Nomad knew that he could not have been the direct object, for Jacobs and Bascomb, during their talk in the El Rio, had not known that he was on Jacobs’ trail. And yet, somehow, the trapper was sure that he had dropped into Bascomb’s work in the hotel. Bascomb’s light-fingered men may not have meant to get Nomad at the start-off, but they had got him, nevertheless. The trapper’s hands and feet were bound with towels, and there was a towel tied over his mouth. Where was he? He moved his feet around, and in this way discovered that he was in cramped quarters. The air was suffocating. Undoubtedly the miscreants who had treated him to this surprise had dragged him into the closet. Meanwhile, Buffalo Bill and the baron had been traveling along the Black Cañon trail straight into the ambushed Apaches whom Bascomb was to have in readiness. Nomad groaned at the thought. What good would all the information he had gained at the El Rio do him now? He was powerless to save Buffalo Bill! After his first spasm of chagrin and disappointment, Nomad fell to thinking more calmly. He recalled that Bascomb was merely to capture and hold the scout, thus keeping him away from the Three-ply Mine until the white and red thieves could accomplish their daring robbery of the mill bullion. Those who had placed Nomad in his uncomfortable position probably did not know what the old trapper had discovered at the El Rio. The robbery planned to take place at the Three-ply would, no doubt, still be attempted on the following day. Nomad’s work lay clearly before him: He must effect his escape as soon as possible, do something for Buffalo Bill if he needed anything done, and then, together, they would take what steps the scout deemed necessary for saving the Three-ply bullion. This line of action fired the trapper with a determination to get effectively busy. With the sweat pouring off him, and his breath coming from behind the towel-gag in gasps, he fought with the bonds at his wrists. A twisted towel is not nearly so effective as a rope when used for binding the hands of a powerful man like Nomad. He got his hands free, but a deep _boom_ of the court-house bell marked the half-hour before he had succeeded. To get the gag from his mouth and free his feet took him only a moment; then he staggered erect, groped for the door-knob, and reeled out of the closet and into the room. He was drenched with sweat, and there was a sound in his ears as of the buzzing of a swarm of bees. That blow on the head was responsible for the buzzing. And what mattered it? Nomad was free! The trail to the Three-ply lay before him. Fumbling for a match, he lighted a gas-jet. The room seemed in order. The chair by the window was overturned, and a spur lay near it, but, aside from that, everything was in place. The hall door was closed. Nomad pulled at it, and found it locked. The key, he discovered, was sticking in the lock on the outside.