“Likely Quicksilver John would head the procession of champion liars, on some points,” Conover averred. “Tell me, in your judgment, how much of it was truth.” Conover withdrew his gaze from the window. “Cody,” he said, with sudden emotion, “there was too much truth in it. But I can’t talk about it.” “Why not?” “I don’t want to talk about it!” For the first time in many minutes he looked straight at Buffalo Bill; and the latter noted now that the flush had gone from the puffy face, giving place to a grayish pallor. “There aire some things a man don’t want to talk about, Cody, and that’s one of ’em, for me. But I’ll say this: I done you dirt there on the Niobrara, because my nerve went back on me; I played the coward, and it might have caused your death, as I thought it had, for a time. I ain’t felt easy about that, and maybe I never will. But there’s such a thing as a man being sorry for a thing like that, and willin’ to make amends, if he can. That’s me. “And now my proposition: Git me out of this hole, on this charge that’s against me of shooting that poor Mexican woman, and then I’ll lead you and your men into them Cumbres Hills, and straight to the home of old Fire Top himself. Why I’m willin’ to do it I ain’t going to say, more than that. It will help me to pay off the debt I owe you.” “You can go straight there?” “No man can do that, Cody; them Red Feathers aire always watching, as I’ve reason to know. We’ll have to come it roundabout, some way. But I think I can help you, and I’m willin’ to try. I’d like to feel that I’m your pard again, and that that Niobrara debt is paid off.” The pallor was going out of his face; his voice began to harden and show a firmness that indicated a sense of increasing manhood. “I’d like to stand straight up on my feet again, and have the feelin’ that I’m worthy to be Buffalo Bill’s pard, like in the old times. And I’ll do the best I can; I can’t do more. I can’t tell you everything, though, and you’ve got to trust me.” The scout rose and stretched out his hand. “I accept your offer, Conover,” he said. “And forget the past?” said Conover, as if he could not believe it. “All of it.” “Particularly that time on the Niobrara?” “I said all of it.” “And overlook the fact that I ain’t tellin’ everything I know, for which I’ve got reasons I don’t want to pass over now?” “That, too. What I want is a man who knows something about Fire Top and his Toltecs, and the way to reach them. For I’m convinced that he, or his men, stole the child. What’s your opinion of that?” “The stealin’ of the kid?” “Yes. Why would he want to do it?” “I don’t know; sacrifice, likely.” But his voice was evasive again.