Holmes considered the matter seriously. He sighed. It went against the grain to accept Buffalo Bill’s proposition, but he must do it, or his life would be lost. Soon his face cleared a little. Buffalo Bill was wounded, and therefore could not travel fast. The Navahos, who were magnificent trailers, and knew every foot of the country, would probably be able to run the scout down. “I will accept,” he announced, and the king of scouts, who had divined what had been passing in the villain’s mind, repressed a smile, and responded coldly: “Very well. You are a sensible man, sometimes. Now elevate your voice and talk business to your cutthroat allies outside.” Holmes shouted, and soon Raven Feather came out of the bushes and approached the door. The command requested by Buffalo Bill was given, and immediately the Indians withdrew, going across the flat and into the stretch of open country. Buffalo Bill counted eight. Four, then, must have been slain. He waited a few moments, and then cautiously opened the door. Three Navahos lay dead in front of the cabin. He went around the building, and there was the body of the fourth Indian. It lay under the window. Returning to the room, he satisfied himself that Holmes was weaponless, then cut the bonds and told the prisoner to get up. The savages were now half a mile away. “In a few minutes I will leave you,” said the scout. “It gravels me to let you slip out of my fingers, but I am sure that we are destined to meet again.” Five minutes later Buffalo Bill, armed with his own and Holmes’ weapons, walked out of the cabin and entered the bushes. He appeared to be taking a direction that would bring him to the trail that led over the hills to Taos. Rixton Holmes smiled in satisfaction. He had noticed that the scout moved slowly, and he believed that the wound in the side troubled him, and would prevent quick movement away from the flat. The enemy was out of sight when Holmes signaled to the Navahos. Instantly the band wheeled and started on a run for the cabin. On arriving at the structure, Holmes briefly explained to Raven Feather what had happened, and pointed to the east. “He has gone up that way,” he said. “Send out three or four of your swiftest braves, and they’ll overhaul him.” At that moment the king of scouts was on the western side of the cabin. His weakness had been assumed. The wound was not troubling him much, and he felt able to do his usual work. Entering the bushes, he had hurried to the ravine, made a detour, circled Matt Holmes’ cabin, and, under cover of the brush on the western side of the flat, had crept to a spot not twenty yards from the cabin door, about which Raven Feather and his Navahos were standing. After four of the Indians had departed to trail the fugitive, he heard Rixton Holmes ask Raven Feather: “Where is the girl?” And he heard the chief answer: “She is in the cave with my brother Crow-killer.”