They felt the warm mist of the boiling lake on their faces and in their nostrils as they descended the flight of steps toward it, and puffs of hot steam were blown in their faces as they followed Conover in the darkness along the narrow path skirting the lake. Below they could hear its bubbling, like the sputtering of some giant teakettle. It took iron nerves to repress a shudder as they passed along the lake and thought of the fate that had been fixed for them by Itzlan and the priests of the Toltec temple. A half hour or more was consumed in getting out of the town, for a long flight of stone steps had to be ascended, but they reached the upland finally, with Conover still leading the way. There he stopped. “Good-by!” he said. The moon had not yet risen—it rose late, toward morning; but in the starlight they could see him, and could discern that he held out his hand. “I feel that I can shake hands with you now,” he said. “I think that you will get away.” “Come with us!” Buffalo Bill urged, as he shook heartily the hand given him by Conover. “No!” said Conover, with a positive click of his teeth. Gravely he shook hands with all of them. “No,” he repeated. “I’ve got to stay here! In the first place, since Itzlan is still alive, I don’t want to go. In the second place, if she gets into trouble I want to be here to help her. But I think there will be no trouble for either of us. She has a lot of influence, and many friends. It would mean war if any of the priests or chiefs turned against her. So there will be no trouble. I’m even hoping that neither of us will even be suspected of this thing.” He pointed to the starlight. “Off there is the notch, and your horses, and the Morgan kid; you’ll find them all now without trouble.” “You won’t come with us?” said the great scout, reluctant to leave him. “No! And I’m hoping that none of you will ever come this way again. We’ll not meet any more, likely. So, good-by, and success to you!” He turned, as he said this, and broke into a run, as if he feared to linger; and the darkness soon hid him. Buffalo Bill turned about and headed toward the notch. “Forward march!” he said. “We want to be well out of this before morning comes. The Red Feathers will be hot after us as soon as they can see to strike the trail.” They found the horses, and the child, their arms and ammunition, and the two stuffed bags of gold for the Morgan boy. And in the darkness they rode away, wondering at their strange escape, and questioning among themselves as to what had become of the Piute and the Apaches. But when morning dawned they came on the four Indians, who, hiding beside the trail, had been trying to screw up courage enough to make a scouting trip in the direction of the valley. “Ai, Pa-e-has-ka!” they shouted. They fell in joyfully behind the party of white men, and the flight was resumed.