“What do you know about those diamonds they say you stole, Nate?” inquired the scout. “Anything?” “Not a thing, Buffalo Bill,” protested Dunbar. “I was hiking for the ranch when Bloom, and three cowboys, came slashing up alongside my horse, with their guns out. They ordered me to lift my hands. I did as they told me. Bloom hunted through my saddlebags and pulled out the diamonds. That was the first time I ever saw them.” “Likely yarn,” grunted Bloom. “Caught with the goods on, an’ you haven’t the nerve to own up.” “I didn’t take the diamonds!” cried Dunbar angrily. “You’ll have a chance to prove it in court. And I reckon you won’t prove it. You’ll go to the nearest ‘pen,’ and that’ll stop these troubles in the cow country.” The scout turned slowly and swept his eyes over Bloom. “You’re doing a heap of talking, seems to me,” said he, “for a man who’s merely an officer of the law. What is it to you whether Dunbar goes free, or goes over the road? Anything personal in it for you?” The sheriff scowled but did not reply. “He’s a friend of Lige Benner’s,” declared Dunbar, “and no friend of Perry’s or mine. While we were having our hard time on the Brazos, he was throwing the gaff into us every chance he got.” “You’re a pill,” scowled Bloom, “and you ought to be run out of the country. That’s how I feel.” “Well,” said the scout scathingly, “be advised by me, Bloom, and don’t let your personal spite interfere with your duties as a public officer.” “You’re not so high an’ mighty,” sneered Bloom. “Because you’re a government scout, you ain’t bigger’n the whole State of Texas.” “I’m big enough to look after you and take care of Nate,” replied Buffalo Bill. “The boy’s no thief.” “Prove it!” grunted Bloom. The door was kicked open just at that moment, and Wild Bill pushed breathlessly into the room. “Sure we’ll prove it!” he cried; “by gorry, that’s what I’m here for--it’s what I’ve been pounding over this range for during the last five hours. Nate’s innocent! Listen to the mellow trill of my bazoo, all hands!” Wild Bill dropped wearily down on the bench beside Dunbar. The Laramie man presented an appearance that was badly demoralized, to say the least. He still wore his mismatched footgear and his torn slouch hat. Where the disguise had been stripped away his usual costume showed itself, but it did not appreciably improve his appearance. His hands, face and clothing were covered with grime. “Can--can this be Mr. Hickok?” faltered the sky pilot. “It’s Wild Bill, parson,” laughed the scout. “Where’d you come from, pard?” “From the Star-A ranch last, amigo,” replied Wild Bill. “Old Nomad gave me a tip as to what had happened, and where you were, and I raced on here. Beeswax has had some travel to-night--and it was a bee line and the keen jump every foot of the way.” “What happened at the Circle-B?”