“I’ll do my best,” declared Buffalo Bill. “And now good-by, old pard! If you go under I’ll see that there are plenty of those red devils on the trail to the happy hunting grounds to make up for your loss.” They wrung each other’s hands, and, although the spoken word was light, the look in each man’s eyes showed a deeper feeling. Buffalo Bill walked quickly to where the great white horse was feeding, and, vaulting into the saddle, the horse, without urging, started into his easy lope. Once the mounted scout looked back. Texas Jack stood in the middle of the trail looking more like an Indian chief than ever, he was so silent and stern of feature. They waved their hands briefly--a last farewell. Then the Border King disappeared around a turn in the trail, and Texas Jack prepared for his attempt, night now being not far away. CHAPTER VIII. FACING DEATH. Texas Jack had been a ranchman in Texas since early boyhood. His sentiments and affiliations were Southern, and when the war broke out he joined the Confederate Army as a scout. He was a reckless, daredevil fellow, yet high-minded, honorable to foe as well as friend. The noble blood of the Omohondreaus showed through the rough manner of the hardy frontiersman. It was Jack Omohondreau who came so near dealing an irreparable blow to the Northern cause by capturing President Lincoln and taking him South as a prisoner. How near the daring scout came to accomplishing this very thing nobody but those few Confederates in the secret--and possibly Lincoln himself--ever knew. However, when the Civil War was ended, Buffalo Bill, who had scouted for the other side, found Jack in Kansas, and it was through his influence that the young French-American was enlisted in the Federal Army. He was of cheery nature, fearless to recklessness, strong as a grizzly, and possessed of a handsome presence. Such was the man who had determined to return through the ring of enraged Sioux to give comfort and help to the besieged garrison of Fort Advance. He knew all that he had to risk, but, in his Indian disguise, and under cover of the early darkness, he hoped to accomplish his purpose. If captured by the redskins he well knew that death by the most frightful torture would be his portion. The Sioux hated him almost as fiercely as they hated Buffalo Bill. That he could speak their language was in Jack’s favor. And he knew that if he chanced upon any bunch of the reds a word or two might pass him through all right. Oak Heart had gathered several different branches of the tribe together, and many of the braves must be strangers to each other.