“He came to Pocket City, and then followed on after the coach.” “Why?” “He had a letter for Bonnie Belle.” “From where?” “The fort.” “From whom?” “I don’t know.” “Did he overtake the coach?” “Yes.” “Did he deliver the letter?” “He did, pard.” “And receive an answer?” “Not a written one, pard.” “A verbal answer?” “Yes.” “Do you know what it was?” “I heard her say, ‘Tell him simply that I will.’” “Ah! and then?” “Texas Jack went back on the trail, and I drove on with my passengers, Deadshot Dean leaving me by one trail at the junction and Bonnie Belle going by the upper trail.” “And you did not hear of her passing back over the trail?” “See here, Buffalo Bill, you is chief of scouts at Pioneer Post I knows well, and you has a right ter ask all questions of me, but I wants ter say if it’s ter get Bonnie Belle inter trouble, I’ll be a dumb man, sart’in, and don’t you fergit it.” “Pard Sandy, that little woman has no better friend than I am, and I would protect, rather than do one act to cause her trouble; but I am on a secret trail, which I wish to see the end of, and you can help me by answering my questions and perhaps save much trouble, for I believe there is a plot on hand to rescue Silk Lasso Sam and his men by force, and you surely do not wish to see those devils again turned loose upon the trails more revengeful than ever?” “I does not, and I thanks you for being square with me, Buffalo Bill. The fact is I did not _hear_ of Bonnie Belle’s going West ag’in, but I happen to know thet she did go, and that’s all I can tell you.” “Well, I’ll ask no more, Sandy, to-night at least. Good night,” and Buffalo Bill remained in the Devil’s Den while the driver left it with his winnings in his pocket. The scout was the cynosure of all eyes as he leisurely strolled about the gambling-saloon, going from table to table, risking a few dollars at faro, and winning, then being equally as lucky at roulette, rouge-et-noir, and dice-throwing, when he received a challenge from a miner to play him a game of cards. “Oh, yes, I’ll play if you wish, though I had not intended to when I came in,” said the scout. “Waal, I plays for big stakes, and don’t you forgit,” was the answer of the challenger. Buffalo Bill took his measure in a steady look at him. He thought that his face was familiar, but he was not sure, for he could not recall where he had seen him before. He was a man even larger than the scout, for he was more brawny, weighing over two hundred pounds and as hard as iron. His face was bearded, his hair worn long, and he carried no knife in his belt, but instead four revolvers, two in front and one on each hip, so that no matter where he dropped his hand it must fall upon the butt of a “gun.” He wore no superfluous clothing, either, his miner’s shirt, corduroy pants, top-boots, and slouch-hat, pulled down over his eyes about making up his wardrobe.