Paw from the place where she had left him.

By the time Bear Paw had been led to the place where the scout was waiting, the door of The Tame Tiger had been thrown open, and those inside were piling out. The men were shouting angrily and waving their revolvers.

“Back!” cried Dell, drawing her six-shooters and leveling them. “The first of you that pulls a trigger will never live to try it a second time!”

Lifting Lawless in his arms, the scout flung him across Bear Paw and then leaped into the saddle.

“All ready, Dell!” he called.

Silver Heels spun around on his hind feet, and the scout and the girl shot out of the camp, the former holding Lawless at the saddle-cantle as he galloped.

Bullets were fired after the pards, but it was a harmless and half-hearted volley.

Buffalo Bill and Dell Dauntless were safe—and they had captured Captain Lawless!

CHAPTER XXVII. A BUSY TIME FOR CAYUSE.

Little Cayuse did not like the white man’s villages. There was nothing about them that attracted him in the least. While in Montegordo, whither he had been sent by the scout, he attached himself to a seat in the railroad-station, spent the night there, and watched, the next morning, while a man wearing a red vest got off the west-bound train.

That red vest captured the boy’s fancy, and he decided that some time, when the chance offered, he would buy one for himself.

With his doting eyes on the vest, he had gone up to the man wearing it, and asked:

“You De Bray, mebbyso?”

“Why, yes,” answered the stranger, “that’s my name. Who are you, and what of it?”

“You take um stage for Sun Dance, huh?”

“The first one I can get. But, say! Look here a minute——”

Cayuse did not stop for anything further. Whirling about, he made off, tearing up the telegram the scout had given to him to send in case De Bray did not arrive.

Cayuse, a couple of hours later, was in the Sun Dance stage when De Bray climbed onto the front seat with Pete and Chick Billings.

During the entire journey, up to the point where the first hold-up had been planned to occur, Cayuse had kept strictly to himself on the back seat. But he was all eyes and ears, even if he did not use his tongue, and among the rocks that hemmed in the stage-trail ahead he had caught a strange glimmer, as of the sun on steel.

That was his signal to drop out at the rear of the mountain-wagon, and flicker from sight among the rocks like a scared coyote. But Cayuse wasn’t scared—he was only curious.

He had seen rifles sparkle in the sun before, and he was pretty sure he had caught a gleam of gun-barrels.

From a safe place among the rocks he witnessed the first hold-up. When the stage pulled out, and the outlaws grouped together to take stock of their spoil, Cayuse saw Lawless—whom he knew by sight—open the locket and stare at the pictures inside.

Then he overheard Lawless plan to cross the arm of the gulch and overhaul the stage again. Cayuse, much to his disappointment, was powerless to warn those in the stage. He was afoot, and the driver of the stage was going fast toward Sun Dance. The boy might have raced across the arm of the gulch, but he could not have beaten the mounted thieves. He followed the thieves, however, picking his cautious way among the rocks and carefully keeping himself out of sight.

By the time he had reached the scene of the second hold-up, the fighting was over and the stage was once more bounding along toward Sun Dance.

Hidden safely only a few yards from where the outlaws had left their horses, Cayuse saw the white woman, and heard her plead for release as soon as she had recovered from her swoon. He heard, also, a number of other things which he considered of more importance.

“We’ll go to Medicine Bluff,” said Lawless to one of his men, “and make sure whether Lawless is going to get well of his wound, or cash in.”

This remark puzzled the boy. Captain Lawless was speaking, and yet he was speaking of another Captain Lawless! What did it mean? He cocked up his ears to hear something more that would throw some light on the mystery.

“Ye’ll find him deader’n a smelt,” remarked one of the robbers. “What’s the use o’ botherin’ with him any longer? Rigged out in his clothes, ye look enough like him ter be twins. Nobody’ll ever know the difference between the two o’ ye, an’ if the deed is left at the black rock, ye kin take over the mine without any one ever bein’ the wiser.”

“Keno,” said the bogus Captain Lawless; “I’ll try it on.”

Thus a light dawned on Cayuse’s brain. The real Lawless was dead, or dying, and a counterfeit Lawless had taken his clothes and was playing the rôle in order to get the Forty Thieves Mine!

