At dark a halt was made. The pursuers were now at the mouth of a narrow pass. Nothing could be done until next morning, for Buffalo Bill knew that to try to follow the trail by lantern light would not only be slow and vexatious work, but might be attended with grave danger. If Black-face Ned was near at hand, and he might be, the light would give him opportunity to pot every one of the pursuers. Camp was made, and after a cold supper the two white men and the Hualapi found soft places, and stretched themselves out for a few hours’ much-needed rest. Buffalo Bill was up before daybreak. He roused the Indian, and then turned to walk toward the spot—the lee of a bowlder—where the colonel had lain, and was amazed to discover that the soldier had gone. Both the king of scouts and the Hualapi were light sleepers, and it seemed strange that the colonel should have departed without awakening either of them. Not far away from the camp was a small creek, and, in the hope that the colonel had gone to the water for a drink, Buffalo Bill went down the sloping bank, and soon stood on the water’s edge. It was now light enough for the scout to see for some distance about him. There was no sign of Colonel Hayden anywhere. As the king of scouts stood and wondered, the Hualapi came to his side. “Him heap make sneak,” said the Indian, with many nods. “Go away, think he catch bad man asleep.” “He must have crawled off noiselessly, so as not to disturb us,” replied Bill irritably. “I shall have to give him a sharp lecture when he comes back.” “Him heap fool, may spoil game,” said the Indian. The words had scarcely left the Hualapi’s mouth before there came a sharp report, and a rifle bullet ended the speaker’s career. Quick upon the shot Buffalo Bill dropped to the ground. The move saved the scout’s life, for a second report had followed the first. Buffalo Bill had dropped near the trunk of a large cottonwood. He was behind it in a twinkling, and with pistol in hand—he had left his rifle at the camp—awaited the next move of the assassin. Five minutes passed and not a sound broke the stillness. The enemy must be still on the spot whence the shots had been fired. If he had moved, the king of scouts must have assuredly have heard him. “He is waiting for full daylight,” was the scout’s conclusion. “Well, so am I.” Back of Buffalo Bill was the creek, and across the creek was a wall of rock that rose sheer to a height of one hundred feet. There was, therefore, no danger of an attack from behind. But one side of the scout’s place of shelter was exposed, that which looked toward the camp. The other side was a mass of high, thick brush.