The scout and his pards were making a careful study of the man, without appearing to do so. “It was a clost call,” said Nomad. “But yer war too quick fer him! Shootin’ out ther lights is a star play, ef a man kin do et; an’ you rung the bell at the fust crack. Buffler, here, couldn’t done et no better.” “Thanks for the compliment! But”--turning to Buffalo Bill--“I don’t think I much resemble Benson, except that we are both small men--rather undersized, you know; which is a marked thing in this country, where nearly all the men are so big.” “Size an’ heft don’t allus count,” said Nomad naïvely. “F’r instance, thar’s Buffler, an’ thar’s me.” “I judge that it’s your opinion,” the scout remarked, “that Juniper Joe didn’t make any mistake?” “No; he simply lied.” “Why?” “I’ll have to leave that to you; for I don’t know.” “Unless he really made a mistake, and thought you were Benson, he wouldn’t have any reason to want to shoot you?” “If he had any reason, I don’t know it.” “Then, we may suppose that, seeing you there by the door, and not having time to correct his first impression, he felt sure you were Benson, and blazed away.” “Mighty careless of him to do that!” said the stranger. His light-blue eyes twinkled, as if the thing amused him. Then he shifted his legs, and for a moment the conversation seemed stalled. He probably had noticed by this time that the scout was closely watching him! “One of the things bringing me here,” he said, breaking the silence, “was to find out if you fellows air barking up the same tree; that is, to see if you came here chasin’ Tim Benson?” “If so?” the scout queried. “Well, then, I didn’t know but that somehow we might make shift to work the thing together--me giving you whatever tips I run acrost, and you doin’ the same by me. There’s a reward of ten thousand out for Benson, half of it put up by the Wells Fargo. I’d like to handle all of it, of course; but if I can’t swing the thing alone, I’d be willing to divide up with good men like you; in case we could work the thing by a combination better than singly.” “You know about me,” said the scout; “that is, that I’m in the employment of the government, as a scout, and for other special purposes; so, of course, you will see readily that if I came here with my friends looking for Benson, it is because Benson has been troubling the mails.” “Yes, I know that, or supposed it. As for me, I fly alone; in the private detective line, you know; just now on the trail of that ten thousand dollars reward, and hoping I’ll land it.” “That isn’t what I meant.” “No? What did you mean?” “That you have my credentials--that is, you know something about me. _I don’t know anything about you!_ It’s an important matter; so I hope you won’t mind my bluntness.” “But I’ve told you!” “But shown no papers, nor even a badge. You must have some source of authority, I suppose?” For an instant the man who had given the name of Jackson Dane seemed to hesitate.