“Why don’t you count ‘two?’” inquired the scout pleasantly. But the Texan had lost the count. Instead of trying to find it, and go on with it, he began to swear. “Sit down,” ordered Buffalo Bill. “I’ve caught my breath, all right, but I want to read you a lesson in common civility, and show you how to treat a traveler who accidentally drops in on you through the roof of your dugout.” Some one laughed. It was not the red-haired man, of course, for he was in anything but a merry mood. The laughter came from behind the scout, and was the first intimation that there was any one else in the place. The scout could not very well turn from the red-haired man and investigate. “Who’s doing that?” he demanded. “You git right out o’ here!” flamed the red-haired man. “This ain’t none o’ yore put-in, or----” “I wasn’t talking to you,” cut in the scout sharply. “Who are you, behind there?” “Nate Dunbar,” came the answer. “If you’re a friend of this red-headed rawhide, Dunbar,” proceeded the scout, “why don’t you step up behind me and help him put me out?” “For two reasons,” answered the voice behind. “First off, neighbor, I’m no friend of Red Steve’s. Then, again, I’m lashed and laid away on the shelf. If I was able to move, I’d take Red Steve down and choke the breath out of him.” “Dunbar’s a hoss thief that I’ve captured,” cried Red Steve, “an’ I want ye ter go on erbout yore bizness an’ leave us alone.” “I’m no horse thief,” said Dunbar, “and Red Steve talks crooked. He’s working for Benner, and Phelps, and the rest of those cattle barons on the Brazos. It’s tin-horn work, too, and Red has to use the double tongue.” “I thought there was something more than just common incivility back of his treatment of me,” observed the scout, a glitter rising in the eyes that looked across the revolver sights. “Don’t you try to talk!” he said sternly to the man in front of him. “Walk around and take the ropes off Dunbar. When I count ‘one,’ you’ll begin to move; when I say ‘two,’ you’ll begin on the ropes; and when I finish with ‘three,’ if Dunbar isn’t clear of his bonds, I’ll do something more than singe your ear and take a lock of your red hair. Chance, it seems, has bobbled, and dropped me into the right place at just about the right time. Now, then, one!” There was that in the scout’s eyes and manner which caused Red Steve to start promptly toward the other side of the dugout. As he moved, the scout turned on the stool and let the revolver follow him. CHAPTER II. THE GAME OF “FREEZE OUT.” On the plains of northwest Texas, in an early day, the dugout was a popular institution. No wind could shake such a house, and no earthquake could topple it over. In most structures, a man begins at the bottom and builds to the top, but in a dwelling like that under consideration a man begins at the top and works downward.