It was like the sudden outburst of a chorusing band of wolves; for the old man had the power of making his yells peculiarly bewildering, and as if coming from many different points of the compass. As he yelled, he cast aside the concealing coat and pushed back the concealing cap, thus revealing to the astonished redskins the sight of a skeleton horseman, apparently seated on nothing but air, for the body of the old horse was at first indistinguishable in the darkness. As he thus displayed his skeleton lines, Nomad’s revolver began to pop; and, still yelling lustily, he rode with indescribable recklessness straight at the camp fire. It was enough! The superstitious and frightened Indians scudded like rats when Nomad made that dash. They threw aside whatever at the moment they were holding, whether weapons, food, or blankets, and dashed in absurd panic down the hill, running like mad. The moment for action on the part of Buffalo Bill had come. He had not known what form old Nomad’s interference in his behalf would take, but he had fully expected that Nomad would make an effort of some kind; and for that effort he was prepared and had waited. He pulled his hands free now, for the cords hung but loosely on his wrists, and with the knife that was in his boot leg he cut the cords that held his ankles. The disguised white man had sprung to his feet when Nomad made his mad charge. The next motion of the scout brought out the hidden pistol from his hunting shirt, and with it he took a shot at the painted figure of the renegade, toppling him over with a bullet through his shoulder. Then Buffalo Bill leaped to the assistance of the other prisoners; and with a speed that defied description he cut them free. “Move lively!” he whispered. “That’s Nomad. Run, while the redskins are frightened! This way!” He jumped from the vicinity of the camp fire, and led in the flight that followed, striking straight out into the darkness. Old Nomad, shining like fire and yelling like a band of coyotes, his revolver spouting fire and lead, and old Nebuchadnezzar snorting like a wild horse, charged straight across and through the camp, scattering everything. Not an Indian stayed to oppose the daring trapper; all were in flight toward the river. If the disguised white man who was their leader suspected that this was a shrewd trick, and the character of it, he was in no condition to make it known, or to rally his demoralized followers; for, with that bullet in his shoulder, he had fallen to the ground, and lay stunned and groaning. CHAPTER XIII. THE FLIGHT OF THE FUGITIVES. On the top of a low hill a skeleton form outlined in fire shone gruesomely through the darkness. At intervals from this specter of fire came shrill and peculiar whistles, and high, quavering cries. Now and then low chuckles sounded.