“And then,” he said, breathing deeply and blowing out the smoke, “you can bet he got—he skedaddled.” Some of the men who had come in and heard the story, laughed; they had heard it before, and saw only its comedy elements. “I reckon you don’t believe that story, Cody,” remarked Woods, glancing at the scout. “It’s a purty stiff yarn, and I dunno as I believe it myself. But what Quicksilver John wanted to tell it for, if it was a lie, gits me; he didn’t gain anything by it.” “He told it for the same reason that makes a man like to tell the biggest fish story,” said some one in the crowd. “He said,” went on the marshal, “that the Injuns was Toltecs, and was under that old coyote called Red Feather, though whether Red Feather is livin’ or dead, or anything much about him, nobody knows. Maybe there ain’t any old Fire Top, and no such queer Toltecs in them hills; but there aire Apaches there, and that’s enough for me. Wherever there aire Apaches I keep out. Sabe?” He hesitated, and went on: “But Toltec Tom says there is, or was, a chief called Fire Top; and Injuns wearin’ red feathers have been seen round here, and they’re said to be Toltecs, and live in them Cumbres Hills. But that’s all we know, Cody; maybe all that anybody knows. Except that this kid is gone—seems to ’a’ been stolen—and we found Injun pony tracks, and this Injun earring, or nose ring, or whatever it is. “And so, after talkin’ the thing over, when we couldn’t do anything, or very much, ourselves, we sent that messenger to Fort Grant, askin’ for your help; and here you aire.” He seemed mightily relieved that this was so. CHAPTER XVIII. THE STOLEN CHILD. Before Buffalo Bill could comment on the queer story of Quicksilver John, or on any of the other things which the worthy marshal of the town of Skyline had imparted to him, there was a sound of scraping feet beyond the door, in the direction of the piazza, and a man and woman came into the office. The marshal jumped to his feet when he saw them, and the scout also rose, knowing that here were the father and mother of the child that had been supposedly stolen by Indians. The man was a sturdy-looking fellow of the miner type, about thirty years old. The woman was younger and girlish, and was a beauty. Her skin was fair, her eyes a bright blue, her hair a gold-brown; so that, altogether, she had, in spite of the poorness and simplicity of her clothing, something in her appearance that suggested one of Titan’s pictures of angels. So fair and girlish, though a wife and mother, she was, that Buffalo Bill could not, as he came to his feet, repress a look of admiration. “These are the people I told you about,” said Woods, introducing them. “This is Morgan and Missus Morgan; and it’s their kid that has disappeared.”