“You’ll have a chance to take that back, if these red gentlemen don’t make short work of me,” he said. “Never does any man tell me to my teeth that I’m a liar, and afterward live to brag about it. He’ll meet me with pistols in hand, and one or the other of us will turn up his toes to the daisies. You’ve heard of Wild Bill.” Barlow’s face paled. Wild Bill, the dead shot of the West, did have rather an unenviable reputation as a dead shot and a duelist; and it was said that he was quick to resent an insult, and would fight to the death at the drop of a hat. His black, sparkling eyes glittered now in a way to make Barlow quail. Yet Barlow reflected that this Western dead shot was a prisoner of the Cheyennes now, and that the chances of his getting away and avenging the insult were very slim. Barlow could afford to smile at the impotent rage of Wild Bill at that time. “You’ve heard what I said, Miss Arlington,” Wild Bill shouted again. “This wolf soldier is a traitor. He has turned renegade and joined the Indians. Believe nothing he says. But look out for yourself. I may go under, as he has it in for me, and these red fiends hate me worse than the devil hates holy water. So my chances are not good. But I want you to know the truth, if I’m to go under, that you may look out for yourself as well as you can.” With a snarling curse Barlow rode closer and seemed about to strike him, when Red Wing broke through, and with the flat of his tomahawk smashed the redoubtable and courageous scout in the face. The blow was not delivered with force enough to be bone-breaking, but it made a red outline of the tomahawk blade on the bruised flesh. “White man keep tongue still or me cut it out!” Red Wing shouted. Wild Bill subsided, having given his warning. He was sure that Barlow had become a renegade, and he was sure also that it was in part Barlow’s influence that was heading these young Cheyennes toward the Southwest and away from Fort Cimarron. Barlow was no more anxious to have the troopers from the fort overtake these Cheyennes than were the Cheyennes themselves. “I never yet knew a renegade that didn’t end badly,” was Wild Bill’s thought. “Deviltry generally gets paid in its own kind. But I’ll help that girl, and protect her with my life, if I can. Anyway, I couldn’t do less than shout to her that warning.” Barlow was returning to the girl’s side; he wanted to say something to counteract Wild Bill’s accusation. CHAPTER XXIX. A DARING RUSE. Barlow and the Cheyennes knew that they would be pursued without delay. When a band of fiery young Indians break away from a reservation, the first thing to do is to send troopers after them, to bring them back, or whip them into subjection before they have time to do any harm. In addition, the flight of Barlow from Fort Cimarron with the girl who had been held there on the false charge of the theft of the nugget would send pursuers after him.