“How did this happen, Ben?” asked the king of the scouts. “How does it come about that you and your master aren’t killed and scalped. It’s one of the strangest things I ever heard of.” “I ’clar’ to goodness I don’t know, Marse Cody. Dem Injuns rushed on us ’fore we knowed it. De men with de teams fought like debbils, but dey went down in a few seconds. I was in dis wagon wid de massa, who was feeling some sick, so he couldn’t ride a hoss. “I rushed in front ob him, but I was jess too late. He got hit by two bullets in the first volley. Then a terr’ble man struck me wid a ax, an’ I felt stars; an’ anodder hit me wid a gun.” “But how was it that the Indians went away without finishing both of you and then scalping you? It wasn’t like them to do that.” “I seed de reason ob that jess before I fainted off, Marse Cody. Soon as dem Injuns struck me, dere was a loud yell outside, an’ dey turned at once an’ run off. I crawled to de side ob de wagon an’ looked out. “All de red mens was ridin’ off like as if de debbil was behind them. Anodder red man was tearin’ down on his hoss from de top ob de ridge, ’way off, an’ waving to dem wid his arms.” “That explains it,” said Buffalo Bill. “They had a scout out there, and he signaled the approach of our party when he saw us at a long distance off. Evil Heart at once gave the yell for his band to mount and ride. But still it is strange they did not wait to lift the scalps. That would only have taken them a few moments.” The border king assisted Norfolk Ben from the wagon and told him to point in the direction from which he had seen the solitary Indian scout riding and waving his arms. To his surprise the negro pointed in the opposite direction to that from which his party had ridden, to another ridge. “You must be making a mistake, Ben,” said the border king. “We came front the other side.” “I dunno whar you came from, Marse Cody,” protested the black man. “But he was thar.” He stuck to this so firmly that Buffalo Bill was compelled to believe him. It was evident that the Indians had not been scared away by the approach of his party. They had been alarmed by some other danger which threatened them. “I give it up,” the scout confessed finally. “But it really makes no difference. Our course is clear. We must follow the trail of these Shawnees and rescue the girls, if it can be done.” “An’ Norfolk Ben will come wid you, Marse Cody,” said the faithful negro. “No, Ben,” replied the king of the scouts. “You are wounded. I must send you to Fort McPherson with your master in one of the wagons. We can hitch up some of our spare horses to it.” “No, massa, Ben is all right. He mus’ jess go wid you an’ try to find dem sweet cherubims.” He pleaded so earnestly that Cody had no alternative but to give in to his wish. The wagon was hitched up, and Mr. Doyle, still unconscious, was sent off to the fort in it, under escort of three scouts.