About a mile up the ravine the pursuers came to a point where the ravine branched. One branch took a direction at right angles with the course they had been following. The direction was toward the west and south, for they could see that half a mile up the branch curved toward the cañon they had but recently left. Buffalo Bill was both surprised and irritated when the discovery was made that the tracks of the man and girl turned into the western branch. A suspicion of the truth caused him to say to Wild Bill and Bart Angell: “We may have been tricked. It looks like it. Hickok, you and Bart will take the back track to the place where we left our ponies. Henson and I will follow these prints. They will take us to the cañon trail, and we can all meet inside of an hour.” The order was instantly obeyed. Wild Bill and Angell hurried down the ravine. They reached the spot where the ponies had been tethered to make the alarming discovery that the animals were gone. Wild Bill looked at his comrade, and then each began to use language that, while most expressive, would not look well in print. The ebullition over, Angell ran to the cañon trail and looked along the route eastward. “There they are!” he shouted in wrath. “See ’em, Hickok? Most to ther summit, an’ a-goin’ it fer keeps.” Wild Bill used his eyes and fiercely bit at his mustache. “Each on a pony,” he muttered. “No coercion? Going away like two elopers. Bart, this business beats me to a frazzle. Got an opinion that is of any value?” “No, but I shore got a request ter make,” was the response, in deep disgust. “Will you hev ther kindness as ter be so kind as ter take a squint among ther big trees yereabout an’ find a knot hole. I shore desires ter crawl inter it an’ haul ther hole in arter me.” Wild Bill fell to whistling. A smile came to his lips. “I am waiting for Cody to come up. It will be worth something to note the expression of his classic mug when he sees what a mess we have made of it.” It was not long before the king of scouts and Carl Henson put in an appearance. There was no need to look toward the spot where the ponies had been nor to ask questions. The faces of Wild Bill and Bart Angell told the whole crushing story. For a moment Buffalo Bill gazed at them without speaking. Then he broke into a laugh. “Boys,” he said, “it is certainly rough. But the battle is not yet lost. Luck can’t stay always with that slick, double-dyed villain. We are all candidates for bed, but the bed has not been made that will take any of us in to-day. It’s sprint, and as this is no time for a confab, here goes.” Up the hill he went, making surprising time for a man of his weight. It may be said that his wound had healed rapidly, and that for twenty-four hours it had given him no concern. Wild Bill was the fleetest runner. Tall, thin, and wiry, with the strength of a giant and the suppleness of a panther, he fairly flew over the ground.