Slocum drank with the rest of them; but while the others were soon half intoxicated, Slocum’s red face, growing redder and redder, and the strange and shiny brightness of his prominent eyes, alone indicated that he had been drinking more than his ordinary amount. While the loafers and the “bad men” of the town were thus celebrating at the Flash Light, a handsomely dressed mounted man appeared in the streets, accompanied by three others. The cry went forth that he was Buffalo Bill, but in reality he was none other than the scoundrel known to his intimates as Panther Pete. He had drawn his big hat well down over his eyes, shading them and the upper part of his face, thus making it difficult for even one acquainted with him to say this was not Buffalo Bill. He did not tarry with his men in the principal street; he had only entered it because he could get into the town and to the place he was going by that main street. Leaving it, he struck off into a side street, and soon was in front of a small house, that sat at some distance from other houses. Here he dismounted, swinging agilely to the ground, and threw his reins to one of his followers. “I’ll be out in just a minute,” he said, “and when I come be ready, for I’m betting that there will be something doing.” He ran lightly up the steps of the house, and set his hand to rap on the door. As he did so the door flew open, and in the doorway stood a young man, his face showing an angry flush. “You’ve come here again, you scoundrel, to see Ellen West!” said the young man. Panther Pete dropped a hand to the revolver that swung at his hip. “Is it any of your business?” he asked hotly. “It is. I’m her friend, and I’ve discovered that you’re a scoundrel, and I came here just now to tell her so.” “She isn’t here?” was the cool question. “No. I came here to see her myself, and----” “Tell me where she is, Denton.” “Go to the devil!” “Of course, you warned her that I was coming here this evening, and told her to clear out?” “Of course, I didn’t.” “What have you been saying to her about me?” “Nothing yet.” “You couldn’t well say to her that I’m what the drunken fools of this town pretend that I am; for she knows that Buffalo Bill has always been a man of honor.” “I begin to doubt that you are Buffalo Bill,” the youth declared. “I’ve always heard that he was a gentleman, and you’re not; and I’ve always heard that he was an honorable man, and if what I hear now is true, then you’re the blackest scoundrel that ever walked the face of the earth.” “And you would have told her this? You’ve already talked against me to her?” Panther Pete’s voice was cool, and even sounded kindly. Whatever his feelings, he had marvelous control of them. “Not yet.” “And why not?” “Because, you see----” He stopped, hesitating. “Make it as black against me as you please, but I’d like to hear it.”