“Stop those fellows!” yelled Benner from inside the house. There was small need of any urging on the part of the cattle barons. Benner’s cowboys, seeing Perry free and hurrying away with the man who had recently arrived on the black horse, suspected at once that a rescue had been effected. The four cowboys hurled themselves at the scout and Perry. Benner’s men met with a surprise that literally carried two of them off their feet--a right-hander from the scout did the trick for one, and a straight-out blow by Perry dropped the other. The remaining two made an attempt to snatch their guns from their belts. The fugitives, however, took advantage of the attempt to use their fists again. The last pair were bowled over, and the scout and Perry jumped for their horses. To tear the animals free of the hitching-pole required only a moment, but every moment was precious. The gathering minions of the barons were almost in front of the log house as the escaping men jumped to their saddles. “Follow me, Perry!” shouted the scout, laying a course up the slope in the direction of the place where he had left his friends. Wild Bill, Nomad, and Dunbar could be seen descending the slope, their horses at top speed, to cover their pard’s retreat with Perry. Revolvers began to crack spitefully and leaden bees hissed through the air. The excitement of the moment, and the receding targets, caused every bullet to go wild. The fusillade was returned from up the slope, and the mounted cowboys who had taken up the pursuit, drew wary rein to make out the number and disposition of the enemies up the “rise.” And while they were hesitating and making their calculations, Buffalo Bill and Perry were pounding along and making good in their dash for freedom. “Whoop-ya!” roared old Nomad, while the scout and Perry drew closer up the slope, “le’s tear through ther tin-horn camp, pards, an’ raise Cain with a big ‘K!’ Le’s cut loose an’ show ’em our own partic’ler brand o’ destruction! Le’s give ’em er taste o’----” “Head the other way, quick!” shouted the scout, as he and Perry came thundering up. “Heels are trumps, pards, and see how quick you can play ’em.” Nomad yielded. When the scout ordered a move contrary to Nomad’s desires, he always yielded. In a galloping crowd, Dunbar, Wild Bill, Nomad, the scout and Perry swept over the top of the “rise” and into the scrub. Here they were joined by Jordan and Little Cayuse, and they skimmed the earth like a flock of low-flying birds. There was no time for talk, no time for anything but an occasional look behind and a frantic urging of the horses. Eight, nine, ten--a dozen mounted men flickered over the crest of the slope and settled themselves for what they evidently thought was to be a long chase. “Twelve up!” shouted the Laramie man. “Not so many, oh, not so many!” roared the old trapper. “We’re six! What’s two ter one? Waugh! Give ther word, Buffler, an’ we’ll turn on ’em.”