Benson’s ability at disguising was not forgotten. So every man and woman leaving the town was subjected to an examination. It was bad for the business of the town, but it brought results. Benson had really fled into Blossom Range, stopping on the way only long enough to remove his Indian paint and feathers and assume his ordinary clothing, which he had kept with him in the Ute village and brought out of it. For a day or two he hid with a friend, who fed him and kept him secluded. But this friend was soon suspected and arrested. Benson had to leave his house. The few friends left now in the town became afraid to harbor him. At last a day came when Benson, grown desperate, hungry, wearied with hiding like a terrified wolf, came boldly out into the street. Yet he had taken the care to give himself a change of clothing, which he stole during the previous night, so that he was not now the dapper gambler and desperado, but appeared as a miner in rough clothing and clay-stained boots. “There are miners going in and out of the town to their work every day, and I’ll try that trick,” he said to himself. “I can’t get away during the night, for no man is permitted to go out who is not known, so I’ve got to make the try in broad daylight. If I fail----” He walked boldly down the street, passing dozens of men, who gave him not a second glance. “They don’t know me! I guess I can work it. But I’ve got to get farther than just out in the hills. How will I do that? All the surrounding towns are guarded, with men looking there for me, so I can’t go into the towns. And if I stay in the hills I’ll starve; a coyote couldn’t live there. I think I’ll have to try the stage again.” Yet he knew that no man whose identity was not clearly proven could leave now by the stage. Benson had not proceeded half a mile when he saw the man whom he feared above all others--Buffalo Bill. The great scout had been standing at a street corner, as if at ease with himself and the world, also apparently not watching any one or looking for any one. But it was evident that he had seen and spotted Benson as soon as the latter appeared in sight. When Buffalo Bill sauntered with seeming carelessness across the street to intercept Tim Benson old Nomad was in another street, which hid him from Benson’s sight, though he and the scout could see each other. The scout put up his hand in a peculiar way, much as if he were settling a refractory cuff in place, a sign which Nomad saw at once and understood. Benson was still under the impression that Buffalo Bill had not recognized him, when the scout, after brushing by him, turned quickly, with handcuffs ready for Benson’s wrists. “Better surrender without trouble, Benson!” he said in a low tone. “I’ve got you, you see.” Benson whitened to the lips; then in desperation he whipped out a revolver and fired at the scout. The scout ducked and seemed to reel. At the same instant the trapper came yelling upon the scene.