“All same make um believe sleep on floor Red Tiger Saloon; hear bad paleface talk.” “Did you learn their names?” “One Jim Price, other all same Dave. Jim give Crows bad blankets, bad meat, bad whisky. Dave sell Indians sand for hunting grounds, Jim pay Dave good blankets, good meat, good rum.” “I see; Price is the Indian agent, and Dave is a land shark?” “Ugh!” “And they are going to send me a fake message, purporting to come by wire from Washington, to report at Virginia City. Then on the way I am to be ambushed and shot by Crow bandits?” “Ugh!” “Where do these fellows hang out?” “All same Red Tiger--drink heap rum.” “Perhaps I had better run over to the Red Tiger for a little while before turning in,” remarked the scout, once more buckling on his belt which he had removed. “Me go?” asked Cayuse, an appealing look in his black eyes. “Ole Skibo like pow’ful well to tote along, Mar’s Billyum,” urged the colored giant. The scout laughed and said: “Yes, if you wish, but I think it would pay you better to turn in and sleep.” “My sentiments, pard,” added Wild Bill, as he sought the bed. The other three went out quietly at a side door without meeting any one, and the noisy crowd in the barroom drowned all sound of their egress. Five minutes’ walk brought them to the Red Tiger Saloon, a place of ill repute, even for this wild country. There the cutthroats and gamblers congregated, and scarcely a week in the year passed without its tragedy at the Red Tiger. Card disputes sometimes ended in wholesale shooting, and, only two weeks before, three funerals resulted from one night’s rough house in the infamous inn. When Buffalo Bill and his pards arrived the crowd had reached a stage of drunkenness which dulled its perception, and the strangers were unnoticed. Several men were stretched out on benches and floor in drunken stupor, and others were drinking or wrangling as to whose turn it was to treat. Others were attempting, with drunken persistence, to play cards, but the stakes at the corners were knocked about by gesticulating elbows, and coins rolled about the floor. Cayuse looked about for a moment, and then approached the scout. In a low tone he said: “Price play cards with heap fool drunks; steal um money; Dave drunk.” The scout easily picked out Price, and when opportunity offered approached unnoticed. He also secured a good look at the debauched face of Dave, so that he could recognize the fellow if they ever met again. Price was too drunk to be acute, but he was still sharp enough to rake in all the money of those with whom he was pretending to play. Buffalo Bill closely watched the manipulations of this representative of Uncle Sam, and was soon convinced that the fellow was an unmitigated scoundrel who would rob his best friend if opportunity offered.