"With his horse shot and falling upon him, Buffalo Bill would have been killed and his prisoner rescued, but for the coming of the horseman referred to, and who put the outlaws to flight. He gave the name of Andrew Seldon, said nothing as to why he was in that part of the country, or where he lived, and went on his way. "When I came up with Buffalo Bill, and heard his story of his rescue, and the name of his rescuer, it at once recalled my old-time friend, and, with the scout as my companion, we later sought to find him. We trailed him to his home, where he had dwelt with one other comrade." "And where was that, sir?" "In the Grand Canyon of the Colorado, Miss Seldon." "And you found him?" eagerly asked Celeste, while the landlord and Harding gazed at her with deepest sympathy at what they felt she must hear. "We found his house, or, rather, the wreck of it, for, mining under a cliff a thousand feet in height, it had caved in upon them, burying them beneath a mountain of red sandstone." Celeste shuddered and covered her face with her hands, but very quickly regained her composure, and said: "Are you sure that my father was in the mine when it caved in?" "I am very sure, Miss Seldon, that both he and his comrade were. We, the scout and myself, were camped in the canyon, and heard the cave-in, and it felt like a mighty earthquake, and was at night. "We made a thorough search the next day, but could not find any trace of a human being, and their horses shared the same fate, with a dog, also, which we heard barking that same night. Yes, there is no doubt of your father's fate." "I thank you, Doctor Dick, for your telling me all; but I must see Buffalo Bill, the famous scout, and ask him to guide me to the fatal spot, the scene of my father's lone life in these wilds, and of his death," said Celeste, in a low tone that revealed how deeply she felt her father's fate. CHAPTER XXXIV. A METAMORPHOSIS. When Harding met with old Huckleberry, the stage-driver, who had so mysteriously disappeared, and whose fate was a mystery to the miners of Last Chance, that old worthy saw the coach drive on its way while he regarded its departure with the complacency of one not afraid to be left alone, and fully capable of taking care of himself. He stood for some time in silent meditation, after the coach had disappeared, and then, shouldering his rifle, struck off over the mountains, with an evident purpose in view. A walk of some ten miles brought him to a secluded nook in the mountains, a perfect basin a dozen acres in size, heavily wooded, with plenty of grass and water. A narrow pass, not twenty feet in width, was the only entrance to the basin, and this was securely fastened up with long poles.