Some of Buffalo Bill’s pards might have made post-haste for Sun Dance with this news, but that wasn’t the little Piute’s way. The outfit of robbers might go to Medicine Bluff, and they might not. Cayuse would follow them and make sure just where they did go.

Naturally, they outdistanced him, but when they had vanished, he continued to follow their trail. Close to Pass Dure Cañon luck struck across the boy’s path, for he met Hawk, the Cheyenne. Hawk was trailing a cayuse behind him, and the cayuse was burdened with a couple of white-tail deer.

After making sure that Hawk was a friend, and willing to do a service for pay, the Piute made a deal with him. For a ten-dollar gold piece, which Cayuse extracted from his medicine-bag, the Cheyenne agreed to carry a message to Buffalo Bill, at Sun Dance, and to lend Cayuse the led horse.

The two deer were unshipped and hung to the limb of a tree where they would be safe from coyotes, wolves, and other “varmints.” While the Cheyenne was taking care of the deer, Cayuse was skinning his piece of bark from a tree and drawing his diagram.

He proceeded fairly well until he got to the point where he wished to tell the scout that there were two men posing as Captain Lawless. The communication of this fact seemed beyond the art of picture-writing; but the boy attempted it by drawing two figures to represent Lawless, and placing a pair of mule’s ears over one, to signify that there was something wrong with that particular figure.

When the Cheyenne and the Piute parted, the Cheyenne had the gold piece and Cayuse had the led horse. They went in different directions.

It was dusk when Cayuse reached Medicine Bluff, hitched his borrowed horse in the brush, and went scouting to see what he could find.

His principal discovery was a gully running away from the foot of the Bluff on its western side. The robbers were coming and going at the mouth of the gully, and the boy made up his mind that there was a rendezvous somewhere in the defile.

In order to settle his suspicions, he watched his chance and got into the gully. The place was thickly grown with bushes, and for an Indian to dodge enemies in such a chaparral was an easy matter.

About a hundred yards from the mouth of the gully Cayuse found an overhanging ledge of rock where the outlaws had made their camp.

Three of the outlaws sat in front of the dark opening under the ledge, talking together in low voices. Captain Lawless—that is, the counterfeit Captain Lawless—was not one of the three. What had become of him? Cayuse asked himself; and what had become of the captive white woman who had been taken from the stage?

At first the boy was tempted to think that the supposed Lawless had taken the white captive away somewhere; and then, a little later, he began to think those three robbers might be guarding her, and that she was under the ledge.

He resolved to find out whether the woman was there, and, in order to do this, began a risky advance upon the three white men.

The bushes ran almost to the edge of the overhanging rock, and Cayuse was able to creep through them until he was within a few feet of the nearest of the three men. In order to pass the men, it would be necessary to cross a narrow open space. Could he do it? Capture was probable, and capture, in Cayuse’s case, would mean death. However, that was not the first time the boy had faced death in what he believed to be the line of duty.

Flinging himself at full length on the ground, he undulated his way clear of the bushes, like a crawling snake. The backs of the three men were toward him.

When he was half-way between the edge of the dusky covert and the pitchy blackness of the opening under the ledge, one of the men started and turned around.

Cayuse flattened out and, scarcely breathing, lay like a stone. The shadows of the gully deceived the man, and he turned away again without seeing Cayuse.

A minute later the boy was under the ledge and safe in the deep gloom. On hands and knees he crawled about, groping to find a bound form. If the white woman was there, he reasoned, she would, no doubt, be bound and gagged, so that she could not move or speak.

In his blind search, his fingers encountered a form, but the flesh was cold and lifeless, and the boy recoiled. Dead! Had the scoundrels, then, slain the white squaw? Cayuse believed so, for palefaces, like the supposed Lawless and his gang have evil hearts and are equal to anything.

Grievously disappointed, the boy crawled from under the ledge, and attempted to pass the white men once more. The luck that had been with him the first time, however, failed him now. In the midst of his reckless work, one of the men got up and started to go under the ledge. As fate would have it, the man stumbled over Cayuse, who was lying squarely in his path.

“A spy!” yelped the man.

The other two bounded to their feet. Revolvers exploded, and one of the weapons was Cayuse’s. One of the three men dropped to his knees, and the Piute, with a flying leap, sprang clear over his head and dropped into the bushes.

