“It is not dangerous, but he has lost considerable blood. Here is the bullet--give him a drink, please.” The bullet had been extracted from the shoulder, a drink of brandy was given the wounded man, and as soon as he was made comfortable he said: “There lies poor Dick over there, chief.” “How was it, Bob?” “You see that man lying yonder?” “Yes.” “He was one of the cowboy king’s men.” “Yes, I remember him, and next in authority to him,” said Señor Otega. “I guess he was; there is his horse hitched where he left him. He came to our camp with two men. One said to us that they had brought a friend of theirs over who wanted to know us, and he had some fine liquor and cigars, and wished us to join him. I said that we did not drink, but would smoke with them, and asked them to be seated. “We all sat down here, and were talking when he called out suddenly: ‘Now!’ “The three men, with that, at once drew their revolvers and turned them on us. “But, though we were taken by surprise, we are quick on the draw, and our revolvers were going off with theirs, and for a second or so it was lively here. “We all sprang to cover of the timber, of course, and so we had it. “I don’t think it lasted half a minute, and then I found I was the only one standing up, and I was wounded. “I walked over to where those three traitors lay, but they were dead. I then went to poor Dick. He was gasping, but murmured something about a plot to kill us. Then he grasped my hand, and the poor boy was gone.” As he spoke, Bob brushed tears from his eyes, and there were others who felt the drops trickle down their bronzed cheeks as they thought of their dead comrade. The scouts had listened with rapt attention to Blue Jacket Bob’s story, and Buffalo Bill said: “Bob, you have done nobly, old fellow, and there is proof lying before us of your plucky fight against odds. Now, señor, what is your opinion of the treachery of your men to-night?” “They came to rob this camp, señor, and failed, though they had one of the fair hermit’s cattlemen as an ally.” “What a pity that they all got killed, that we cannot entrap one alive, or wound and capture one!” “It is, indeed, a pity, Señor Cody. But you recall that I told you the secret foes had spies on every ranch, or were suspected of having?” “Yes, Señor Otega.” “Well, these two were the spies, doubtless, on my ranch.” “I see.” “And the other man was a comrade of theirs, and hence a spy on the ranch of the fair hermit.” “I guess you are right.” “Now, what is to be done with these bodies, for poor Dick we will take with us for burial at the ranch?” “It would be best if you ride over with me and report the affair to the alcalde.” “Who is he?” “The landlord, the Señor Riel.” “All right,” and to Texas Jack, who just rode up: “Jack, you and three others be within call if I need you, for I may have to shoot the alcalde,” said Buffalo Bill, to the surprise of Señor Otega, who cried: “Oh, señor!”