“Ther eending of et war hyer, though ther beginnin’ wasn’t. Somebody has got inter ther pesky bad habit o’ poppin’ at Buffler; et’s likely ther same cuss what tried ter pot him at the supper table.” “This has got to stop,” said the exasperated clerk; “we won’t have a guest in the house if it keeps up. To-night, after that shooting at the dining table, four of our guests left; the ones who were sitting at the table with you. They said they didn’t care to run such risks; and that if some one was trying to shoot you, they preferred to absent themselves from your company.” “Who do you think’s doin’ et?” Nomad demanded. “I haven’t the ghost of an idea.” “Yer might guess.” “If I did, my guess would be that it’s a friend of Benson and Juniper Joe. It’s known that the scout is hunting for them two.” “Also, et’s known, ter me, at least, thet he’s shore goin’ ter git ’em. Yer ain’t heard any news down at your desk?” When the clerk declared that he hadn’t, and went away, Buffalo Bill buckled on his pistols. “Whar away?” Nomad flung at him. “I think I’ll prowl round outside a little while. Maybe I can get sight of that rascal, if he’s lurking about.” “I’ll pike erlong with ye.” “No; you stay here. Move about now and then; so that if any one is watching the window he won’t know that I’ve gone out. That may help me to catch him.” “An’ help me ter git er hunk o’ lead under my hide!” Buffalo Bill skulked round outside for an hour; but he saw no one. “This hyar thing’s gittin’ onto my narves,” the trapper declared, when the scout came back. “It’s a bit trying to be shot at, and not know who is doing it!” He took a turn about the room. “I think, Nomad,” he said, “that I’ll do some scouting around that cabin of the Fool, up on Folly Mountain, before I turn in for the night.” “Wow!” Nomad gurgled. “He’s gittin’ thicker’n thieves wi’ them cattle what air herdin’ continyul round Gopher Gabe’s. I’m beginnin’ ter think he’s ther wust o’ the lot. So, look out fer him; an’, ’special, look out fer yerself.” The scout went away, slipping noiselessly down the back stairs, then out into the night. But he saw no lurking form as he went. Buffalo Bill knew now that it was a race between Death and Success, in his case and Nomad’s. If he did not soon “get” the leaders of the band he was after, they would “get” him. Evidence was accumulating, showing that the desperadoes had a surprising number of friends and allies, in some places where they were least expected. He was still worried over the fate of the baron. Since the German had dropped so suddenly and mysteriously out of sight not a word had been received from him or about him. The same was true of Vera Bright. The show manager claimed not to know what had become of the woman, and appeared to be much mystified. It was useless to ask Gopher Gabe. Matt Shepard was being fatally handicapped in his honest efforts to aid the scout by reason of his belief in the statements of the saloon keeper.