“Who are you?” he whispered, as he tried to hold the struggling victim down. “Drat yer eyes, I’m Pete,” was the gasping reply. The king of scouts laughed softly. Then he assisted the angry plainsman to his feet. “Had to act as if you were an enemy,” he said apologetically. “Hope I didn’t hurt you any.” “My wrists will shore be sore fer a week,” was the sour response. Then he began to chuckle. “I ain’t mad, Buffler. Don’t ye go fer ter think so. I’m mighty glad ter see ye. I war huntin’ ye.” “And I’m glad you have found me. Did you know that Wild Bill and his aggregation of crack-brained aborigines are in the castle yard?” “I’m bettin’ that I do, an’ that’s why I hiked out ter see ye an’ git ther benefit of yer vallyble advice. I war in ther room whar ye hed ther scrimmage with Pigeon Toes, an’, guessin’ that no one war in ther cellar, I raised ther trap, an’ hyer I be.” “Didn’t see the colonel and his daughter, did you?” “No. They shore must be in some part of ther shebang.” “Well, what advice do you hanker after?” asked Buffalo Bill smilingly. “How ter help Wild Bill an’ ther Comanches. They kain’t do anything from ther outside, an’ they kain’t git in ther castle. Ef they expect the ’Paches ter come out an’ have a set-to in ther yard, they aire shore off their cabesas. We gotter scheme out a way ter beat ther doors of ther castle.” “I was on my way to beat those doors,” said Buffalo Bill coolly. “My idea was to enter the room that held you, and then watch a chance to open the back door.” “You might watch a year, Buffler, an’ never git that aire chance. I’m gamblin’ that both doors aire guarded.” “What’s the matter with settling the guard?” “Ter do that ye’d hev ter pay yer respecks to a mob of ’Paches. O’ course, they aire fillin’ up ther hall.” “Nonsense, Pete. It is more likely that the most of them are in the room where the windows are, looking out into the inclosure. Come, let’s go back. There is more chance of winning out, now that you are with me.” “I’ll go ye, Buffler,” said Alkali Pete promptly. “Ye may be right. I hope ye aire; but right er wrong, I’m at yer back until yer stummick caves in.” “Thank you,” responded the king of scouts heartily. “And now for it.” The two scouts reached the cellar without trouble. The trapdoor through which Alkali Pete had descended was open, and, climbing upon Buffalo Bill’s broad shoulders, the lanky plainsman looked into the room. It was vacant. The dead body of the outlaw had been removed. “I shore don’t like ther looks o’ things,” whispered Pete to his comrade. “Ther body war thar when I lit out fer ther tunnel, an’ it bein’ gone sartinly shows that ther ’Paches know I hev vamosed. Mebbe they aire waitin’ fer me ter come back, an’ mebbe thar’s a bullet waitin’ fer ther man that crawls inter that aire room.”