As he watched he saw Yellow Plume swirled violently by the swift current against a rock, which cracked his skull as if it were an eggshell. Two of the other savages, unable to struggle against the rapids into which they had now entered, were speedily drowned; but the remaining three, taking advantage of an eddy in the current, managed to swim to the opposite bank. Buffalo Bill continued his journey on foot, and at last reached his destination. He was warmly welcomed by the rancher, an old man who had known him for many years in several parts of the West and who had a great reputation as an Indian fighter. His name was Hank Jones. He was much pleased when he heard the news of Buffalo Bill’s dealing with the Navahos, for he lived near the border of their country and was naturally delighted to know that they were likely to keep the hatchet buried. “Have you had any trouble with the Cave Dwellers?” the king of the scouts asked, as they sat smoking after dinner. The old man said that he had not had any for the last year or so, but that they were in the habit of stealing his cattle before the Navahos broke their power in the manner Red Cloud had described. The border had now been at peace for some time, and the settlers were consequently enjoying a period of unusual prosperity. “Gol-durned dull, I should call it,” said Nick Wharton, who had now fully recovered from his injuries. “What in thunder do you do to pass the time?” His host explained that there was plenty of good hunting in the neighborhood, and he hoped to show them some before they left his ranch. “Grizzlies and mountain lions is pretty well in thar way,” growled old Nick, “but a man hunt for mine, that’s the greatest sport of all.” Next morning, Buffalo Bill and Wild Bill went out for a ride together, and stopped for a glass of milk at the log cabin of a settler about ten miles off. As the man was handing it to them, his glance fell upon a couple of Indians who were coming toward them at full gallop. “Injuns!” he said, and he ran inside to fetch his gun. Buffalo Bill looked carefully at the men as they rode up, and saw that they were Navahos. They were not dressed in their war paint, and when they came near enough he recognized their features as those of two of Red Cloud’s best braves. The old man reappeared, rifle in hand, and was about to level the weapon at the redskins, when the border king stopped him and exchanged greetings with the Indians. “What is the matter, Eagle Eye?” he asked the leader of the two braves. The Indian was much excited. Instead of wasting time beating about the bush and exchanging empty compliments, after the manner of his people, he went straight to the point at once.