Hickok finally went back to the Red Tiger, hoping to pick up his pards if he discovered no further knowledge of the plot to destroy not only Cody, but his comrades. The man from Laramie had not discovered the means by which they were to be disposed of, but he had learned that these men were desperate enough to stoop to any crime in order to continue their process of wholesale robbery of the Indian tribes. He took a peep inside, but none of his pards were there. The coroner and sheriff were present and several hangers-on. Hickok hurried away again, determined to get back to the hotel at once and tell Buffalo Bill what he had learned. He had not covered one-half the distance when there came a thunderous crash that made the surrounding low buildings rock. Hickok paused to locate the direction of the explosion, which seemed to have come from all points of the compass at once. As he looked a familiar figure darted out from between two buildings and made down the street, keeping in the shadow. “It’s Bloody Ike or I’m an ape,” muttered the Laramie man, taking up the pursuit. Out of the settlement dashed pursued and pursuer, the latter confident that the former had been up to some deviltry and feeling that in some way it concerned himself and Buffalo Bill. Half a mile out Bloody Ike reached an encampment of Indian traders who had several horses tethered on the plain. Hickok was near enough, crouched in the grass and weeds, to hear the conversation. The man wanted to buy a pony, and soon struck up a trade. Without even a saddle he mounted and rode away. He was hardly out of sight before the Laramie man was bartering for a pony. He had noted one in particular that he wanted, for the little fellow was doing its best to get away and follow the animal ridden by Bloody Ike. Hickok paid a generous price, and the moment he mounted the pony dashed out on the plain, in the direction taken by Bloody Ike, at breakneck speed. “So,” said the Laramie man to himself, “I guess I can follow the trail if it is dark.” He leaned well forward on the animal’s neck, and watched its ears outlined against the sky. At every attempt to whinny he slipped his hat over the pony’s nose. After half an hour’s riding Hickok heard the whinny of a pony, clear and loud, not one hundred yards ahead. The animal he rode would have answered had he not jerked it suddenly back upon its haunches, and then dismounting slipped his hand over its nose until he could prepare a muzzle from the pocket of his heavy coat. As soon as he was in the saddle, the pony again dashed ahead, as if determined to overtake the animal ridden by Bloody Ike. The chase led into the foothills and then the rockier, harder climbing. Hickok kept a sharp lookout ahead, for he well knew that the pony he bestrode would overtake the other if possible, and he did not care to come upon Bloody Ike unexpectedly when the latter had halted and discovered that he was pursued.