A long line of horsemen was strung out. In advance, some four hundred yards away, he saw Kent King and a man disguised as an Indian, riding side by side, and driving their horses on with spurs that brought blood at every blow of their heels. “I wish that the train people could see that parson now; I guess they’d think he needed praying for,” was the scout’s thought. Then, as his own position struck him, he added: “A little praying for me just now wouldn’t do any harm; come, Midnight, come, for they are gaining on you, and the hills are yet two miles away.” The splendid animal seemed to feel all that was expected of him. He made a still greater effort, though no spur or lash had touched his glossy hide, and again held his own with the pursuers. “That’s it, my bird of the plains, fly from your foes, and save me now, as often you have before!” Still more encouraged by his master’s voice, the fleet steed sped on, indeed like a bird, until the hills were not far away, and his pursuers yet two hundred yards distant. “Another effort, Midnight; try again!” cried Buffalo Bill. The next instant the horse dashed into a low thicket, while, around a base of jutting hill, suddenly appeared half a hundred mounted warriors. “Sioux, as I live! Now, Kent King, look out,” cried the scout, while a glance showed him that the Indians had not seen him, and were taken by surprise at the sight of the pursuing party. That Kent King and his band were also surprised, there was not the shadow of a doubt, for they quickly drew rein, a bugle call rang out over the prairie, and those in advance began to fall back and form for protection with those who were in the rear. “They’ll stand the Indians off and get away, though I wish they’d be like the Kilkenny cats. Ha, they are sending a party to see who Kent King was in pursuit of; it’s out of the frying pan into the fire with me!” Buffalo Bill, who had temporarily drawn his panting horse to a standstill, now urged him on into the hills. But though Midnight did his best, the redskins steadily gained upon him. Worse still, the scout became weaker and weaker from loss of blood from his wounded arm, his head reeled, and presently, as he penetrated into a dense cañon, he fell forward on the neck of his horse, consciousness having left him. A few moments after the Indians came in sight and saw the faithful horse standing still, and his rider hanging over upon his neck, his lariat alone holding him in the saddle. Recognizing them as foes, Midnight, in spite of the dead weight upon him, and his fatigue, endeavored to escape; but the cañon soon ended abruptly, and the redskins, pushing him hard, he was soon in their grasp. At first they seemed inclined to scalp the scout without ceremony; but, seeing that he was not dead, they released him from the saddle and laid him upon the ground.