Cayuse did not lift himself erect, but flattened along the ground. Bullets spattered above him, among the bushes, and, while he listened to them, the echoes were suddenly taken up by a crashing of the undergrowth toward the mouth of the gully.

“Whoop-ya! This way, fellers, ter ther scene o’ trouble! Ef them pizen outlaws hev anythin’ ter do with et, we’ll rout ’em out in reg’lar Buffler Bill style. Straight up ther gully, Hickok! Ef ye see er bullet comin’ to’ard ye in ther night, jest dodge, an’ keep on goin’.”

A quiver of excitement ran pulsing through Cayuse’s body. It was the voice of Nomad!

The next moment there was a change in the situation. The outlaws were now resisting attack, and the fight was at close quarters.

Cayuse started up to take a part in the fight, rushed out toward the scene of the scrimmage, and was grabbed by a quick hand and flung to the ground. A knee dropped on his chest, and a hand with a knife was lifted above him.

“Wild Bill!” the boy gasped breathlessly.

“Well, what do you think of that!” exclaimed Wild Bill. “Blamed if it ain’t Cayuse, and I came within a hair of giving him his send-off! How do you happen to be right in the thick of this gang o’ thieves, boy?”

CHAPTER XXVIII. A HAPPY REUNION.

The fight between the three outlaws and those who had just come into the gully was brief but decisive. The newcomers were piloted by Gentleman Jim, and consisted of the gambler, De Bray, Nomad, and Wild Bill.

This party had kept their uninterrupted way along the right-hand fork of the valley. Coomby had seen them, and had hastened toward the gully to give the alarm. Before he had rounded the base of the bluff he encountered Hank Tenny. Tenny had come, on orders from Buffalo Bill, looking for the rest of the scout’s pards. Having a prisoner along, Tenny was anxious to avoid trouble; but when he saw one lone outlaw coming in his direction through the moon and starlight, he dismounted, bided his time, and was having it nip and tuck with the outlaw when Gentleman Jim and the others reached the scene.

The outlaw was captured, and Tenny had time to explain where and why the scout and Dell had left for Chavorta Gorge and Pima before the attack on Cayuse carried the pards into the gully.

So, while the fight in the gully was going on, Tenny remained at the foot of the bluff, with two prisoners to watch, instead of one.

“Me follow stage-robbers,” Little Cayuse explained, in answer to Wild Bill’s demand for information.

“Cayuse, hey?” cried Nomad, coming to the spot where the boy and Wild Bill were standing. “Ye’re a reg’lar brick, son!” he went on, dropping an approving hand on the Piute’s shoulder. “Ye kin tell us how ye come ter be hyar later, but jest now we’re anxious ter find the white woman thet was taken from ther stage. Hev ye seen her, Cayuse?”

“White squaw all same dead,” said Cayuse.

A husky groan came from the dark, and Gentleman Jim staggered through the bushes and caught the boy’s arm in a convulsive grip.

“Where, where?” he asked.

“Under stone,” said Cayuse. “You go there you find um.”

“De Bray! Wild Bill!” groaned Gentleman Jim, sinking down on the ground and covering his face with his hands. “You go—I—I can’t! To think,” muttered the stricken gambler, “that I should be too late, after all! Too late, too late! Where’s Lawless?” he cried, looking up as the word, pulsing with murderous hate, came through his lips. “Where is the scoundrel who——”

“Thar, thar, Jim,” interposed Nomad soothingly, “don’t be in sich er takin’ till we make sure. Et’s darker’n a stack o’ black cats in this gully, an’ mebbyso Cayuse has made er mistake.”

“He hasn’t made a mistake,” returned the gambler. “I have felt in my bones, for the past week, that something was on the cards to make or mar me. This is it! Allie, my wife, was to come to me, and—and we were not destined to meet.”

Forgetting about Lawless, in his great sorrow, Gentleman Jim once more flung his hands over his face and crouched on the ground.

“You watch him, De Bray,” whispered Wild Bill to the Denver man. “Nomad and I will take a look into this cave under the rock.”

All three outlaws were badly wounded and beyond stirring up any more trouble. Little Cayuse made it his business to watch them, while De Bray kept a solicitous eye on Gentleman Jim.

