“Yes, but they were not killed, or, at least, if they were, they and their horses were dragged away in short order. Now, figuring that they are both alive and in their right minds, they are all the force necessary to follow directly after these villains. There must be an outlet to this cañon somewhere, and when these fellows flow out on the plains or into the bottom lands of some river they are likely to turn to right or left in their flight.” “I think I see your plan, pard,” said Hickok. “You think it best for us to scout along the rim on either side?” “Precisely.” “All right; here goes,” and the Laramie man dashed away along what was then sometimes called a “hog-back,” or long, low ridge of land. The scout galloped down on his side, and the novel chase was on. Occasionally the scout or Hickok rode up to the edge of the cañon and peered into it, hoping to catch a glimpse of their pards or the fugitives. For miles a stern test of the speed of their weary horses was made, but they had not discovered hair or hoof of the four men and four horses they believed were galloping down the course of the dry gorge. The only time lost was the occasional trip of one or the other to the rim of the gorge to glance along its bed. At sunset they seemed to have come out on a height of land which fell off rapidly into a beautiful valley. Tired horses plunged down the receding slopes of the cañon’s sides, and soon Buffalo Bill and his pard sat with the noses of their mounts together. They had bounded the pathway down which the fugitives and their own pards had fled. And over the green and smiling grazing lands to the southeast of them for miles there was not a moving thing the size of a coyote. The scout slipped from his saddle and walked up the gorge for a few rods. Then he returned and said: “They have not passed out of here.” Hickok whistled. “What do you make of that?” he asked. “Well, they had not more than five or eight minutes’ start of us, and we have ridden hard; we may have gained something on them in two hours’ riding.” “Correct. Suppose we ride up the cañon a piece, and then dismount, and give the horses a chance to blow?” “It’s a good notion, Hickok. I think we have those fellows jugged. I am confident if Nick and Cayuse are not too badly wounded that Price and his man will never get by them. I should sooner think they would find some favorable angle in the gorge where they are screened by the rocks and make a stand, believing we are all behind them in the cañon.” “As we would have been if it hadn’t been for the shrewd head of one W. F. Cody, in the service of Uncle Sam.” The scout gave no heed to the praise of his pard, but rode up the cañon, studying carefully the odd formation and the opportunities for scaling the sides. “Do you remember our little climb in the cañon behind Fremont’s Peak?” he asked of the Laramie man.