Old Nomad, who had been awakened by the rifle shot and the clamor, heard it, and recognized it at once. He sat bolt upright, listening for its repetition. It came again, clear and unmistakable. “Buffler!” he said, with a thrill of recognition. Then he rolled to the door of the hut, for he was bound; and from the open doorway sounded a cry similar to that which had come from the hillside. When Buffalo Bill heard it, a great load of dread rolled from his heart. “Nomad!” he said. “Thank Heaven he is alive!” Pizen Jane had been standing close by the door, on the outside, when Nick Nomad uttered that cry of the dog owl. “That’s queer,” she said, looking at him, seeing him faintly outlined. “Have you got a dog owl hid about ye?” “A hull cageful,” he answered. And again he sent out the cry. Buffalo Bill was already climbing up the slope, knowing that the outlaws would soon be there. He was glad he had aroused old Nomad, but he regretted that he had drawn the rifle fire of the sentry; for he had hoped the outlaws would not guess that an enemy had gained access to that slope of the hill overhanging their permanent camp. But regrets were useless. The only thing to be done was to accommodate himself to the fact. When the outlaws, climbing up the hill, gained the point where the sentry lay senseless, they found him, and flashed lights to discover if he were dead or what had happened to him. By shaking the man, they aroused him; and he sat up, staring and wheezing, clutching at his aching throat. “I thought it was a coyote,” he gurgled. “And what was it?” “Well, I dunno; but somethin’ grabbed me and choked me, and----” “Must have been a man!” “I thought it--it was a coyote, prowlin’ round after a dog owl,” he explained. “I heard the dog owl, and then I thought I saw the coyote, and----” “Shot at a coyote? That was no way to do!” “Well, I didn’t know but ’twas mebbe a man.” They took him down into the camp, where Snaky Pete was nervously awaiting their report. Snaky Pete questioned him, and inspected his throat. “Finger prints there, it looks like,” he said. “’Twas a man. And if a man, then ’twas an enemy, er he wouldn’t slid out that way. Mebbe there aire more of ’em up there. Strengthen the guards, and every man stand to his post.” Old Nick Nomad, lying in the doorway of the hut, was listening for some other sound from Buffalo Bill. “What was the meanin’ of that?” Pizen Jane asked him, after the helpless sentry had been brought in. Nomad was silent, and she repeated her question. “I might say, if I thought I could trust ye.” “I’ll prove to ye that you can,” she said; “though I’m doin’ jes’ what I have been meanin’ to do all day.” She bent over him and cut the cords that held him, and then slipped the knife into his hands. “Now, what was it?” “Buffler Bill,” said Nomad. “He was out thar. Thet war his signal ter me; and I answered it.” “He’s got men with him?” she gasped.