When the shadows of evening began to settle down, the bolt was pushed back, the door opened, and Benner and Red Steve came in again, the latter bringing the prisoner’s supper. Wild Bill’s hands were not unbound. Red Steve propped him up on the bed and fed him. “Have you made up your mind what you’re going to do with me?” inquired the prisoner, when the meal was finished. Lige Benner stood gloomily by with folded arms. “You’ll be kept here to-night,” said he. “In the morning we’ll know how your account is to be settled.” Red Steve looked at the ropes, reported that the prisoner had been tampering with them, and tied them in such a way that the sawing on the side board of the bed could not be continued. “You’ll not be able to get away from here, Hickok,” said Benner. “Even if you got rid of your ropes, you couldn’t get out; and if you got out, you’d be dropped in your tracks by a bullet before you’d gone a dozen yards. You’ll have to make the most of it. You’ve forced my hand and will have to take the consequences.” “All right,” answered Wild Bill amiably. “But wait till this trail’s run out before you do any talking. I’ve got pards that won’t care a whoop for you and your Circle-B outfit when they learn what’s happened to me.” Red Steve picked up the empty dishes, and he and Benner again left the room. From then on, while the night steadily deepened, Wild Bill allowed certain possible events to pass in review. Already, no doubt, Jerry Benner had worked his plot against Dunbar. Word of Dunbar’s predicament had gone to the Star-A ranch, and the scout had started at once for Hackamore with Perry. On the way to the town, the White Caps would lay for Buffalo Bill and Perry. Wild Bill chuckled as his mind took up that phase of the question. “I’d like to be around and see what Pard Cody does to those White Caps,” he muttered. The hours passed while he reflected. Stygian darkness settled down on the bedroom, only a lightish blur marking the window opening. Wild Bill could hear Red Steve moving around in the living room, and he could hear some one outside the window; but he heard something else--something that caused him to give over his reflections and centre his attentions on the peculiar noise. The sound was like a muffled scraping, and it was coming steadily nearer. Wild Bill tried to locate it, but the darkness confused him and he could not. At last he heard deep breathing, stifled to the merest rasping whisper, accompanying muffled footfalls. A form, barely distinguishable, reached the bed. Wild Bill was about to speak, when a hand dropped over his lips. “Cork!” whispered a husky voice. “I’m Ace Hawkins, an’ if ye breathe a word out loud, things’ll go hard fer the two o’ us. We’ll palaver a spell.” For a moment the Laramie man was dazed. Ace Hawkins, one of Red Steve’s White Caps, there in the room with him! And he had come in stealthily! Why?