Thoughts went like lightning through his mind. He thought of the people of Lost Valley that the negro had risked so much to rescue. Could they have killed their rescuer? How far was the Lost Valley from where he then was? Of course, it must be those from the valley who had fired on the black giant. But who they were he must know, and where they were, as well as why that murderous shot had been sent at a rescuer. Bounding forward while these thoughts were raging through his brain, the scout reached a large rock at the base of the cliff. As he did so, a man sprang in view through the break of the cliff, and within a few feet of the form of the negro. He was a large man, heavily bearded, long-haired, and he held a rifle in his hand. With a wave of his hand to some one unseen, he called out: “Come, Tom; for I told you I was right. It’s ther giant nigger of the valley.” Buffalo Bill heard the voice answer afar off, but did not catch what was said; yet he heard the reply of the man in full view of him, for he replied to the other: “Yes, dead as ther devil. I chipped him atween ther eyes. Come along.” The scout remained behind the bowlder. He could afford to wait; for he knew that another enemy was near, and would soon be in sight. The one in sight had fired on the negro, knowing who he was, and being anxious to kill him. He had spoken, too, of the valley; so he must know where that was. His words told Buffalo Bill that Black Bill was dead, and, in the very moment of his success in bringing him to the rescue of people who, if these two were a specimen of them, did not deserve rescue. “I think I’ve got the best of this,” muttered Buffalo Bill, and, slinging his rifle at his back, he drew a revolver in each hand. “Ho, Rocks, yer got him,” Buffalo Bill heard, for he dared not look toward the speaker for fear of being seen. “It’s ther nigger, ain’t it?” asked the man who had fired the shot. “Sure.” “How’d he get out?” “Who knows; fer I thought he’d given up tryin’ long ago.” “He didn’t, though, if he’s here.” “No, he didn’t; but there can’t be any more of ’em out.” “You bet ther ain’t, and they won’t be no more; so we’ve got it our way, sure.” “We has, ef our two pards come back all right.” “They’ll git here, fer gold will fetch ’em, you bet.” “Then we’ll be rich for our nat’ral lives.” “We will; and hev something ter leave after death. “We played to win, and we got ther game; only I don’t like this nigger gettin’ out.” “Me nuther.” “More might be gettin’ out now.” “Not ef they’re comin’ ther way he did; fer thar ain’t many men kin do it that I’m acquainted with.” “Nor me; but I wish our two pards would git back with the horses, for it’s after time some weeks, and provisions is running low.” “Yes, and gold won’t buy food in this country.” “No; all we has got won’t git us a meal if we was starving.”