Across the street was Court-house Square. The little party crossed the square, passed along a graveled walk bordered with oleanders and overhung with the branches of pepper-trees, and presently reached the court-house steps. The sheriff’s office was in the front of the building. As the scout and his friends entered the office they beheld a little group of men consisting of Rising, the sheriff, McGowan, the mine-owner, and two other white men, all grouped about some one who was sitting in a chair. “Hello, Cody,” called Rising, stepping forward and grasping the scout’s hand. “What have you got me over here for, Rising?” queried Buffalo Bill. “You haven’t any idea that I’m on intimate terms with a bullion thief, have you?” “I’m the one that bothered you, Buffalo Bill,” put in McGowan. “It’s the thief himself that asked us to send for you. He says he’s one of your pards. What we want to do now is to prove him a liar as well as a thief.” “Puffalo Pill!” came a wail of distress from a corner chair. “Look at here, vonce!” At the sound of this familiar voice, Buffalo muttered an exclamation and whirled around. The baron was sitting in the corner chair, a picture of rage and injured innocence. As he spoke, he had lifted up his hands, showing the ugly manacles about his wrists. “Schnitzenhauser!” cried the scout. “Ole Weenerwurst hisself!” exclaimed Nomad; “ther ’riginal Hot Termale hisself, decorated with er pair o’ come-erlongs! Waugh!” “Ugh!” growled Little Cayuse; “heap shame!” Without another word, Buffalo Bill walked over to the baron and caught his manacled hands in a cordial and reassuring grip. “What does this mean?” the scout demanded, turning and looking at Rising and McGowan with a glittering eye. “This man is my pard. He has told you the truth.” “But he’s a thief,” protested McGowan. “He can’t be!” declared the scout. “He was caught with the goods on. Why can’t he be?” “_Because he’s Buffalo Bill’s pard!_” Buffalo Bill’s words made an impression. There was no doubt on that score. “Now ye’re torkin’, Buffler!” seconded Nomad. “Before an ombray kin trot with Pard Buffler he has ter show what he is. Schnitz, thar, hes done thet same. He’s a whole man, game as a hornet, an’ consequently he kain’t be er thief.” “Wuh!” agreed Little Cayuse. “Facts are facts, Buffalo Bill,” said McGowan. “Sometimes facts only _seem_ to be facts,” answered Buffalo Bill, pulling up a chair beside the baron’s and sitting down. “So far as the truth is concerned, you might just as well have those bracelets on me, as on the baron. Tell me about this.” McGowan pushed forward his superintendent and his cyanid expert, presenting them each in turn to the scout. Both Bernritter and Jacobs were in a tremor of apprehension, for there was that in the scout’s keen, calculating eye which seemed to probe deep into their guilty minds.