The king of scouts did not know what to make of this speech. The outlaw appeared to be in earnest, and yet the statement seemed preposterous. “They would be fools to come out of their stronghold,” he remarked. “Think so? What if I tell you that the Comanche they have selected as the chief will call them out?” “Explain—I fail to understand.” The leader of the outlaws laughed. “Didn’t know we had captured their chief, eh? Well, we did corral the fellow. He has been in Mexico, and Thunder Cloud nailed him last night. Here is the proposition: The Apaches and the Comanches have been pulling hair for a long time. Thunder Cloud catches this Black Wing and gives him to understand that the Apaches are tired of war, and want to patch up a peace with the Comanches. See? ‘Now, says Thunder Cloud,’ using the words I put into his mouth, ‘if you will use your influence, all this killing and scalping will come to an end, and we’ll fix on a fair division of the country so that each tribe will have ample territory of its own.’ “Black Wing agreed to use his influence, and he went off a while ago with Thunder Cloud and the Apache braves. Of course, Black Wing’s counsel will prevail, and, of course, when the Comanches come out into the open to cement the treaty they will get it where the chicken got the ax.” Buffalo Bill heard the explanation, and was not uneasy in mind. He knew something that Black-face Ned did not know, and that was the presence among the Comanches of Wild Bill. When the outlaw who had been floored by the king of scouts had recovered his senses, he assisted Black-face Ned in carrying the prisoner to a room in the rear. It was provided with a few modern conveniences, among them a table and a chair. There was no bed, but a roll of Navaho blankets in a corner contained a suggestion that promised a sufficiency of restful comfort. The leader of the outlaws, a pleased expression on his dark and not unhandsome face, directed his man to spread the blankets, and when they were in position the king of scouts was deposited upon them. The one window in the room, without glass—a square hole in a thick, stone wall—was barred like the windows at the front of the structure. Buffalo Bill was gazing at the window, when Black-face Ned said, with an evil smile: “No chance of escape, William. You are as secure as if you were in a dungeon.” The speaker was walking toward the door, when the prisoner asked quickly: “Where are your other prisoners, Colonel Hayden and his daughter?” “In another room. Would you like to see them?”—showing his teeth maliciously. “Yes, of course.” “I am extremely sorry that I cannot take you to them. But I will be pleased to convey a message. Shall I say that you are here, and that you are so busily engaged in making your will that you cannot come to them?” Buffalo Bill glared at the villain, but vouchsafed no answer.