Under the ledge, Wild Bill struck a match and peered about him. His eyes, almost immediately, fell on the form of Mrs. Brisco. She was bound hand and foot, and a handkerchief was tied over her lips; but her eyes were wide open and staring appealingly up into Wild Bill’s face.

“Nomad—here!” called Hickok.

The trapper hurried to the side of his pard.

“Waugh!” muttered Nomad, mystified. “Thet’s erbout ther wust mistake I ever knowed Cayuse ter make. Mrs. Brisco is alive! However did Cayuse git ther notion she wasn’t?”

Kneeling down, the old trapper, with quick but gentle hands, removed the cords from Mrs. Brisco’s wrists and ankles.

“My husband!” whispered the woman, tearing the handkerchief from her face. “I heard his voice a moment ago. Where is he?”

“He thinks ye’re dead, mum,” said Nomad softly. “Go out ter him. Et’ll be the happiest surprise o’ his life ter see ye well and hearty. Et ain’t often things turns out like this in rale life, Hickok,” the trapper added, watching Mrs. Brisco hurry out into the gully and approach her husband.

“Only in books, old pard,” returned Wild Bill, “do you run across such a happenchance in the workings of fate. But I’m mighty glad this thing has happened to Gentleman Jim.”

“Same here,” said Nomad.

The two watched while the woman fluttered to the side of her grieving husband.

“Jim!” they heard her call brokenly.

The gambler leaped erect, stared for a second like one in a trance, and then opened his arms.

“Allie! Allie! Thank heaven for this!”

Wild Bill and Nomad turned away.

“Blame’ funny,” growled the old trapper, “how the smoke from them pesky sulfur matches blurrs a feller’s eyes.”

“That’s right,” said Wild Bill, drawing the back of his hand across his face, “although I never noticed it before.”

“Whatever do ye reckon give Cayuse ther idee thet Mrs. Brisco was dead?”

“I pass. The idea, however the boy got it, gave a powerful wrench to Gentleman Jim’s nerves, and——”

Mechanically, Wild Bill had struck another match and moved off toward the back of the cavernlike room under the ledge. He halted suddenly, staring at a form on the ground in front of him.

“Thunder!” he exclaimed. “Why, here’s Lawless, now.”

“Shore et is!” added Nomad, dropping down. “Lawless ain’t wearin’ ther same clothes he useter, but et’s him, an’, somehow, he’s saved ther hangman a job. He’s cashed in, Hickok.”

“What killed him?”

“A bullet. Thar’s er wound in his side.”

“Nick,” said Wild Bill, with a sudden thought, “do you remember the shot Henry Blake fired at Lawless?”

“Shore I remember et.”

“Well, that is what did the work for him.”

“I ain’t thinkin’ thet way, Wild Bill. Thet shot o’ Blake’s was fired a week ago, an’ et wasn’t no later’n this arternoon thet Lawless took his men agin’ ther stage a couple o’ times.”

“That’s a fact!” murmured Wild Bill, puzzled. “And we’re overlooking what Hank Tenny said about Buffalo Bill and Dell going to Chavorta Gorge after Lawless. How can——”

“No use of me watching Gentleman Jim any more,” said De Bray, coming in under the ledge just then. “Seen anything of my twenty thousand, any of you fellows?”

“There’s the man that maybe took it, De Bray,” said Wild Bill, striking another match and indicating the body of Lawless, “and,” he added enigmatically, “maybe didn’t.”

“He looks like the fellow, all right,” said De Bray, bending down and pushing his hands into the dead man’s pockets, “but he isn’t wearing the same clothes.”

“Him Lawless, all same,” spoke up the voice of Cayuse; “paleface that rob stage him not Lawless, only look like um and wear um clothes.”

“Hey?” cried the startled Nomad, whirling on the boy. “Come ag’in with thet, Cayuse.”

Cayuse repeated his words, adding: “Me crawl in here, try find white woman. No find white woman, find um Lawless, instead. You sabe? Think um Lawless white woman, all same dead. Ugh! Him plenty dark, Little Cayuse in heap big hurry, make um mistake.”

“It’s all right, the way it has turned out, Cayuse,” said Wild Bill. “Under the circumstances, the mistake was only a natural one to make, but it gave Gentleman Jim quite a jolt. How about the outlaws?”

