Halting his band at a point directly below the holes in the rock, the leader of the Wolves gave the hoot of an owl. A head showed at one of the entrances, and as soon as it disappeared the leader marched forward to a large bowlder that rested against the face of the wall. With one hand he gave the huge rock a turn, and it swung back to reveal an opening large enough for a man to enter without stooping. Inside of a minute the king of scouts found himself in the chamber of a cave. Upon the floor about the middle of the chamber was a cage, such as is used by miners in underground journeyings, and attached to it were stout ropes. Looking up, the scout saw the opening through which the cage had descended, and understood how entrance to the cliff dwellings was obtained. The prisoners were sent first, a windlass at the top furnishing the motive power. Buffalo Bill had been in many of these dwellings, and found the one that received him to be like the others he had seen. All the furniture was of stone, but to the utensils of the Aztecs had been added many of the modern implements of easy, practical convenience. There were three large rooms, each provided with a cliff outlook, and furnished with stone seats and a plethora of bear and buffalo skins. But one Wolf was in the dwelling to receive the prisoners. He was an Indian, and never opened his mouth until the windlass had performed its office. He then addressed the leader in the tongue of a nation that had been considered as practically extinct for many years. “It is well,” he said. “Comanche,” muttered Buffalo Bill, under his breath. “These reds may turn out to be friends. Uncle Sam has had no trouble with them for a long time. I didn’t know there was a single one of them in Arizona.” Shorty Sands and Flag-pole Jack were placed under guard in one of the rooms. The king of scouts was taken to another, and soon found himself alone with the leader. The latter threw himself upon the stone floor near a couch of skins that served as the resting place of the prisoner. “Well,” he remarked slowly, “how does it strike you?” “The situation?” “Yes. Sort of puzzling, isn’t it?” The voice was muffled, but Buffalo Bill was sure that he had heard it before. “Take off that wolf mask and let me see your face,” he said persuasively. “You have got me in a hole, so that there need be no further use for a disguise.” “Think so?” was the imperturbable response. “Yes. You know me, and I’ll bet a hat I know you. The question is, are you an enemy or are you a friend?” “Yes, that’s the question.” A pause, and then the quick inquiry: “Have you ever heard of my outfit?” “No.”