Yet the warm currents of life ran through his veins still, almost as freely as when he was a youth, and he did not desire death. He desired to live, that he might further strike at the wrongdoers of the border; and even as he listened to Snaky Pete he was wondering how he could escape the doom which those words seemingly foreshadowed. Another heard Snaky Pete’s brutal and murderous commands. The other was Pizen Jane. She stepped courageously in front of the old trapper, brushing away the hands of the outlaws who would have restrained her. “Aire you a friend of Buffler Bill--the ginuine Buffler Bill?” she demanded. “Lady,” said Nomad, “I is happy ter say thet I’m one of thet man’s closest friends. I’ll never deny thet, even afore ther Judgment.” She faced around toward Snaky Pete. “Pete Sanborn,” she said, her words sharp as knives, “when you kill this man you shoot me down, too; and as fur as lettin’ any son of mine do a thing like that, I’ll slay him with my own hands fust!” Snaky Pete’s eyes glittered and his face almost grew black with rage. “Git out of my way!” he yelled, drawing a long knife. He lifted it, and jumped with it at the fearless woman. A rifle cracked, seeming far off on the slope of the near-by mountain. Snaky Pete stopped in mid-air, and, throwing up his hands, he fell to the earth, blood spurting from between his lips. The men of the camp stood still, shocked and confused; then a yell of wrath broke forth. Some of them threw themselves on their horses, while others rushed to Snaky Pete, lifting him. “Glory be!” screamed Pizen Jane, waving her gaunt arms. “If the devil is dead, I know who killed him! ’Twas Buffler Bill!” CHAPTER XI. THE DESERT HOTSPUR. Buffalo Bill had not only evaded and baffled the outlaws, but had circled around them, struck their trail, and had followed it so closely that, from the mountain side, he had been able to look down into the camp and behold the scenes which have been described. He had strong field glasses, that drew the actors close to him, apparently. He saw them so clearly that he almost fancied he could follow the conversation. His long-range rifle lay at his side. He saw that Nomad was there as a prisoner, and certain actions told him that Nomad was in peril. He also fancied that Pizen Jane’s life was being threatened. As he looked, lowering his field glasses occasionally, he fitted to his rifle telescopic sights, taking them from a pocket of his coat. On all the border there was not another rifle shot like Buffalo Bill. He was famous as a long-range sharpshooter.