“Two of um gone to happy place,” said the boy; “other one him live, mebbyso.”

“‘Happy place,’” grunted Nomad. “Thet ain’t what I’d call et’, hey, Wild Bill?”

“Not exactly,” said Wild Bill. “Suppose we use up our matches trying to help De Bray locate his money?”

They searched for an hour, but fruitlessly.

“They’ve buried it, or something,” said De Bray, when the search was given up. “In the morning it might be a good thing to ride to this Chavorta Gorge place, and see what’s going on over there.”

“Good idea,” approved Wild Bill.

At that moment Gentleman Jim called Nomad and the rest, and they went out, to find the gambler and his wife standing side by side, the gambler’s arm about his wife’s waist.

“Boys,” said Gentleman Jim, in a voice resonant with feeling, “they say it’s always darkest just before dawn. It has seemed to have been that way with me. This little woman, dearer to me than any one else in the world, has been hunting the West over for a year, trying to locate me. It was in Montegordo that she got the clue that brought her toward Sun Dance. What do you think that clue was?”

None of the others could guess.

“Why,” exclaimed Gentleman Jim happily, “it was a published account of Buffalo Bill’s exploits, that time he went to Forty Thieves Mine, to stay for three days and nights. My name—or, rather, my sobriquet of ‘Gentleman Jim’—was mixed up in the account, and Allie took a chance on that sobriquet belonging to me. You have all seen how it turned out. She and I are going back to Sun Dance now. I’ll leave you to wind up the rest of this affair, for I’m too happy myself to be of much use to anybody. If you ride to Chavorta Gorge in the morning, don’t fail to tell Buffalo Bill what has happened.”

Three horses belonging to the outlaws were found, farther along the gully. One of these horses was tendered to Mrs. Brisco for her use, and she and her husband started for Sun Dance without further delay.

A little later Hank Tenny, with three prisoners, all on led horses, was started in the same direction. Two horses carried the prisoners. One was the man who had been wounded in the gully, and he was given a horse to himself: the other two men—Coomby and Tex—were secured to the remaining Cayuse.

It was sunrise before Little Cayuse, on his borrowed Cheyenne pony, Wild Bill, Nomad, and De Bray mounted and started for Chavorta Gorge.

They had Gentleman Jim’s instructions as to the course they should take, but these instructions were unnecessary, now that Cayuse was one of the party. The boy, in his soldiering days, had become familiar with the country, and proved an excellent guide.

But Nomad and his pards never reached Chavorta Gorge. Half a dozen miles from the gap, and about midway between the ridge and Medicine Bluff, the party met the scout and Dell.

Behind the scout, and securely roped to Bear Paw, was the leader of the men who had held up the stage—the bogus Captain Lawless.

As the two parties approached each other, Buffalo Bill thrust a hand into his pocket and held up a roll of bills.

“How does this look to you, De Bray?” the scout cried, as he galloped forward.

“What is it, Buffalo Bill?” asked De Bray. “Money?”

“I should say so! Twenty one-thousand-dollar bills.”

“Then all I can say is that it looks good to me; but I think I feel better over the fact that Mrs. Brisco has been found, alive and well, than I do over the recovery of my money.”

“Then she has been found?” asked Dell, her eyes dancing.

“Thet’s what,” said Nomad; “she was over by Medicine Bluff. Lawless was there, too——”

The scout had halted, his horse to shake hands with his pards and congratulate them; but, at these words from Nomad, he turned a startled look in his old pard’s direction.

“What are you talking about, Nick?” Buffalo Bill demanded. “How could you find Lawless at Medicine Bluff, when he was at Pima?”

“Let Cayuse tell yer erbout thet,” grinned Nomad.

“Me send um picture-writing,” spoke up Cayuse. “Make um two pictures, all same, burro’s ears over one. You no sabe? One Captain Lawless, other no Captain Lawless. Both look all same.”

Dell laughed.

“But I can’t understand, Cayuse,” said she, “how you’d expect Buffalo Bill to guess that from a pair of burro’s ears.”

“Him hard thing to tell on birch-bark,” said Little Cayuse.

CHAPTER XXIX. CONCLUSION.

