Texas Jack knew well what it meant. The first Indian he had killed, and whose place beside the dead tree he had taken, had been found by the sentinels. They knew that some shrewd enemy had been at work, and their yells aroused the braves all over the valley. The cries told the redskins as plainly as words that some white man was trying to break through their lines. Major Baldwin had thrown a line of sentinels outside the stockade, and these heard the cries and understood as well. They passed back the word that either Buffalo Bill or Texas Jack was coming. And so the scout was coming--on the back of the half-wild Indian pony. The danger behind him was great, nor was that still ahead slight. Some of the young braves, eager for scalps, had crept forward in the darkness, hoping to shoot some white man on the towers, or one that ventured beyond the stockade walls. As the war-whoop was raised these young braves started back for their lines on the jump. One of them saw the scout coming up the hill at full speed. Although Texas Jack was still in Indian dress, the warrior decided that no honest redskin would be riding in that direction at such a pace! He fired suddenly. So did the scout. The aim of both was true, for the Indian’s bullet killed the pony Jack was riding, and Jack’s bullet killed the Indian himself. Although badly shaken by his fall from the pony’s back, Texas Jack was on his feet in an instant and was running at topmost speed for the fort. He suspected that there would be a line of sentinels outside the stockade, and he raised his voice as he ran: “Hold on, men; it’s Texas Jack! Don’t shoot!” A cheer was the answer from the fort, while the Indians in the rear who heard uttered their war-whoop again and fired a scattering volley in the direction of the scout’s voice. But he was not hit, and, a few minutes later, he passed in through the gateway of the fort. Proud of his deed, as he had good reason to be, he shouted: “Slightly disfigured, boys, but still in the ring!” The commander greeted the scout joyfully, but with his next breath asked anxiously: “But Cody?” “Is a long way on his ride to Resistence, sir.” A cheer greeted this reply. “Thank God for that good news! I trust you were not hurt on your way, Jack, though you _did_ raise a merry rumpus in the Indian camps.” “Well, now! Didn’t they turn loose for a few minutes, sir? But I got only a shake-up, for I got too proud to walk, and the pony I cabbaged took a header with an Injun bullet in him. Somebody got worse hurt than I did, though, and I’m not kicking a little bit, as luck came my way.” “And it came our way, too, Jack! We’re mighty glad to have you back.” “Oh, that was my luck, too!” said Jack, laughing. “Buffalo was bound to come and send me on to Resistence with the news, but I wouldn’t hear to it, and finally we drew lots and I won.”