Quick as lightning, Wild Bill’s brain solved the problem in what he conceived the most logical way. The White Caps were taking the fate of the prisoner in their own hands. Benner was not desperate enough to suit them. They would put the prisoner out of the way without letting Benner know anything about the proceeding until it was too late for him to interfere. Wild Bill tried to sink his teeth into the hand that smothered his lips. “Quit that, you!” hissed Hawkins. “What fer kind of way is that ter act? Ain’t I come here ter help ye, runnin’ all kinds o’ risks? Red Steve is at the door of the other room, an’ Shorty Dobbs an’ Splinters Gibson is outside the winder. I was around the side o’ the house, an’ took my life in my hands, by climbin’ to the roof an’ comin’ down the chimbly. I’d be skelped good an’ proper if Red Steve knowed whar I was.” Was Wild Bill dreaming all this? Ace Hawkins, who had seemed to be the most savage of the White Caps, was sneaking around and running the risk of life itself in order to do him a good turn. Naturally, the Laramie man couldn’t believe it. “That’s a good yarn, Hawkins,” murmured Wild Bill. “It’s straight,” protested Hawkins. “I don’t believe such a crooked coyote as you are could talk straight if he tried.” “Then ye got an eye-opener comin’ ter you. Ye come hyer, didn’t ye, bekase the sky pilot sent a warnin’ from Hackamore?” “That’s a bull’s-eye hit, anyhow.” “Did ye hyer how the sky pilot got tipped off ter the trouble a-brewin’ at the Circle-B?” “I heard that a friend of his, from the Circle-B outfit, gave him the news.” “Which is kerrect. I’m thet thar friend.” “You? One of Red Steve’s White Caps! Say, Hawkins, you’re piling it on pretty thick.” “I ain’t so tough as what ye reckon, Wild Bill. Jordan, the sky pilot, has showed me the error o’ my ways, he has, an’ I’m tryin’ ter be white. I useter be bad enough, but I’m differ’nt now.” “How are you different? Haven’t you tangled up with Red Steve’s White Caps? Is that the way you’re trying to be ‘white?’ Don’t take any more falls out of the truth, Hawkins. If you’re here to do me up, go ahead.” A muffled exclamation broke from Hawkins’ lips. “I j’ined the White Caps so’st I could keep track of ’em an’ of Red Steve,” he averred. “I wanted ter git a chanst ter back-cap ’em, same as what I’m doin’ now. I’m ready ter prove it, Wild Bill. Wait!” Again Hawkins bent over Wild Bill. The prisoner felt the cowboy’s groping hands at his wrists, and then cold, sharp steel bit at the hempen strands. Wild Bill, his wonder growing, pulled his arms in front of him. While he was rubbing his hands to restore circulation, Hawkins was using the knife at his ankles. “Now,” whispered Hawkins, “ye’re free. Does that prove anythin’? Am I straight goods, er ain’t I?” “You seem to be all right,” returned Wild Bill, sitting up on the edge of the bed, “but this may all be a play to help Red Steve get the best of me.” “Hyer!”