“I have a brother who was a wild young fellow, and believed that I had treacherously cheated him out of his ladylove, when I knew nothing about his love for her, and she became my wife. She was not Lucille’s mother, she being the daughter of my second wife. “Now, my brother never forgave me, and some years after he committed a crime of which I was accused, and it made an outcast, a fugitive of me. “He married and came West, and the other night when I looked into the face of the man known as Eagle, the outlaw, I felt sure that he was my brother. “I have not seen my unfortunate brother for many years, but the face, as I saw it by the flickering camp fire’s light, the voice, impressed me that it was Loyd Lamar. “Now, if he is my brother, he knows that Lucille is my daughter, and that is a relief to my mind. If the outlaw is my brother, and I would almost take oath that he is, I have but one request of you, and that is to kill him, and not capture him to be taken to the fort and hanged.” “My dear sergeant, I had promised myself I would do that, on account of his wife, and I will be that more anxious to save him from the gallows now that he is suspected of being your brother,” was Buffalo Bill’s reply. That afternoon they started upon their perilous mission, Buffalo Bill crossing the river at the spot where the camp was and the sergeant riding down to the upper ford, to go over after dark and continue on by the trail to the mountains. But the sergeant in crossing came to grief, for there stood on the other bank as sentinel a young brave who was striving to win a name for himself. He saw in the moonlight a horse and rider crossing the ford; so, taking aim, the redskin fired, pulling trigger just as he discovered that it was not a paleface but an Indian. The sergeant felt a stinging pain in his shoulder, the blood began to flow; he, therefore, turned back, fearing that he was seriously wounded, and did not know why he had been fired on. Fortunately Surgeon Denmead was there, and at once went to work on him, remarking after a while: “I have got the ball, Worth, and, with care, the wound will not be fatal, though serious.” CHAPTER X. THE RESCUER REACHES THE GOAL. One afternoon, a week after Lucille’s coming to the Indian village as a captive, and while Lucille and the chief, Death Face, who had proved to be half white, were seated upon the little piazza looking at the sunset, the young man on the chair, the maiden in the hammock, there suddenly dashed around the corner of the cabin a tall form, brandishing a revolver in each hand. He had his revolver leveled full at the young man, as he called out sternly: “Up with your hands, renegade, or you die!” “Buffalo Bill!” cried Lucille, in suppressed tones, as though realizing, even in her surprise, the danger of speaking that name there. Then she quickly added: “For God’s sake do not kill him, for he is my friend.”