As soon as he was able to ride, Buffalo Bill thanked the chief for his kindness to him, and presented him with one of his revolvers and a watch, and let him into the secret of winding it up--it was a stem-winder--and taught him how to tell time, adding: “There’ll be no excuse for you now to be behind time in going into a fight, if you’ll only keep her wound up.” Throwing his red silk handkerchief to Mrs. Rain-in-the-face, who had nursed him, Buffalo Bill mounted Midnight, and, with a shout of farewell to the redskins, struck off at a lively gait. His faithful horse had had a long rest, and was better than ever before, as he evinced by his determination to cast the miles behind him and reach the settlements. “That’s right, Midnight; go ahead lively.” CHAPTER XVIII. PARSON MILLER VISITS THE JUDGE. While a number of miners and settlers, under the name of Vigilantes, were following Captain Dash and his Revolver Riders in the pursuit of Kent King and his outlaw band, an individual of peculiar appearance was riding slowly along a trail that led through the valley settlement, where Judge Hale and his train had found homes. He was mounted on a mule, whom he had christened Goliath of Gath, and was dressed in a suit combining buckskin leggings, a miner’s red shirt, a black clerical-looking coat, and a coonskin cap. This individual was Parson Miller, the chaplain of the Hale train on its route westward, the one whom Buffalo Bill had gotten lost with, to prevent his marrying Mary Hale to Kent King. Settling near the sutler establishment in Deep Creek City, as the dozen log cabins comprising the place were called, Parson Miller had looked after his own bodily comfort, and the spiritual welfare of the flock which he claimed as his special charge. He was now on his way to the hospitable home of Judge Hale. The judge, believing him harmless, always extended to him a welcome, though Mary was never glad to see him darken the doors of their cabin. “My dear brother Hale, I have come over to see you upon important duty: the wolves are abroad among my flock, and bloodshed is stalking forth in our valley.” This was his speech, as he dismounted from Goliath and picketed the mule. “Come in, parson,” said Hale, “and we’ll have a chat in my room, for Mary is busy, as you hear, with her guitar, on the back porch.” “It is of Mary I have come to speak, and moreover of one other, brother Hale; will we be wholly alone?” the parson inquired. “Wholly so; is there any news?” asked the judge, feeling a dread of coming evil. “None, other than that I have told you. Now let us talk to the point. Do you not know me?” The parson’s manner suddenly changed. He dropped the singsong way in which he always spoke. Judge Hale looked him fairly in the face, and answered slowly: “No, though you recall one to me long since dead.” “Who is that one?”