But in this he was mistaken. Some part of his costume got between his itching fingers and the hand grips of his guns. In a flash he realized that his weapons were not to serve him. He had the coil of rope and the picket pin in front of him, and he grabbed up the pin and hurled it with all his force. One of the blockading cowboys was ready to fire his revolver. Before the trigger could be pulled, the sharp point of the pin had struck his arm. He gave a yell of rage and pain, and his weapon dropped from his nerveless fingers. “Stop!” cried another of the cowpunchers; “stop or I’ll bore ye!” Wild Bill leaned far from his horse’s back and struck out with his fist. The cowboy who had voiced the threat, slewed backward in his saddle, so wrapped up in his own pressing complaints that he had no time to give further attention to the Laramie man. Once more Wild Bill was beginning to congratulate himself. Two of the four cowboys were out of the running; if he could dodge the other two, the trail to the Star-A would be clear before him. But right here the picket rope and pin, which had served Wild Bill so well, now proved his undoing. The rope, weighted by the pin, was cutting all sorts of capers around Beeswax’s flying heels. As hard luck would have it, chance threw the rope into a loop, and the loop caught the horse’s front feet. Down went Beeswax--and he really did roll over. But Wild Bill was not on the horse’s back. The Laramie man had been hurled a dozen feet onward. When he dropped, he came down all of a heap; and before he could collect his scattered wits, two cowboys were on him, and Lige Benner, Red Steve, and many more were rushing at top speed for the scene to lend their assistance. Wild Bill was caught! CHAPTER XVI. HELD BY THE ENEMY. Wild Bill was a terribly surprised man. He didn’t mind the jolt of his fall, nor the roughness with which the cattlemen treated him, but the blow to his confidence was a hard thing for him to get over. He fought as long as he could, and only ceased his struggles when ropes made it impossible for him to move. The set-to had disarranged his entire make-up, and had even caused him to lose a portion of it. Under the ragged garments he wore his usual costume, and the amazement of Lige Benner was great when he discovered that his prisoner was no less a person than Wild Bill himself. “You came here in disguise to spy on me, did you, Wild Bill?” scowled Lige Benner, looking down on his captive and wondering what he should do with him. “I came here to find out what I could about your criminal doings,” answered Wild Bill, “and it’s dollars to chalk marks that I’ve seen and heard enough to put a rope around your neck. A nice sort of respectable cattle baron you are!” “He’s too blame’ mouthy!” growled Red Steve. “The thing ter do with him is ter put him whar he kain’t bother us.” “I’ll do that,” returned Benner.