They had heard the sliding of the coal as the scout climbed it; still, they could not see him. “Surrender!” yelled the fellow of the sulphurous voice. The scout had by this time unsettled the covering of the manhole. He now heaved it upward and aside; then quickly drew himself up through it. A shot roared behind him, as the light from the opened manhole revealed to the men in the cellar what he was doing. But Fortune still favored him. He was outside now, unhurt, in an alley beside the saloon, the alley opening on the main street. In another moment he was in the street itself. He ceased to run as soon as he was out in the light. But he did not tarry, for he expected more shots to come singing after him. The shooting had attracted attention, and the street was filling with men, who came pouring out of the saloon. In their midst appeared Matt Shepard. Then Nomad came whooping on the scene, hastening from the alley in which he had been left to watch. “I was trapped in the cellar there, Shepard,” the scout explained, “by some men who tried to shoot me. I want you to go in there with me, and we will make a search.” “Under Gopher Gabe’s?” cried Shepard, staring. “Yes, the cellar under Gopher Gabe’s; though it seems to extend, also, under some of the wine rooms.” “You bet, we’ll look into it!” declared the sheriff. “You jest foller me; we’ll interview Gabe about this.” The men who had leaped into the street were returning. Some of them had heard the scout’s declaration to the sheriff. They followed into the saloon, hard on the heels of Shepard, Buffalo Bill, and Nomad. The barroom was filled with a talking, excited crowd. A few men were still in the gaming room back of it. Gopher Gabe came out of the latter place into the barroom, as the scout and his companions entered. “What’s up?” he demanded. “Was that you shootin’ round hyer, Cody?” “I was being shot at,” Buffalo Bill told him. “’Tain’t ther fust time, neither,” Nomad whooped. “Bullets has been chasin’ him hard fer ther better part o’ two days. We’re gittin’ so anxious erbout et thet ef we don’t find sompin soon we’re plum li’ble ter throw fits.” Buffalo Bill gave Gopher Gabe a keen look, and passed on; the fat, flushed face of the saloon keeper revealed nothing. “As the thing happened in your cellar,” said the scout to him, “I have asked the sheriff to search it, and the wine rooms. Back there I stepped into a little room, which turned out to be an elevator and dropped me into the cellar, when the villains who were down there attacked me, and tried to shoot me. But I winged one of them, I’m sure.” “I reckon he must be thar yit,” said Nomad. “Lead on thar, an’ we’ll mighty soon find out.” “I heard shootin’,” said the saloon keeper, his tone that of apology; “but I reckoned it was out in the street.”