They had not been gone half an hour when Nick Nomad came charging into the hotel with important news. His news was of vital import, and his disappointment was great when he discovered that the scout and the baron had left. Bernritter and Jacobs, intent on making a big “clean-up” and a safe getaway, were drawing upon all their resources to foil Buffalo Bill and his pards. CHAPTER IV. AT THE “EL RIO.” When the trapper and the little Piute left the sheriff’s office they were expecting immediate saddle-work; but in this Nomad, at least, was disappointed. Halting among the oleanders that bordered the gravel-walk leading from the court-house steps to the street, the trapper and the redskin saw their men in animated conversation on the corner by the hotel. “They don’t appear ter like ther way things aire goin’, Cayuse,” said the trapper. “Ugh!” said Cayuse, who thought much and said little. “Anyways, they appears ter hev made up their minds ter somethin’,” went on the trapper, a moment later. “Jacobs is goin’ off down ther street, an Bernritter is goin’ inter ther hotel. Bernritter fer you, son, an’ I’ll shadder Jacobs.” “Wuh!” On reaching the edge of the square, Cayuse crossed in the direction of the hotel, while Nomad turned to the right and sauntered along on the side of the street opposite the one where Jacobs was walking. Jacobs walked two blocks and turned in at a gambling and drinking-resort which a gold sign proclaimed to be the “El Rio.” Thereupon Nomad crossed over and entered the El Rio himself. It was too early for the gamblers. The El Rio was almost deserted. A bar ran along one side of the mirrored and tinseled room, and along the other side were arranged roulette-tables, faro lay-outs, poker-tables, and other gambling paraphernalia. Toward the rear, the big room merged into a three-foot corridor, on either side of which doors opened into private gambling-rooms. Nomad entered the front door of the “chance” establishment just in time to see Jacobs entering a private room. It was the first room on the left, off the rear corridor. A low-browed, villainous-looking man entered the room with Jacobs. The door closed. The trapper sauntered over to the bar and bought a cigar. Then he walked back, announced his desire for a retired place, and was shown by an attendant into the first room on the _right_. “Forty-rod,” said he to the waiter; “a stiff glass o’ et.” The waiter brought the “forty-rod,” received his pay, and a generous tip, and retired. Nomad had no intention of beclouding his faculties with the contents of the glass, so he left it untasted. Pulling off his boots, the moment he was alone, he took them under one arm and passed noiselessly to the door of the room. With a soft hand he turned the knob and drew the door slightly ajar.