"She loves me! I'm not one to waste much breath on talking love. My Ogallalla Sioux warriors know me as the soldier-killer. Be cautious when you go back, and give no hint to any one but Addie Neidic that there is a living being in Dead Man's Hollow, for so this ravine is called in there." "Do not fear. I am safe, for I counsel with no one. I knew Addie Neidic before I came here, met her by accident, revealed myself and wants, and she sent me to you." "It is right. Go back, and be cautious to give the signal if you seek me, or you might lose your scalp before you saw me." "My scalp?" "Yes; my guards are vigilant and rough." _"Your guards?"_ Persimmon Bill laughed at the look of wonder in the face of his visitor, and with his hand to his mouth, gave a shrill, warbling cry. In a second this mouth of the ravine was fairly blocked with armed and painted warriors--Sioux, of the Ogallalla tribe. There were not less than fifty of them. "You see my guards--red devils, who will do my bidding at all times, and take a scalp on their own account every chance they get," said Persimmon Bill. Then he took an eagle feather, with its tip dipped in crimson, from the coronet of the chief, and handed it, in the presence of all the Indians, to Jack. "Keep thus, and when out on the plains, wear it in your hat, where it can be seen, and the Sioux will ever pass you unharmed, and you can safely come and go among them. Now go back, get the list and all the news you can, and bring it here as soon as you can. Tell Addie to ride out with you when you come next." Jack placed the feather in a safe place inside his vest, bowed his head, and wheeling his horse, turned toward the town. Before he had ridden a hundred yards he looked back. Persimmon Bill had vanished, not an Indian was in sight, and no one unacquainted with their vicinity could have seen a sign to show that such dangerous beings were near. No smoke rose above the trees, no horses were feeding around, nothing to break the apparent solitude of the scene. "And that was Persimmon Bill?" muttered the auburn-haired rider, as he galloped back. "So handsome, it does not seem as if he could be the murderer they call him. And yet, if all is true, he has slain tens, where Wild Bill has killed one. No matter, he will be useful to me. That is all I care for now." CHAPTER III. A WARNING. When Wild Bill and Sam Chichester entered the saloon alluded to in our first chapter, they were hailed by several jovial-looking men, one of whom Wild Bill warmly responded to as California Joe, while he grasped the hand of another fine-looking young man whom he called Captain Jack. "Come, Crawford," said he, addressing the last named, "let's wet up! I'm dry as an empty powder-horn!" "No benzine for me, Bill," replied Crawford, or "Captain Jack." "I've not touched a drop of the poison in six months." "What? Quit drinking, Jack? Is the world coming to an end?"