“Oh, come on!” Gopher Gabe growled. “We’ve got something to do, other than fightin’ this night, if that bank business is to be pulled off. That’s what we want to talk about; so, come on!” The Fool of Folly Mountain led the way back into the cabin, lamp in hand. This time he did not close the sliding door behind him; but it was a thing not noticed. He went steadily to the table in the middle of the room, set his lamp on it, so that the room was brightly lighted; then put stools round the table for the men to sit on. When he had done this he stepped toward the back room; but stopped near the doorway, and stamped his foot. Attracted by this, and by a scraping of feet and a rustling sound, Gopher Gabe and the men at the table looked around. What they saw paralyzed them. The Fool of Folly Mountain had two revolvers leveled, covering them. Beside him, in the doorway, stood the baron, holding two more revolvers. Out from one corner of the room had stepped Buffalo Bill, with two more revolvers leveled; and out of another corner Nomad had appeared, with still two more. “The game is up!” said the Fool of Folly Mountain. “You can see that I hold all the aces.” Gopher Gabe tried to rise from his stool, but sank back, an exclamation of bewildered amazement exploding from him. “Tricked!” said Benson. With one sweep of his hand he knocked the lamp from the table, smashing it; then they heard him crash through the one little window. Another man tried to follow him; when there was a flash and report, and he rolled to the floor; the man was Williams. “Hands up, everybody! The next who tries it will be shot down!” The words were from Buffalo Bill. “Cody, I’m the boss fool, after all; and deservin’ the name of the Fool of Folly Mountain; if I hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have put the lamp where it could have been knocked over. But you get by that window and down the first critter that tries to go by you.” “I’m by et now,” came in the voice of Nomad; “and you bet ther next devil tries it he goes down, jest like this thing on the floor that has swallered ther lead pill I sent at him. Gents, we’re hyer fer clean bizness.” The Fool of Folly Mountain got another lamp, from a stand near his elbow, and lighted it; then, holding it over his head, he looked at the table. Gopher Gabe, White-eyed Moses, and Juniper Joe sat there, rigid and scared; on the floor by the window, which had a ragged hole in it, lay the body of Williams. “Who in the devil’s name air you?” the saloon keeper howled at the Fool, his tongue so thick he could hardly pronounce the words. His face was white, his ratty eyes rolling, his pendulous lips were apart, and his whole huge body quivered with fear. “Yes,” said Juniper Joe, not less scared, “who air ye, anyhow?” The man of the blond hair smiled. “Wash off the stain that has turned my hair and mustache to golden, and make a few other changes, and you might recognize me; for I’m Cody’s old chum and side pardner, Wild Bill Hickok!”