“I know him,” shouted Buffalo Bill, who had taken the leadership in the pursuit. “He is the chief, Evil Heart. Let no man but myself follow him. There is an old account to be settled between us, and I will settle it now, hand to hand, with this!” The king of the scouts flourished a tomahawk which he had taken from one of the Shawnee braves whom he had slain. In deference to their leader’s command, the other scouts held back, and Buffalo Bill on his fine mustang pursued the Shawnee chief at a gallop. But soon the track became so rough that he had to slacken his speed to a trot, and then to a walk. The foothills had now been left behind, and the way wound steeply up into the mountains beyond. From time to time Buffalo Bill lost sight of the man he was following, for the track, with a sheer cliff on one side, had many turnings. Yet he was confident that he would catch up with Evil Heart before long, for he had noted how tired the horse of the chief was. Presently the trail became so rough and encumbered with bowlders that his own mustang could barely keep its footing, and he was thinking of dismounting and following on foot, when he came suddenly on the dead horse of the Indian. It had stumbled over a rock and fallen, breaking its leg. Evil Heart had then promptly stabbed it to death with his knife and fled onward on foot. Buffalo Bill had too much affection for his own animal to expose it to the same risk, so he dismounted, ordered the faithful animal to stand still and await his return, and then ran up the trail at a good speed. Turning the next bend in the cliff he saw the Shawnee ahead of him, not more than five hundred yards away. Yelling at the top of his voice, the border king challenged the redskin to turn and fight him hand to hand. He emphasized the command by waving the tomahawk which he carried in his hand. Evil Heart looked round as the king of the scouts came swiftly toward him, gaining at every stride; and when Buffalo Bill came near enough he saw that sheer terror was written plainly on the redskin’s face. To a man deeply imbued with Indian superstitions, as Evil Heart undoubtedly was, it may have seemed that death itself was following on his trail--so unremitting and relentless had been the pursuit. Whether this was the case or not, it was plain that Evil Heart, renowned for many years as a famous warrior, had at last lost his nerve. He faced Buffalo Bill and flung his tomahawk at him when he was within about forty yards. But his arm was palsied with fright, and the weapon did not go within a yard of the intended mark. Then the Shawnee gave up hope entirely. There was a deep chasm on one side of the trail and the cliff on the other. Yelling defiance to his paleface foe, Evil Heart leaped over the precipice. He preferred suicide to death at the hands of Buffalo Bill. CHAPTER XX. THE RESCUE OF STEVE.