Angell raised the victim’s head and gazed sharply into the pale face. The man was an utter stranger. He had a large mouth, a retreating chin, and little eyes set close together. Upon his face was a stubby, reddish growth of hair. The eyes opened after some whisky had been poured down the man’s throat. “Got me fer keeps,” was the hoarse remark, the little eyes blinking furiously. “Yer shore goin’ ter peter,” replied Angell gravely; “an’, bein’ ez that aire so, it’s up ter you ter tell ther truth. Why d’ye fire ther cabin an’ shoot Buffalo Bill, an’ whatever hev become of Matt Holmes, who lived in ther cabin?” “I never shot no one,” said the dying man. “I sot ther cabin on fire, an’ that’s all I did. I aimed ter do ther killin’, but it war done—war done—by——” The voice ceased, and a few seconds later Bart Angell was looking at the face of a dead man. With a sour face, the slayer left the body and returned to the king of scouts. “I didn’t git thar in time fer a satisfactory auntymottim, as them aire crowner fellers would say,” he announced. “Ther skunk went up ther flume without tellin’ all he knowed about ther fire an’ ther shootin’. But”—his countenance lighting up—“mebbe you kin fill in ther blanks.” “Who was the man you killed?” inquired Buffalo Bill eagerly. “Hanged ef I know. Some ornery cuss that looks as ef he war three parts idjut.” “Is he well dressed and a good looker in the face?” “Not by a jugful. He aire as homely as a hedge fence, and he wears the clothes of a scarecrow.” “Then the villain who is responsible for this night’s work has escaped.” “Do ye know him?” “No, I don’t know him, but”—and there was a world of determination in the tone—“I am going to know him, and——” He paused, and his eyes flashed ominously. There was silence for a while, and then Angell said: “It’s mighty queer ter find you here, Buffalo. I didn’t know you war in this yer neck o’ woods. When did ye come, an’ what’s all this business about? War you visitin’ Matt Holmes when ther cabin war sot afire?” “I was, and I have a pretty long story to tell, Bart. Suppose we defer explanations until I get to your shack and have rested a bit.” “That proposition is shore all right,” replied Angell. “Ye can’t walk, but I’ll tote ye along ther trail ’thout any trouble.” “There is no hurry, Bart. Before we leave, I want to make sure that Matt Holmes is dead.” “Ther galoot I laid out allowed ther war killin’ done,” said Angell, “an’ so I reckon that Holmes war murdered. Whar’ll I look fer him?” “I saw him go out the front door and start for the brush.” “Then I’ll shore do some projeckin’ in ther brush.” Angell went away, and soon returned with the statement that he had found the dead body of the owner of the cabin. The murdered man had been discovered at the mouth of the ravine. He had been shot a number of times. One bullet had penetrated the brain.