The scout and his pards inspected this mound, and the apparent work of track-hiding round it, before they ventured up to it; for they could not be certain that the man who had done the work was not somewhere near, in hiding. To make sure on this point, they cautiously skirted round the place. But no human presence was discovered. Then they came up to the “cache.” The baron was now much excited; he believed the gold-nugget bags he had seen were buried anew at that spot. Buffalo Bill and Nomad drew their sheath knives and attacked the sand, which, when loosened, they were able to draw out with their hands. They went down rapidly; but the hole was much deeper than they anticipated. “Gone down ter Chiny, he did,” grumbled the trapper, “ter make shore thet ther stuff would be safe.” When they got down near the bottom of the hole, which, after all, was not so very deep, instead of striking against buckskin bags, their knives struck clothing. “Waugh!” Nomad gurgled in his surprise. “He’s wrapped ther thing up in his coat, I reckon.” Buffalo Bill began to heave out the sand in great handfuls; when it was discovered that _the coat hid a body_. The old trapper flung himself out of the grave--for that is what it was--with a snort. “I’m jiggered ef thet don’t give me ther creeps!” he cried. “Waugh! Cody, there’s a dead man in thar.” The baron was also tremendously excited. Buffalo Bill continued to excavate quietly, but hurriedly; and soon revealed a man’s arm. “I’ll have your help here, Nomad,” he said. “Br-r-r! I’m er Piegan, Buffler, ef thet don’t give me ther creeps.” “I am in der same fixings,” said the baron, jumping about. “Ach! A deadt mans! Vot iss der meanness?” But Nomad sprang down to the aid of the scout; when together they pulled the body out of the sand. It had been doubled and crumpled up in the hole, was fully dressed, and the sand had been simply pushed in on it and trampled down. Even Buffalo Bill gasped in surprise when the face of the dead man was seen. For it was the face of Jackson Dane! “Waugh! Er, waugh!” Nomad was whooping. “I’m er Piegan, ef----” “Well, it knocks all our theories on the head,” said the scout, breaking in on Nomad’s war-dance accompaniment. “Idt iss make me veel like I am grazy!” cried the baron, staring goggle-eyed. The dead man, having been lifted out of the hole, was laid gently on the ground. Then it was seen that Dane had been shot through the body. “Probably killed instantly,” was the scout’s conclusion, when he saw the character of the wound. “Nomad, you’d better pike back to town and send officers out to take charge of this. It will be impossible to keep the thing still, I suppose; and I don’t know that there is really any need of it.” “Who kilt him?” cried the baron. “He couldn’t haf shoodted himselluf unt also puriet himselluf!” “That’s a fool idea, Schnitz!” the trapper snorted. “I knowed it iss. But uff he gone here py himselluf---- Vale, somepoty exblanadion idt to me.”