McGowan, with a wave of the hand to those in the sheriff’s office, left the room, and the court-house. A few moments later, Buffalo Bill and the baron also left. “You’ve made a fool of yourself, baron,” said the scout, as soon as he and the Dutchman were out of the court-house. “How’s dot?” asked the bewildered baron. “A pair of blue eyes have got you locoed. They held you in that Three-ply camp until the real thieves got you implicated in the bullion robberies.” “Vell, I like dot Frieda pedder as any girl vat I efer saw. Dot’s right.” The scout laughed. “Vat’s to be done now, Puffalo Pill?” “We’ll have supper, and then we’ll ride out and camp in the vicinity of the Three-ply Mine. We can learn more by playing this game on the strict q. t. than by going about it openly.” “I’ll bed you dot feller, Pernridder, und dot odder feller, Chacops, knows more as dey vants to----” “Stow it, baron! You don’t want to throw any suspicions on men who are possibly innocent. Developments will prove who are guilty, and who are not. We’ll let events speak for themselves.” In the hotel office the clerk halted Buffalo Bill and handed him a letter. The letter was addressed in an unfamiliar hand, and the postmark showed it had passed through the Phœnix post-office at 4 P. M. It was then only half-past 5. The enclosed sheet bore the following: “BUFFALO BILL: If you know when you’re well off, you’ll leave this bullion business at the Three-ply strictly alone. Attend to your own affairs. This is the sheriff’s business, anyway. A word to the wise is sufficient. Talk is cheap, and writing is fully as cheap as talk, but don’t pass up this warning if you value your scalp. “ONE OF THE THIEVES.” The scout allowed the baron to spell out this warlike communication. “We have the robbers scared,” remarked the scout. “Whenever a criminal tries to frighten an officer off his trail with such a letter, he proves that he’s losing his nerve. What time did you and McGowan and the other two reach Phœnix, baron?” “Aboudt haluf-bast dree.” “Did you stop anywhere on the way to the sheriff’s office?” “Ve shtopped at der bost-office. Pernridder vent in und asked for der Dree-bly mail.” The baron, putting two and two together, in his logy German way, began to grow excited. “Py shiminy! Dot sgoundrel, Pernridder, must haf mailed dot ledder ven he----” “Not so fast, baron,” warned the scout. “You’re getting ahead of developments. This is only a small piece of circumstantial evidence, and not half so convincing as finding a bar of stolen bullion in a man’s saddle-bags.” The baron grew quiet and pensive. After supper he and the scout mounted their horses and, with several days’ rations at their saddle-cantles, rode out through the “Five Points,” then along Grand Avenue, and so into the Black Cañon trail on their way to the Three-ply.