Swearing luridly, Bascomb jerked at his second revolver with his left hand. While he was about it, the remaining three millmen rushed him, and he was compelled to retreat in the direction of the piles of tailings clustered about the rear of the mill. While this was going forward, Buffalo Bill, on the plank-walk at the rim of the tanks, was having the fight of his life. The Apaches had begun the battle with a rain of bullets. The scout, anticipating the volley, had dropped flat on the planks, and the bullets had passed over him. But the redskins misinterpreted the scout’s move, and thought he had been hit, and had fallen. Lusty yells of exultation broke from them, and two of the nearest warriors raced up the plank incline to get the coveted scalp. They did not get the scalp, however. The scout had more use for it than they had. Regaining his feet like lightning, he pulled the trigger. A futile _snap_ followed. Again and again the trigger fell, and the cylinder revolved, but not a cartridge in the weapon responded to the scout’s will. Buffalo Bill was amazed. He had carefully examined the weapon when McGowan gave it to him and the cartridges had appeared to be all right. With the two armed Indians rushing toward him, and others crawling up the incline, the scout’s situation was a desperate one. But he was equal to it. Crouching forward, he met the first Apache with a jump and a sledge-hammer blow. The redskin crumpled like a man of straw and dropped face downward over the toe-path. The second Indian the scout gathered up in his mighty arms as he would have caught a venomous dog. The Indian was a powerful man, and he succeeded in fighting loose, but only for a second. Again the scout was upon him. Grabbing the redskin, Buffalo Bill lifted his writhing form in both hands and cast him into the tank near which the battle was taking place. Never was the scout’s strong arm more in evidence than it was then. A third Indian was creeping toward him. He darted at the warrior like a fury, they came to hand-grips, and in the resulting struggle both tumbled from the toe-path between two of the tanks. The Indian had a knife in his hand; but in the wrestling-match, the point had been turned toward the Indian’s own breast. In the heavy fall from the plank-walk, the knife was driven to the hilt, and the redskin straightened out with the rattle in his throat. The scout raced out from among the tanks, to find that the men from the bunk-house and the mill had joined forces and were in hot pursuit of Bascomb and the remnant of his red followers. Buffalo Bill did not join in the pursuit, but made directly for the laboratory. There he found a broken window, an overturned assayer’s furnace, two bags loaded with amalgam, and two wounded men. One of the wounded men was the baron; the other was Jacobs. McGowan, white and weak, sat in a chair by a table, taking a swig from a flask. Old Nomad stood grimly over the bags of amalgam.