“We’ve got the proof o’ all yer surmises, Cody, right hyer in a nutshell,” Betts whispered. “Benson and Jake has been dopin’ the reds.” He did not know how accurately the word “dope” described just what had been done. “I figger thet I could drap that skunk Benson right frum hyer,” said Nomad, fingering his revolver. “But ’twouldn’t do. Bersides, we don’t want ter start no killin’; we want ter capter him, so’s he kin git his jest desarts at ther hands o’ ther hangman.” “And I’d hate to see Gorilla Jake killed,” said Betts, “as it would cut me and Brother Jim out o’ that reward. Still, we might be able to perduce his body, even if he was killed; and the reward is fer him dead er alive.” It was a characteristic of the Bettses that they kept their eyes on the main chance, and in all their clever border detective work thought more of the offered rewards than anything else. If it was a defect, it was forgiven by their friends, who knew the terrible chances they sometimes took to bring some ruffian to justice. They earned all they got. “I don’t suppose, Cody,” said the man from Laramie, the old reckless light so often seen in his eyes flaming there once more, “that we could charge that pizen crew and get Benson and the other feller? If you say the word, I’m ready to try it.” “We might do it!” the scout admitted. “Wow! Then you’re willing!” and Hickok drew out his revolver. “But I didn’t say that it would be wise to make the attempt. One or more of us might be killed, and that wouldn’t pay, you know.” “If we charge with revolvers cracking and every man Jack of us yellin’ to beat the band those reds would run, and I know it.” Buffalo Bill was not so sure of it that he was willing to take the risk. “Now we’ll see some fun,” whispered Nomad, as the Utes and their guides came up to the cache which contained nothing but whisky bottles filled with creek water. “It’ll be like deprivin’ children of their promised candy. They won’t be willin’ to stand et.” They saw Benson and the apelike man stop, and Benson point to the ground. The Utes swarmed round the spot, forgetting their caution, and talking, with furious gestures. “Plenty stung up with excitement, when they thinks they’re goin’ ter git er drink!” Nomad commented. “They’ll be stung up a heap more when they discover that they ain’t goin’ ter git none,” said Bill Betts. “Woosh! Wouldn’t I jes’ like ter turn my umbreller gun loose on them varmints now.” He pushed the singular weapon out in front of him. “I reckon that would be too much like murder,” urged the man from Laramie; “they’re heathen brutes, but still they’re human.” Benson seemed to be talking to the Utes. They were too far off to get the words; but they saw Gorilla Jake drop down and begin to scratch away the sand with his huge, clawlike hands. He went into the ground with the rapacity of a scared badger.