At two o’clock in the morning the late moon came up, giving light; and Snaky Pete delayed his attack until that hour, for the camp of the scout was in a dark hollow, and light was needed to make an attack on it successful. By the hour of midnight Snaky Pete and his men were on the mountain slope just below this camp, and they were creeping up the slope when the first faint light in the cast heralded the rising moon. Buffalo Bill had been duly diligent, yet he knew nothing of this stealthy approach of the road agents who were determined on his destruction. He had fallen asleep in the earlier part of the night, but now he was awake, having been aroused at about one o’clock. At his command Pizen Jane had lain down, dropping into sound slumber. The scout knew he was in a dangerous country. In addition to the road agents who had captured Nomad, Indians were known by him to be in the neighborhood. All signs pointed to this as a particularly dangerous locality. The scout sat in the darkness, before the rising of the moon. His feet were over the concealed fire in a hole in the ground, to keep them warm, for the night was cold, and his coat was drawn tightly about him. His rifle was by his side, and in their places were his revolvers and knife. The night was very dark just before the moon’s appearance, and he observed that it also was remarkably quiet. Though some wolves howled afar off, near at hand not a sound was to be heard. This was to his mind suggestive, and portended danger. He thought it meant Indians. Whether they were crawling on him or not, he could not tell, but that Indians were moving about seemed probable, even in the deathly stillness. His horse, which had been grazing peacefully, became restless. However, after a few snorts it settled down again to nibbling at the scanty grass, though soon it ceased to feed. The scout rose now, undoubling his tall form and standing erect in the darkness, with rifle in hand and head bent in a listening attitude. He saw the dark shape where the woman lay. “No use to arouse her,” was his thought; “she needs all the sleep she can get.” Pizen Jane was still an enigma to him, in spite of the vast amount of talking she had done. The information given of herself had not been much more informing than word puzzles, but she had clung to him, refusing to leave him, while stoutly declaring that her mission there was the same as his--to hunt down outlaws. When he heard nothing, the scout walked out to his horse. He found it with head up and ears pricked forward, as if it either saw or heard something suspicious. Standing by his horse, with hand on the lariat close to its nose, the scout looked out into the silent darkness, while his imagination pictured there crawling Indian forms. He did not think of outlaws.