He stepped upon the platform, and the answer to his question was at once given, and in a most startling manner. The huge rock sank under him, and he shot downward twenty feet. The descent was rapid, but not so rapid as to cause him to lose his balance when the bottom was reached. But he had not time to act on the defensive against the enemy, who had been awaiting his coming. A lasso settled about his neck, and he was jerked roughly to the hard floor of the cave. A succession of heavy blows upon the head instantly followed his downfall. When he awoke to consciousness he was lying on a couch of skins in another part of the cave. There was a subdued light furnished by a thin crevice in the rocky wall over his head. Raising himself on an elbow, he saw a young woman sitting on another couch and bathing the head of a prostrate man. The man was Bart Angell, and the young woman was Myra Wilton. He was about to speak, when Rixton Holmes came in. The villain burst into a laugh when he saw that the king of scouts had revived. “Well, William the Great, what is your conclusion? Bit off more than you could chew, didn’t you?” “I certainly made a mistake,” replied Buffalo Bill. “A mistake that can never be repaired.” CHAPTER IV. A COWARD DEFIED. Rixton Holmes turned from Buffalo Bill to Myra Wilton. His voice was respectful as he asked: “How is your patient. Head all right?” “He will live,” the girl answered coldly. “I hope it will be his good fortune to see you mount the gallows.” The villain’s face flushed. “You seem determined to regard me as your enemy,” he said. “Haven’t I explained that I am acting for the best, in your interest as well as mine?” Buffalo Bill’s expression of wonderment at this speech was increased when Myra Wilton suddenly replied in a broken voice: “Forgive me. I—I had forgotten. I ought to trust you, and I will.” Holmes gave a sigh of relief. “That’s right,” he said. “I am, indeed, your friend, and these two scouts, honest men though they are, have been working against you.” “You are a liar,” put in the king of scouts hotly. “I can’t guess what you have said to Miss Wilton to make her believe that you are not a thief and a murderer, but your statement, whatever it was, was a lie. You are not her friend. You are her enemy, and you are scheming to get the fortune which, by the death of Matt Holmes, is now hers.” Rixton Holmes was not disconcerted at these accusing words. Looking at the girl, he said quietly: “For Mr. Cody’s benefit, read the letter that was found on the body of Tom Darke, the wretch who killed your Uncle Matt.” Myra Wilton wiped her eyes, and then, from the little bag that was hooked to her waist belt, took out a letter and read these words: “MY DEAR NIECE: I am daily looking for you to make your appearance here, but it may be ordained that we are never to meet in this life. I have a bitter, remorseless enemy. His name is Tom Darke.”