Thunder Cloud hung his head. “We fired at the cliff,” he said shamefacedly, “and the Comanches fired back and killed four of my braves. