“Who can we send to the town; no one will want to go? We’ve left our horses, and it will have to be some one afoot. Besides, will anybody come out against the Utes now, when they hear the story those fellows will tell?” As there was no possibility of penetrating into the village while daylight held, the two scouts and friends back-tracked carefully, and delivered their report. While scouting around that afternoon, Buffalo Bill came upon “sign,” which led directly to the discovery of Tim Benson’s whisky cache. Wild Bill, Nomad, and Bill Betts were with him at the time. Though Benson and the apelike man had blinded the trail there, and had taken every means to conceal the cache from the Indians, the trained eyes of the scout and his friends enabled them to find it in a comparatively brief period. “Waugh!” Nomad grunted, when the cache had been located. “I reckon Benson’s been hidin’ some of ther gold from his hold-ups right hyar.” That was the first and most natural conclusion. “When we’ve gophered down to it,” said Wild Bill, “we’ll know whether he’s been hiding anything. Whatever it was he may have taken it away.” “I’m bettin’ thar’s gold down hyer!” Nomad reiterated. When they had gophered down and came upon the concealed whisky bottles they were amazed. Yet they did not fail to understand why they were there. Buffalo Bill had known for some time that Benson bought the good will of the Utes by providing them with whisky. “Waal, this hyer is a disapp’intment ter me,” Nomad admitted. “Fer right now I warn’t seekin’ no red likker.” “Might sell the truck in town, though, for a good deal,” said Bill Betts. “It’d be a cute thing to do, to keep the reds frum gittin’ it.” Wild Bill laughed over this naive view of the proper method to remove temptation from the Utes. “Nighabout half enough fer a burro load,” remarked Betts, as the bottles were lifted out, one by one, and placed on the ground. “Benson expected ter continner in the whisky bisness with the Utes fer some time, by ther looks.” “This sand hyer has been disturbed quite recent,” averred Nomad, whose old eyes were still of the keenest. “Right-o!” Wild Bill agreed. “Here is where the Utes got the courage which enabled them to charge and wipe out the sheriff’s party.” “A man what will give whisky to pizen reds ought to be hung,” Bill Betts added. “But what air we goin’ ter do with the stuff, if we don’t take it to town?” Buffalo Bill had been considering the possibilities of the discovery. Now he spoke: