“Nomad is a prisoner,” was one of his statements, “and so is a woman from Cinnabar who calls herself Pizen Jane. I’m not just certain of her, but she bravely stood up before Nomad when that outlaw threatened him.” “She and Nomad will both be slain, if they have not been already,” said Clendenning. “It may be. I’m hoping otherwise. But I saw I could do no more then than I had done, and that if I expected to aid them I must have assistance. So I rode here to get it.” “You shall have it, Cody.” “I want twenty good men, well armed and provisioned. We’ll not be able to get back there as quickly as I came from there; but we can go as fast as possible. I shall rescue Nomad and root out that devil’s nest. If he has been killed, there will be some desperadoes of the Sepulcher Mountains who will pay for it with their lives.” “You can start as early in the morning, Cody, as you like, and you shall have the men,” said Clendenning; “I’ll give the orders right now.” He turned to the door. “Stop, major; I want those men right now, without a moment’s delay.” Clendenning turned back in surprise. “But you’ll have to rest, Cody; you can’t go back without proper rest.” “I’m fit to start back this minute, Major Clendenning. It will be a favor if you detail the men who are to go with me, and have them get ready instantly. I should like to have you order an extra horse for me, and while preparations are being made I’ll eat a bite, and then go right back.” Clendenning, amazed at the scout’s orders, proceeded, however, to carry them out. Twenty picked men were soon saddling horses, looking to their rifles, packing rations, and getting ready for a hard and swift ride to the Sepulcher Mountains. Buffalo Bill swallowed some food hastily, ordered his saddle pouches to be filled with more; and then dropped down on a lounge in the major’s headquarters for a few winks of sleep. He had hardly stretched himself on the lounge before he was sleeping soundly. He slept less than half an hour, during which time the preparations for his departure were being hurried; then he awoke, seemingly much refreshed and ready for any task. It was this astonishing ability to fall asleep anywhere and at any time, and to awake after a brief slumber apparently as refreshed as if he had slept through a whole night, that in part made Buffalo Bill the wonder he was on a border trail. He now brushed his clothing, ate more food, and then issued from the major’s headquarters. “Men,” he said, speaking to the troopers who greeted him, and who were about ready to follow him, “we’ll have a hard night’s work of it, and a part of to-morrow may be consumed if the outlaws have changed their location; but I know you, each of you--men of the gallant old Seventh Cavalry!--and I thank you in advance for the success I know you will achieve. If Nick Nomad has been killed by Snaky Pete’s desperadoes, then desperado blood will flow before we see this fort again.”