“It is the only chance, I see. Here, White Slayer, form your men for a bold rush,” replied the stern old hermit chief. Then, with demoniacal yells, the mad column of outlaws and redskins started upon the charge. Like hail the leaden bullets fell in their midst, and terrible was the havoc; but on they pressed--Kansas King, the hermit chief, and White Slayer at their head. On, still on, until the dark column reached the stockade. Springing upon the shoulders of the braves, the daring White Slayer was the next instant upon the top of the wall, his wild war whoop echoing defiance and triumph. But suddenly behind the Indians came a ringing order in trumpet tones: “Troopers to the rescue--charge!” Then was heard the hearty cheer of regular soldiers, a rattling of sabers, a heavy tramping of many hoofs, and upon the rear of the attacking force rushed a squadron of cavalry, half a hundred strong, and at their head rode Captain Edwin Archer. The sight that followed was a scene of terrible carnage, for in wild dismay the Indians and outlaws fled, the battle lost to them at the moment they believed victory their own. As the stampede became general, two men mounted their horses and dashed rapidly away up the gorge. But upon their tracks rode two other men who had dashed out of the stronghold in hot pursuit. The two who were flying in advance for their lives were the hermit chief and Kansas King, both bitterly cursing their misfortune. The two men who had ridden from the stronghold in pursuit were Red Hand and Buffalo Bill. On flew the two chiefs up the dark gorge, and like bloodhounds on the trail rode Red Hand and the famous scout. Up the valley, over the ridges, through the cañon, up to the base of the hill, whereon stood the hermit’s cabin, rushed the riders. Here the two fugitives sprang from their horses and darted up the steep ascent. But close behind them was Red Hand and Buffalo Bill. At last the ledge was reached, and upon it the hermit turned at bay, for he saw that Red Hand was close behind him. Like an enraged beast, the hermit chief cried: “Tracked to my lair at last--at last; but, Vincent Vernon, you shall die!” With gleaming knife, the old hermit sprang forward, but Red Hand, with a cry of rage, as though he recognized the man before him, and had some bitter injury of the past to avenge, met him with a terrible earnestness--met him to hurl him back from him with a strength that was marvelous, and with one plunge of his blade sent its keen point deep into the broad bosom of his foe. One stifled cry, and the hermit chief fell back his full length upon the hard rock, just as Kansas King, who had found the door of the cabin barred against him, turned also at bay, to be met by a blow from the pistol butt of Buffalo Bill, which felled him, stunned, to the earth. CHAPTER XXXIX. THE MYSTERY SOLVED.