As yet Hickok believed that his presence was unknown to the man ahead, but in this he soon discovered that he was mistaken, and to his own cost. Pulling his pony to a standstill in a rough defile, Hickok listened for hoofbeats. Then almost at the pony’s feet he saw a spark, crawling and sputtering toward him. Hickok hesitated not an instant, but drove the spurs into the animal’s sides, and it leaped to one side with a startled snort. The pony’s jump took it over the edge of the narrow trail, where it lost its footing, and rider and horse rolled down a sharp declivity just as an explosion shook the hills and flying rock showered about them as they plunged into unknown depths. CHAPTER VI. THE BATTLE IN THE MINE. Skibo was the hero of the occasion and had won the grand prize. Indeed, almost any one of the cowboys and miners would have risked his life a dozen times for the words or the gift of the bride. But probably no man among all those assembled there could have performed the feat of strength of the giant negro. Back in town that night the news of Skibo’s wrestle with a bull had preceded him, and the modest darky was obliged to retire supperless to his room and remain there to escape the crowd that swarmed about the hotel to see him. That night Buffalo Bill superintended a crew which removed the débris of the wrecked and burned hotel wing. No bodies were found, and a great feeling of relief swept over the scout. But what had become of Hickok? was the question. He had dropped out of sight as completely as if the ground had opened and swallowed him. No one had seen him since he retired that night, and his partners had left for the Red Tiger. The scout determined to make an active search of the town and surrounding country at once. He more than half suspected Price had in some way been concerned in the disappearance of the Laramie man. He had confided his fears and suspicions to Little Cayuse, and the clever Indian boy was at work in his own way, while the scout was watching the removal of the burned timbers from the hotel ruins. When Buffalo Bill and old Nomad retired, well toward morning, Little Cayuse had not returned. Two of the pards already had dropped from the roster in the war on rascality as practiced against “Poor Lo.” “Whar’s thet papoose, Buffler?” asked Nomad. “I don’t know, but I suspect that our Piute pard is hunting for Hickok. Cayuse is a boy of few words and many deeds. He tells what he wishes to do after it is accomplished. “Thet’s jest his caper, an’ if he don’t strike er hoof mark it’s er mighty blind trail ter Wild Bill’s dodge corner.” “I’m a little fearful that Hickok started an investigation of his own and has fallen into a trap of some sort. These men are bad ones, and would not hesitate at any crime.” “Was ther rumpus t’other night er celebration in yer honor, Buffler?”