“And you’ll never forget what I did—and that’s where the present trouble comes in; for you’ll never feel like trusting me again. I made the sneak all right through the Pawnee lines, but the reds were thicker than I expected; and when I got to the horses my courage failed. It wouldn’t, maybe, if I hadn’t been discovered; that rattled me, and scared me, and instead of trying to git your horse to you I simply straddled mine and cut out, leaving you there among the rocks, with them murderous Pawnees all round you.” Buffalo Bill nodded quietly, his face unchanged. Conover was covered with confusion. “But the next day,” said Conover, drawing a deep breath, “I tried to make it right; I rode to the nearest fort and gave the word, and troopers were sent right out.” “And found, when they got there, that I had fooled the Pawnees and got away from them unaided, even though I was wounded; and that the nest of rocks to which you guided them was empty and the Pawnees gone.” Conover was silent for a moment. “It was a clear case of blue funk, Cody; I was scared, and I thought only of my own scalp lock. Of course——” “Of course you never expected to see me alive again?” “I didn’t,” Conover confessed, “not even when I led the horse soldiers to that spot. When I seen that the Pawnees was gone, my thought, naturally, was that they had rubbed you out and got away; and I believed that until I knew better, some time later.” He stopped, and again his gaze wavered away to the window. “That’s why I didn’t know if that note I sent you just now would do any good; and it was the reason I didn’t want to talk about this before Nick Nomad and Wild Bill. I admit I ain’t proud of that record.” He still stared at the window, his face red and puffy, the corners of his eyes twitching. The scarlet scar on his forehead seemed redder and angrier than ever. His confusion was painfully apparent. “And now about old Fire Top,” said the scout. “Just what do you know about him? And why did you think that perhaps he and his Toltecs were mixed up in this case of child-stealing? You are called Toltec Tom; I don’t know why. Back at the time of that Niobrara matter you were simply Tom Conover.” “Yes, that’s so,” Conover admitted. “Perhaps we can start the thing,” said the scout, seeing his reluctance, “by having you tell me how you got the name of Toltec Tom.” “I was a prisoner of the Toltecs once,” was the hesitating admission. “Of Fire Top’s Toltecs?” “Yes.” “How long were you held by them?” “A number of months,” said Conover, continuing to stare at the window. “That was in the Cumbres Mountains?” “You’re right.” “Then, perhaps, you can give me an idea whether there is any truth at all in this story of Quicksilver John, which the marshal here was telling me about.” He ran over hastily the points of the marshal’s story of Quicksilver John. “I think there was somethin’ in it,” said Conover. “But it wasn’t all true?”