But the main part of the herd had been deflected. Sitting breathless in his saddle, the king of scouts saw the edge of the rushing herd just graze the stakes. Loose earth was thrown at him and Perry by the flying hoofs, and a choking fog rolled around and over them. In three or four minutes the last of the steers had passed. Six had been left on the plain, and to those six Buffalo Bill and Perry owed their lives. Wild Bill and Dunbar, now that the dust had settled somewhat so they could see, put spurs to their horses and dashed toward the scout. “What were you killing Circle-B steers for, pard?” asked Wild Bill, his voice husky with the dust. “To turn the herd so it would go around Perry,” answered the scout. “Perry?” echoed Dunbar. The scout backed Bear Paw one side and waved his hand toward the stakes, and the man bound between them. A bellow of anger broke from the Laramie man, to be taken up and re-echoed by Dunbar. Throwing himself from his saddle, the young rancher jerked a knife from his pocket and slashed the ropes that held Perry in his torturing position. For some time Perry could not move or speak, so worn out and spent was he from the ordeal through which he had passed. At last he succeeded in rising to a sitting posture and turned his bloodshot eyes on the scout. “Cody,” said he huskily, “you fought against long odds, and you won out with the narrowest kind of a margin. If you hadn’t turned those steers by a few feet, just where and when you did, you and I would both have been done for.” “A miss is as good as a mile,” laughed the scout. “There wasn’t time to cut the ropes and ride away with you, so I had to stand my ground and fall back on the rifle. Red Steve pegged you out, like that?” “I don’t know who it was. The scoundrels wore white caps drawn over their heads. They got hold of me by a trick--a trick that would have worked successfully ninety-nine times out of a hundred. A man came to the house and asked for me. When I went out, he said that Nate had been arrested for stealing diamonds, that Buffalo Bill had gone to Hackamore, and that I was wanted there. I wasn’t to tell my daughter, nor any of Buffalo Bill’s pards. I could understand about not telling Hattie, but why I was not to tell the scout’s pards was a mystery. I see now that Red Steve was afraid, if old Nomad, the baron and Little Cayuse knew where I was going, they might try to dissuade me, or to let some one else go. I hadn’t got far from the house along the trail when the white-capped men made an attack. The attack was unexpected, and I was taken at a disadvantage. They bound me and carried me to the old corral. There I was left till morning, when they brought me here and staked me out.