Before it could flash, the report of Buffalo Bill’s weapon was heard, and the bullet shattered the pistol of his foe, knocking it from his hand. “Come, boys; at him!” yelled Kent King, shaking his hand, which was stunned by the shock, though he was not wounded. With his war cry ringing on his lips, a revolver in each hand and his spurs held to the flanks of Midnight, Buffalo Bill rushed to the charge. It was a thrilling, desperate scene. Shot after shot was poured at the daring man. One of Kent King’s followers fired upon the scout from the barroom window. Instantly the miscreant dropped, cut down by the deadly aim of Buffalo Bill. Another fired at him, and went reeling with a bullet through him. Up the steps Midnight bounded with his daring rider, while the scout’s revolvers flashed fire. It was more than Kent King and his murderers could stand. In another second Midnight was upon the piazza, and charged right into the barroom, from which men were scattering by the dozen. Within a minute the barroom was empty, though one of Kent King’s miscreants lay dead on the floor. Old Negotiate, racing at Midnight’s heels, entered the barroom at this juncture, and bawled: “Bill, he hev lit out!” “Who?” Buffalo Bill demanded. “The boss of ’em all.” “The leader?” “Yes, Captain Corduroy.” “I shot to kill him.” “Waal, you missed him.” “I did not, for I saw him fall.” “Then the bullet glanced on his hard skull, and he played possum to get away.” “That may be; but let him go.” Going out upon the piazza, Buffalo Bill saw that Kent King was indeed gone, though two of his allies lay dead where they had fallen, and a third he had just left lifeless, lying on the floor of the barroom. CHAPTER VIII. A VILLAIN SURPRISED. When Buffalo Bill made his desperate charge for the piazza, there was one of Kent King’s followers who felt that he had made a mistake in volunteering upon a service so dangerous as the killing of the noted scout. He was a good shot, yet both the shots he had fired at long range were fruitless, and he noticed that those of Kent King and his comrades also failed to bring down the human game they had flushed. At once, when the eye of Kent King was not upon him, he turned and darted into the hall. An open door attracted his attention, and he glided into a large room, rudely furnished, yet comfortable. It was what was called the parlor of the Cody Hotel, and was devoted wholly to distinguished guests and ladies. It was no place for the deserting stranger, but it was, he observed, apparently unoccupied, and it afforded a delightful haven of refuge for him just then. He halted in an uncertain manner for an instant, while the rattle of revolvers without proved to him that he had been wise in decamping when he did.