Buffalo Bill believed that the reds were aiming for this gorge; yet they might have had another route in view. To make sure, he cut across the valley on a straight line for the mouth of the gorge to see if the trail was marked there, as well. The middle of the valley was a swamp, and one that the scout had never been through. He had no idea that it was so dangerous a place until he had gotten some rods into it. Then, in leaping from a tussock to what looked like a solid log, he found the log, hammock, and all, sinking under him, and there was no safe spot ahead on which he could alight. “Great Scott! I’d better go around, after all,” he muttered, in disgust, and turned gingerly on the sinking log. And then, to his amazement, he saw that the comparatively safe place on which he had last stood had disappeared! As he leaped it had toppled over and the quagmire had swallowed it instantly. All he could see was a long stretch of some ten or twelve feet of stinking, dimpling black muck! “However did I get over that place?” grunted the scout, in surprise. “Why, I’m due to go ten feet under the surface maybe, if I jump!” And it quickly became apparent that he might go that depth under the surface if he didn’t jump, too. The old log sank lower and lower, until finally the liquid mud lapped over it completely and began to rise around his ankles. The log was only about eight feet long. He crept to the end which lay nearest solid ground, but even then it was a good eight-foot jump, and from such an unstable footing that seemed well nigh impossible of accomplishment. Besides, the log began to tip. Where he stood it sank deeper and deeper, and with a splash of the filthy mire the other end shot into sight. Cody had to leap to the middle of the stick quickly to save himself from toppling over completely into the mud. There he wavered a moment until he caught his balance, and then, with grimness, looked about for escape. He couldn’t hope for any help. Indeed, he would have been more troubled than delighted to see any other person than himself in this swamp at just this moment. The matter of the pay-chest rested heavily on his mind. However he escaped from this situation it must be by his own exertions, and those alone. To try to wade to a more solid spot was to court possible extinction. To sink slowly into this muck and be smothered by it was a horrible thought. It chilled even the scout’s blood! And, meantime, the log was sinking steadily. Inch by inch it was being submerged, and the mire was crawling up Buffalo Bill’s boot-legs. The swamp was quite heavily wooded, so he was hidden from the view of anybody on the eminences around about. And, as he cast a worried glance about at the heights in fear that he might have attracted attention, he suddenly beheld the end of a tree branch almost over his head. “Ah!” exclaimed he, and his eyes glistened as he followed the trend of this branch with their glance.