“As for finding our horses, I haven’t the least notion which way the valley and that drugged pool lies from this place. I have my six-shooters,” the scout added, looking down at his belt and holsters; “and, while that is surprising, it is certainly an agreeable surprise.” “I have mine, too,” returned Dell. “We must have retained enough of our wits to carefully guard our revolvers.” “That may have been less a matter of wits than of mere chance. However, we have them, and----” “Buffler!” The scout’s body grew rigid. A voice--the familiar voice of Nick Nomad--had suddenly called the scout’s name. “Did you hear it, Dell?” Buffalo Bill muttered. “Yes.” “I--I thought I might be imagining it; that, perhaps, it might be a part of the mystery we are trying to unravel.” “No imagination about the voice, Buffalo Bill,” reassured the girl. “It was real enough, and it certainly belonged to Nomad.” “Buffler!” cried the voice again. “Injuns--’Paches! Take ter ther road, an’ hustle.” Still in the dark as to where Nomad was, the mention of Apaches brought the peril of the situation clearly before the scout’s mind. “Come, Dell!” said the scout; “we can’t ignore that warning. Nomad is somewhere, and he is doing his best for us. We’ll go down the trail.” Together the two arose from the rock. The next moment they made the discovery that they were unsteady on their feet--and this at a time when they needed all their steadiness and strength. Reeling back and forth, they started down the trail. “Where are you, Nick?” shouted the scout. “Go on, Buffler, go on!” roared the voice of the trapper. “I’ll be on hand when ye need me. But keep ter ther trail! Keep ter ther middle o’ ther trail! Steady, thar, steady! Look out fer Dell--look out----” Dell was on the side nearest the brink of the precipice. As the words of Nomad, seemingly coming from infinite space, throbbed in the scout’s ears, he felt a sudden, terrific pull at his right hand. A cry came from Dell. Another instant and the scout was dragged downward across the trail, his right arm doubled over the brink, and a tremendous weight pulling him closer and closer to the chasm. He flung out his left hand, and, by rare fortune, the arm encircled a tree that grew on the edge of the precipice. He was too dazed for a moment to realize what had happened; and then, presently, the awful truth broke over him. Dell had slipped from the brink of the cliff, and was suspended in mid-air by the steel cuff and the short length of chain! On the strength of the cuffs and the chain hung the girl’s life! Buffalo Bill was a powerful man, fibered with nerves of steel and muscles of iron; and Dell, although she was slender, was compactly built, and of more than the average weight for a girl of her inches.