"Whatever has happened, we must go to him," he snapped. "Frank, you and Sam stay here with the horses. The rest of you come with me. Be lively now!" Yet before the desperadoes were out of their saddles, they received still another surprise. The fires vanished. With a suddenness that savoured of the magician's art, the two balls of flame disappeared before their very eyes. "It's the Devil's work," gasped Bud Noble. "Devil nothing!" snarled the world-famous desperado. "Come on! _We must rescue Comanche!_" Little relishing the task of advancing down the canyon whose jagged sides seemed alive with men, so excited were the imaginations of the outlaws, they hastened on, stumbling and tripping over the rock-strewn trail. With Wild Bill beside him, Jesse led the way. Every few yards they stopped to listen. But all was as silent as the tomb. "I reckon we're purty close to whar the fires were," whispered Wild Bill, at last. "I can smell the smoke from 'em." "Guess you're right. Boys, get your shooting irons ready. We're liable to run into an ambush any time. Keep to the rocks as much as you can." But his warning was of no avail. Of a sudden, the still, hot air was rent with whoops and yells. "Injuns, or I'm a nigger!" gasped Wild Bill. "Poor Tony! He's in for it bad--unless we get to him!" Jesse, however, had made a more important discovery. The shouts of defiance had come from above. And as the last warwhoop rolled back and forth between the towering cliffs, he raised his pistols, pointing them at random. Crack! Crack! Sharp and loud their report rang out. Sounded a shriek of mingled pain and terror and the next instant a dark mass came hurtling down upon the little group of men standing huddled together on the rocky bottom of the canyon. The smell of powder broke the spell that had fallen upon Jesse's comrades. With rousing cheers, they greeted the falling form. Viciously their pistols barked as they emptied them at the towering cliff. But their exultation was short lived. Yells, hoarse with rage, broke from the Indians. High above them rang some commands in the native tongue. And the next instant a deluge of rocks and stones was launched from the cliff above. Fortunately for the little band of outlaws, the Indians had misjudged their position and the avalanche of missiles fell to the south of them. Some of the scattering stones, however, struck the bandits, inflicting flesh and scalp wounds. Walled in between the two sides of the canyon, the din was deafening. All at once, as there came a momentary lull while the redskins awaited the result of their broadside, a voice bellowed: "Back, boys! Run for your lives! The bucks have tons of rocks!" It was Comanche Tony, who, despite the danger he ran of having a knife jabbed into him as he spoke, had braved death to warn his pals. A moment Jesse hesitated.