“Now, boys, to your places,” whispered the scout to the cook and the captain. “Signal your men, captain; be ready to fling on the fire a heap of that light stuff yonder when you hear me hoot, cook! All right!” The captain crept out once more and scratched with his finger-nail upon the canvas of each tent. At that the freighters began to wriggle out from under the canvas and crawl on their bellies to shelter beneath the wagons. Cody knew that the first fire of the outlaws would be aimed at the tents. Boyd Bennett and his villains would expect to thus kill or seriously wound several of the sleeping freighters and throw the others into utter confusion. Buffalo Bill remained no longer in the small tent himself. He crept down to the river-bank, and he and the sentinel saw each other. Cody expected a part of the attacking party would approach in the way he had come to the camp, only from the other direction. And this was a good guess. The outlaws--or several of them--dismounted and came along under the bank. In fact, so sure were they of catching the encampment asleep, that the scout heard their footsteps. They did not take proper care in disguising them. “Now, mister!” Buffalo Bill exclaimed, under his breath to the sentinel near him. Instantly this man dropped down in the grass, the other guard fell flat, there was a sudden pounding of horse’ hoofs down the ridge from the south and west. Then: Bang! bang! bang! A volley of rifle-shots tore through the tents inside the wagon-line. Instantly the shrill yell of Buffalo Bill, the Border King, answered the shots defiantly. The sound had often struck terror to the hearts of his red foes, and it was not unknown to Boyd Bennett and his comrades. “That hell-cat, Cody, is here!” screamed Bennett. The cook flung the light brush on the fire. It blazed up almost immediately, giving the men under the wagons a chance to see any of the outlaws that might venture into the camp. But none of them reached the inner circle. As those afoot sprang up the bank from the riverside, Cody and the man with him shot them down, or drove them shrieking with fear out of rifle-shot. Pandemonium reigned for a few minutes, however. Although Boyd Bennett yelled his warning, the gang did not give over the fight so easily. They poured round after round of bullets into the camp; but at first they did not realize that they were being answered from beneath the wagons rather than from the tents. Several of their ponies were shot down. Although the mules were stampeded for a ways, the ruffians could make no good use of this fact. Instead of catching the camp unawares, they were themselves ambushed, thanks to the Border King! “Escape, men! We are undone!” shrieked Boyd Bennett, at last. He had seen four of his men fall never to rise again, and two others had lost their mounts and had to spend precious moments in catching two of their dead comrades’ horses. Back the decimated party fled over the ridge.