The shots had been fired from both sides of the trail by men secreted in the dense growth. The nervousness of the horse had for the moment saved the scout’s life. The horse skimmed along the trail like a bird on the wing as the scout wheeled in the saddle with rifle ready to greet any who might try for a second shot. In that position the scout was illy prepared for the next dastardly move of the men bent on taking his life. A rope suddenly lifted ahead of the horse. The animal tripped over it, and plunged headlong down an embankment where river and trail veered sharply, and its rider was hurled far over, landing in several feet of muddy water and struggling to the surface half stunned by the impact. The horse regained its feet and limped up the bank. The man swept the water from his eyes, and started to follow the horse, when four rifles clicked and a hoarse voice shouted: “Say your prayers while I’m countin’ twenty, Buffalo Bill, for then you die.” CHAPTER IX. OLD NOMAD FINDS EXCITEMENT. After Buffalo Bill and Little Cayuse had left their pards and the prisoner near the old mine in the mountains, old Nomad found time hanging heavily on his hands. He felt just a little hurt that the scout had not selected him for a companion on this trip instead of the Piute. “Waugh! Ov all ther tarnation picnics yourn truly ever stacked up erginst this is ther plumb wust--jest leanin’ up ergin er rock fer erbout er month o’ Sundays ter see ’f ther pesky thing rises er sinks. “I’ve been propped up here for two hull hours sence Buffler rode out er sight, an’ I hain’t so much ez seen er bird. I’m gwine ter huntin’ rattlers round this hyar mounting, an’ see ’f I can’t stir up some ’xcitement.” “Are you uneasy, Nomad?” asked Hickok. “Now, lookahere, pard! D’yu ever yank er catfish out on ther sand an’ then watch ’im flop? Waal, whut d’yu think erbout his bein’ oneasy an’ lonesome?” “Why don’t you and Skibo wrestle?” “Huh? Who--Skibo an’ me? Say, Hick, yer jokin’. When I wrassles I want a man ’cordin ’ter my strength, an’ science, an’ good looks. Now, thet thar Skibo, he ain’t in my class, noways. He might wrassle with a bull thet girted ’bout eight feet, but ’f I sh’d git holt er him I sh’d break ’im in two.” “Yah, yah! Mars’ Hickok, an’ den dar’d be two niggahs in de rock pile.” “Waal, I’ll be gumdastercated!” This exclamation caused the others to look at Nomad, who was staring, half wildly and half happily, out across the plain. They followed his gaze and saw three Indians on ponies just emerging from the thick growth beyond the lift of a terrace, half a mile to the west. Another and another followed, until fifteen were in view, riding eastward in a leisurely manner. “Why’n ther blue kinks o’ my curly hair, couldn’t them thar pesky reds ha’ come this way an’ started sumthin’? Sufferin’ wild cats! How my muscles ache, an’ how my brain itches! Say, Hick, whar d’yu s’pose them pesky redskins air goin’?”