"You're right. Your money is safe. As to my name, call me Jack. It is short, if it isn't sweet. Some time I'll tell you the rest of it." "All right, Jack. Take your own time. And now get all ready to start either ahead or just behind the other party." "We'll not go ahead. Where will you stay to-night?" "Wherever you think best." "All right. This old Dutchman keeps rooms for lodgers. You'd better stay here, and if you don't want Bill to see you, keep pretty close in doors. He'll be out in the Black Hillers' camp, or in the saloons where they sell benzine and run faro banks. Bill is death on cards." "So I've heard," said Mr. Pond, with a sigh. Jack now went out, and Pond called the Dutch landlord to him and engaged a room. CHAPTER II. PERSIMMON BILL. As soon as the auburn-haired man who called himself Jack had left the German restaurant, he went to a livery-stable near by, called for his own horse, which was kept there, and the instant it was saddled he mounted, and at a gallop rode westward from the town. He did not draw rein for full an hour, and then he had covered somewhere between eight and ten miles of ground, following no course or trail, but riding in a course as straight as the flight of an arrow. He halted then in a small ravine, nearly hidden by a growth of thick brush, and gave a peculiar whistle. Thrice had this sounded, when a man came cautiously out of the ravine, or rather out of its mouth. He was tall, slender, yet seemed to possess the bone and muscle of a giant. His eyes were jet black, fierce and flashing, and his face had a stern, almost classic beauty of feature, which would have made him a model in the ancient age of sculpture. He carried a repeating rifle, two revolvers, and a knife in his belt. His dress was buckskin, from head to foot. "You are Persimmon Bill?" said Jack, in a tone of inquiry. "Yes. Who are you, and how came you by the signal that called me out?" "A woman in town gave it to me, knowing she could trust me." "Was her first name Addie?" "Her last name was Neidic." "All right. I see she has trusted you. What do you want?" "Help in a matter of revenge." "Good! You can have it. How much help is wanted?" "I want one man taken from a party, alive, when he gets beyond civilized help, so that I can see him tortured. I want him to die by inches." "How large is his party, and where are they now?" "The party numbers between twenty and thirty; they are in camp in the edge of Laramie, and will start for the Black Hills in a few days." "If all the party are wiped out but the one you want, will it matter to you?" "No; they are his friends, and as such I hate them!" "All right. Get me a list of their numbers and names, how armed, what animals and stores they have, every fact, so I can be ready. They will never get more than half way to the Hills, and the one you want shall be delivered, bound into your hands. All this, and more, will I do for her who sent you here!" "You love her?"