“Cut it,” interrupted the perturbed king of scouts as he walked to the door. “I can guess what your object is. You want to keep me here in this room so that Crow-killer can get a bead on me when he comes. I won’t have it so. I am going to leave for a few minutes.” The smile departed from Rixton Holmes’ face. The announcement did not please him. A terrible fear gripped him when Buffalo Bill continued coolly: “I shall not go far. I shall not go out of sight of the cabin.” He paused, looked at the prisoners, intercepted a glance between them, and then, to their manifest discomfiture, walked over to them and proceeded to gag them. Now, satisfied that they were powerless for harm, he went out of doors and entered the brush. Along the trail he went until the steadily rising ground brought him to a point whence he could command a view of both the ravine and the flat. For more than an hour he remained at his post, and was becoming alarmed as well as impatient at the nonappearance of either Bart Angell or Crow-killer, and his party, when he saw emerging from the ravine at the southern end of the flat the forms of three Indians. By the aid of his pocket field glass he was able to identify Crow-killer as one of the trio. The brother of the Navaho chief was a giant in size, and the king of scouts had heard of his prowess in battle, and also of his cunning and audacity. The scout had never before been placed in a position where he could try conclusions with the redoubtable savage, and he was not ill pleased because an opportunity had at last arrived. He watched the Indians, saw that they were not coming in his direction, but were cautiously making their way across the flat so as to come upon the cabin along the route the king of scouts himself had taken but a short time before, and then he crept quickly and noiselessly back to the building. Entering, he assured himself that the prisoners were as he had left them, and then he went out again. A few rods from the door was a pile of logs which the owner of the cabin had cut for firewood. Behind the pile Buffalo Bill hastened to conceal himself, and there awaited the coming of his savage enemies. Fifteen minutes went by, and then the watcher detected a movement among the bushes on the other side of the flat and nearly opposite his hiding place. He used his field glasses, and soon discerned the head of an Indian. The head was within rifle range, and the scout’s first impulse was to fire. But sensible, second thought induced a different program. If he fired and killed one of the savages, the others would likely take themselves out of harm’s way, to give trouble in the near future. No, it were best to wait and secure the chance to either slay or bag the trio. Expecting that the Navahos would soon make for the cabin, Buffalo Bill was disappointed and perplexed when many minutes passed and no such move was made.