Seeing that he must get away, Texas Jack raised his rifle and fired as the shadowy form was disappearing in the darkness. Instantly all was excitement on the plateau, the scouts rallying quickly toward Texas Jack, who had darted forward in pursuit, calling to his comrades to follow. Buffalo Bill was the first to reach his side, and he was bending over a man lying upon the ground and groaning with pain. “Stay and see what you can get out of him, Jack. Blue Jacket, run to the cliff and give the alarm for Lone Star Sam and his party to come in. Dick, light those lanterns and have them ready, but under cover, and then all of you follow me.” With these orders Buffalo Bill moved rapidly on toward the cliff, and as quickly as possible his men followed, two of them with lanterns. Buffalo Bill reached the cliff of the range rising above the spur, and as the others came they stretched out along its base. Blue Jacket Bob called out to say that Lone Star Sam and the others were coming, and in a quarter of an hour they were on hand, and half a dozen lanterns were following like fireflies along the wall of rock which towered above the plateau. But not another soul was seen, nothing was found, and the whole cliff seemed to be nowhere scalable. But the scouts kept up their search until the dawn, determined to see then if there was any discovery that could be made. Stevens, the surgeon, had been called to the wounded man, and as Buffalo Bill went to where he lay, just as day broke, he found the scout doctor seated by his side, Texas Jack having left the unfortunate fellow to his care. “Well, doc, how is he?” “Perfectly conscious, sir, but he will utter no word.” “His pallid face shows that death is not far off.” “Yes, sir; I have told him that he must die, that he can live but an hour or more, and that I could do nothing for him, though I have tried. But the wound is mortal.” Stevens showed where the bullet had torn its way. Buffalo Bill knelt by the side of the dying man, who was beyond doubt an American, for his hair was light in hue, and his eyes dark blue. He was dressed in buckskin leggings, a blue woolen shirt, moccasins, and a slouch hat, but, in strange contrast, about him was wrapped a large white robe, intended to be white, though much soiled. He had had on a belt of arms, but it had been removed by Texas Jack to make him more comfortable. The man’s blue eyes rested upon Buffalo Bill with a strange expression in them. “My poor fellow, I am sorry I can do nothing for you,” said Buffalo Bill kindly. The man shook his head. “Can you not talk?” “Yes.” The word was distinctly uttered. “Will you not tell me if I can serve you in some way?” Again the wounded man shook his head. “Why were you playing ghost, for you thus brought your death upon yourself?” No reply. “Have you no kindred, no friends to whom you wish to send a last word?” “I will leave no word.” “But would it not be best?” “No.”