In the evening of the day he and Dell had visited Chavorta Gorge, Buffalo Bill and his pards reached Sun Dance. There was a pleasant reunion of friends at the supper-table in the Lucky Strike Hotel. Wah-coo-tah formed one of the party, and Mr. and Mrs. Brisco were also there. Hank Tenny, Lonesome Pete, and Hotchkiss had started for Fort Sill in a buckboard, taking the bogus Captain Lawless and the other three prisoners with them. This departure of the prisoners was the opening topic discussed at the table that evening.

The departure of the prisoners led up to the other matters connected with the double stage-robbery, and a general discussion was indulged in, whereby every point that was at all obscured was cleared up to the satisfaction of all.

Mrs. Brisco, it developed, had been taken direct from the scene of the second hold-up to the gully near Medicine Bluff. While she was there, guarded by the three outlaws, Lawless had breathed his last. The terrible experiences Mrs. Brisco had gone through had seemed to her, just as a later event had seemed to her husband, the darkest hour of the night that was to herald the dawn.

“You said, Buffalo Bill,” remarked Gentleman Jim, during the course of the conversation, “that great events sometimes hang on trifling circumstances. Please look at this.”

He drew the memorable locket from his pocket. The trinket had been knocked out of shape, and there was a deep dent in the center.

“When I left here to go to Medicine Bluff with you, Buffalo Bill,” pursued Gentleman Jim, “I put that locket in the breast pocket of my coat. During our fight with the outlaws in the gully, one of the scoundrels fired his revolver at me, pointblank. I felt a shock at my breast, but thought little of it until, when I went to return the locket to Allie, I discovered it in that condition. There was also,” he added, touching the breast of his coat, “this bullet-hole over my heart. Undoubtedly, that locket, which got Allie into so much trouble, squared the account by saving my life.”

“Things turn out thet way sometimes, Gentleman Jim,” said Nomad, “purvidin’ ye hev what we call Cody-luck.”

“Cody-luck has been with us all through our work at Medicine Bluff,” averred James Brisco.

“And in Chavorta Gorge,” supplemented Dell, with a soft look at the scout.

“Especially in Chavorta Gorge,” spoke up De Bray, thinking of his twenty thousand.

“And here’s hoping that Cody-luck will be with the king of scouts and his pards, and with some of the rest of us, as long as we live!” said Brisco.

“Amen to that!” were the words that ran round the board.

But little more remains to be told concerning the work of the king of scouts in and near Sun Dance Cañon.

De Bray looked over the Forty Thieves Mine, pronounced it a bonanza, bought his half-interest and forthwith began making the property a heavy producer of the yellow metal. Not only did he enrich himself out of the mine, but he likewise made Wah-coo-tah wealthy. The Indian girl and her Cheyenne mother went to live in a “white man’s town”; Wah-coo-tah was educated, and ultimately married a man of good family.

The man who posed as Captain Lawless and carried out the stage-robberies, it afterward developed, was swayed originally by a desire to get his hands on the Forty Thieves Mine. He and Lawless, it was stated by Tex, had often exchanged parts, finding it easy to do so because of their close resemblance to each other. Who the bogus Lawless was was never discovered. Under his assumed name he was sent to a military prison, along with the other prisoners. Tex, of course, was given his freedom, according to the scout’s promise.

Hawk, the Cheyenne, remained in Sun Dance until Cayuse returned the borrowed pony, then left the camp to pick up his deer-meat and go on to the village of his people.

Dell Dauntless, owing to force of unforeseen circumstances, did not at once return to her Arizona ranch, as she had intended. Fate linked her destiny with that of the scout and his pards for a time longer.

Mr. and Mrs. James Brisco left Sun Dance, and Jim gave up the cards, just as he had told Buffalo Bill he intended doing. They went East, and, as the scout had prophesied, Brisco gave attention to his medical practise, and ultimately became a credit to the community in which he cast his lot.

Forty-five is not an advanced age, and no man is really ever too old to begin retrieving an evil past.

Lonesome Pete and Hank Tenny continued to live and mine in Sun Dance Cañon. Always firm friends, their chief delight, for years after the exciting events herein described, was to meet and live over the doings of Buffalo Bill and his pards, when they had sojourned in the gulch and had run out the trail of Captain Lawless of the Forty Thieves.

THE END.

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