The two outlaws went out, the door was barred, and the king of scouts was left to his reflections, which were far from pleasant ones. He did not doubt that his death had been decreed. The reputation of Black-face Ned was such that the scout had no hope that leniency would enter into any of the villain’s calculations. Shortly after noon, the outlaw, who had had the disastrous encounter with the prisoner, and who had been addressed as Pigeon, entered the room with a tray of eatables. Buffalo Bill was hungry, and he ate until nothing was left on the tray but empty dishes. While he was eating, the king of scouts glanced at the feet of the outlaw. The toes were turned in, and the man’s nickname was at once explained. “What do they—your pards call you?” the scout asked. The outlaw scowled. “They shore aim ter be funny,” he answered. “My name is Isaac Alexander, but ther blame’ fools call me Pigeon-toed Ike.” “Been here long?” “No; I blew in yesterday.” “What’s Ned going to do with me? Did he tell you?” “He ’lowed he was goin’ ter send you pikin’ up ther flume.” “When is the interesting event scheduled to take place?” “Don’ ye get gay, Cody. Yer up agin’ ther real thing this clatter.” “It looks like it,” soberly admitted the prisoner. A pause, and then he asked: “Has Thunder Cloud’s outfit returned?” “No, an’ Ned’s gittin’ oneasy. Maybe we’ll light out fer ther cliff if Thunder Cloud fails ter show up inside of an hour.” Buffalo Bill received this statement with satisfaction. But he concealed his feeling beneath a mask of indifference. Pigeon-toed Ike went out, and half an hour later Black-face Ned came in. The outlaw leader was in an angry mood. Fixing his sharp eyes on his prisoner, he said sternly: “There’s a hitch up at the cliff, and I’ll bet you know what’s up. Tell me the truth, or I’ll kill you here and now.” The villain drew a bowie knife from his belt, and, walking over to the side of Buffalo Bill, shook the weapon in the prisoner’s face. In an instant he met with an astounding surprise. Up went Buffalo Bill’s hands, and the knife was wrenched from the villain’s grasp. Before a move in self-defense could be made, the knife was buried in the outlaw’s side. As he fell to the floor, the king of scouts arose to his feet. Black-face Ned was gasping for breath, and his eyes reflected an expression of mingled pain and fear. After quickly removing his victim’s other weapons, Buffalo Bill stanched the flow of blood and bound up the wound. This done, he secured the villain’s wrists and ankles. “I’ll not stuff a gag in your mouth, if you’ll promise not to cry out for help,” said the victor coldly. The reply came in a faint voice: “I couldn’t yell if I wanted to. I—I am dying.”