The man’s face was dirty; his slouch hat was full of bullet holes and the crown was loose and flapping. Through the crown protruded a few stray locks of unkempt hair. Over the man’s left eye was a red handkerchief bandage. His face was dirty. His ragged blue flannel shirt and his torn, greasy trousers were belted in at the waist with a section of frayed rope. On one foot he wore a boot, and on the other a moccasin. But he was riding a good horse, well accoutred--a horse the scout recognized as Wild Bill’s. “Get off that horse, you!” cried the scout, rising sternly. “If----” The scout’s voice trailed into silence, and the silence was broken by a hearty laugh from the man in the saddle. “By gorry,” came the familiar tones of the Laramie man, “if I didn’t fool the king of scouts himself, I’m a yap! Whoosh! You must have mislaid the eagle eye, pard! What chance has Benner got to get next to me if you went so wide of the mark?” The scout joined in his pard’s laugh. “You’ll do, Wild Bill,” said he, “all but the horse. Your get-up don’t jibe with the riding gear and the animal you’re riding. The horse and trappings will be a dead give-away.” “Nary, Pard Cody. The horse and trappings are going to be a big help.” “How?” “Why, look. I come breezing up to Benner’s hangout with a yarn to the effect that I lifted the horse at the Star-A. That ought to get me in with Benner, if he’s at all crooked. A man who’ll steal a horse will probably be the sort of a chap he’d like to use in his present game of cold deck and loaded ivories. I’ve the medicine tongue for a job like that, don’t you think?” “You’re one of the most resourceful men in a pinch I ever saw, Hickok,” declared the scout. “Lay your own plans and carry them out in your own way, but be sure and get back here to-night.” “That’s me. When I come, I’ll come loaded.” “With information, I hope, and with none of Benner’s lead. So long, and good luck to you.” “Adios!” Wild Bill kicked his heels into Beeswax’s ribs and started through the timber, en route down the river and headed for Benner’s. “He’ll make good,” thought the scout, “and if there’s anything brewing at trouble headquarters, Wild Bill will hustle back with the news.” Getting up from the bench, he knocked the ashes out of his pipe and went to join Perry and Sim Pierce in front of the cabin. CHAPTER XII. AT LIGE BENNER’S RANCH. Lige Benner had his private quarters in a big adobe house. The house capped a “rise” of ground, and from its windows Benner could look below and see the big bunk house, the huge “chuck shanty,” the blacksmith shop, the tool sheds, the wagon shelters and one of his horse corrals. In point of size the various buildings formed a small village, inhabited by at least fifty men. The lord of the village lived on the low hill, kept ceaseless vigilance over his men and ruled them with an iron hand.