The hands of the king of scouts were now out of sight under the blanket, which reached to his waist. So intent was the murderer upon the matter of the answer he expected his victim to make that, for one short moment, he lost caution. The lapse was fatal to his plan of ultimate murder. There were two lightninglike movements on the part of Buffalo Bill. His hands came into view. In each of them was a revolver, and the masked murderer, starting back, found himself covered. “Drop that gun of yours!” commanded the scout harshly, “and be mighty quick about it.” The beaten villain allowed the weapon to fall to the floor of the cabin. There was an explosion, but the bullet did no other damage than to make a hole in the wall under the bunk. The situation was reversed. The king of scouts now held the whip hand. Holding his pistols in a menacing way, he kicked off the blankets and sat on the edge of the bunk, with his feet resting on the floor. “The party of the first part has had his innings,” he coolly remarked, “and now it is up to the other party in the controversy to do a little stunt in the way of examination. Need I state that a failure to answer questions will result in some effective pistol play, or are you wise to the dangerous position in which you stand?” The masked murderer was trembling with fear and rage. He did not reply. “Take off that mask,” was the stern command. “Take it off or I will shoot it off.” The mask was removed with celerity, and the face of a young man was revealed. It was dark and smooth, and not unhandsome, but the thin lips, the glint of the light-blue eyes and a certain hardness of expression, betokened a selfish and cruel nature. The king of scouts looked long and intently at the man. Suddenly his face lightened. He smiled. “I remember you,” he said quietly. “Wild Bill reformed Dodge City a few years ago. Gave the tough ones twenty-four hours’ notice to leave town. The chief of the disreputable outfit, a man who tried highway robbery when the money did not flow in rapidly enough from card cheating, was one Rixton Clay. You are the hombre.” The murderer showed his teeth. His face was as pale as death. Buffalo Bill went on calmly: “Clay is not your real name. I’ll bet it’s Holmes, and that you are the cousin of Myra Wilton.” The expression that came to the villain’s face showed that the king of scouts had made a correct guess. The latter proceeded with increased confidence: “You are in a scheme to capture a rich estate. That’s plain. Somebody, relative of Jared and Matt Holmes, Myra Wilton, and yourself, has died recently. With the Holmes brothers and the girl out of the way, you will become the sole heir to the fortune. I am right, eh?” No answer. “Of course I am right. Come, own up, for you are on the toboggan, and a close mouth won’t save you from the fate that awaits the murderer.” “I have nothing to say,” replied Rixton Clay slowly.