Latimer was but half dressed, but he had a rifle, and when Buffalo Bill caught sight of him he was firing with it through one of the windows, having incautiously hoisted the sash for the purpose. A pattering shower of bullets swept through that window, and it was only luck that kept Latimer from being hit. Buffalo Bill seized him by the arm and drew him against the wall, out of range of the shots. “That is suicidal, Latimer,” he said. “Stand back here.” “It is Indians!” said Latimer, in great excitement. “Yes, I know it.” “They are attacking the house!” “Yes, I know that, too. But you don’t want to let yourself be killed by them. Lie down here; it’s safer.” He drew Latimer down, dropping to the floor himself. Some of the Indian bullets were coming through the walls, showing that they had a few rifles of strong power. Sounds of Indians trying to break into the house at the rear caused the scout to leave that spot a minute later; and John Latimer leaped up and went with him. The Indians had broken in the kitchen door, and were raiding the kitchen and the food closets. Apparently, they were bent on looting, as much as anything else. Latimer became so excited when he saw this that he rushed out into their midst like a wild man, striking with his clubbed rifle. Before Buffalo Bill could prevent, Latimer had been knocked down by them, and, seeing this plight, the scout fired into the Indians he saw grouped over the fallen man. When he jumped back to avoid the return fire, they beat a retreat from the kitchen. In going they took Latimer. The scout heard the Indians riding round the house, yelling like fiends. Then he dimly beheld a form before him, the form of the girl whom he had seen previously. “Come!” she cried tremulously, advancing toward him, with hands extended. “Come!” she repeated. “Now is the time!” Buffalo Bill almost forgot the howling of the Indians. Because of the darkness he could see her form but faintly, and her face not at all; but that she was young was shown by the lightness of her step and by the tones of her voice. Here was a chance to solve the baffling mystery, so far as she was concerned. He decided to attempt it. She clutched him by the arm; and when he did not resist she began to drag him, rather than lead him, toward a room whose door opened not far off. “Come!” she urged, in an agitated whisper, as she crossed the threshold, clinging to him, and pulling at him with nervous, almost frantic, haste. The scout stumbled as he crossed the threshold, and her grasp of him was broken; but he tried to follow her as she fled on. Then he came to a sudden realization that this was the room into which Nick Nomad had gone and from which he had not returned. This realization had no sooner come to him than he felt the floor sink beneath him, and heard an ominous click, which at the moment he thought the click of a revolver. He was precipitated violently downward, and, as he fell, he heard that click again.