As for the baron, he did not waste time in trying to spell out the tracks--which he could not see at all without assistance, and hardly then--but contented himself with looking ahead and around, thereby performing a most useful service, as it would not have been advisable for all the eyes of the party to engage in trail searching. While doing his part of the work, the baron saw a man duck down suddenly behind a rock. “Vot iss?” he gasped, stopping dead in his tracks. “Jes’ now it’s a fool Dutchman squawkin’ too loud!” Nomad flung at him. “Budt I seen somepoty.” This attracted attention. “What did yer see, Shnitz? Don’t stand thar gogglin’.” “A man.” “Benson, I reckon. Whar was he?” “Budt idt vos nodt Penson. He iss a liddle veller. Dhis vos a dall man, unt he vos vearing vhiskers!” Buffalo Bill and the man from Laramie began to ask questions. “Righdt py dot rock pehint I seen him, yoost now. He vos so dall like he iss vearing sdilts, unt he haf longk vhiskers like a sbinach.” “Which don’t prove et wasn’t Benson,” Nomad objected. “Thet feller kin change his looks more than any actor thet ever helped ther bloodhounds chase _Eliza_. When we last seen him he was wearin’ one o’ Miss Vera Bright’s dresses and doin’ ther woman act. Benson is rale cute.” “Budt he couldn’t make himselluf so dall as dot, couldt he, mitout sdilts?” “Waal, who’s ter know he warn’t w’arin’ stilts?” said Nomad, determined to meet all objections, for he was sure that the man seen could be none other than Benson. But a minute later he was undeceived; the man appeared in full view for just a second, then jumped back behind his rock. “Waugh!” Nomad whooped now, rubbing his eyes. “Ef thet ain’t ole Jim Betts, I’m er Piegan.” “Right-o! None other!” chimed in Wild Bill. Buffalo Bill had discovered the same thing. He stepped out, so that Jim Betts could see him clearly. Thereupon the hidden man appeared again; this time coming toward them with tremendous strides of his long, birdlike legs. “Thunder and carry one!” the man from Laramie exploded. “What’s Betts doing here?” “Vhen he iss arrifed he vill exblandion idt,” suggested the German. Jim Betts came up rapidly, his small head outthrust, his spinach whiskers floating in the breeze. “Howdy!” he called, yet he did not speak loud. “You out after the same man we air?” “If you are after Tim Benson, we are,” the scout told him. Greetings followed. “We ain’t after him,” said Betts; “we’re after Gorilla Jake, fer knifin’ the mine superintendent at Sody Springs. Thar’s a big reward out fer him, dead er alive; and wherever a reward floats its invertation thar me and Bill is mighty cert’in to be found. We been trailin’ him fer better’n a week. He’s been p’intin’ his nose toward Blossom Range; but we rounded him up, arter a fashion, in these hills, this mornin’, an’ air now lookin’ fer him.” “Did he wear big boots?” asked the man from Laramie. “Yoost so peeg as vot a grizzly bear vears?” added the German.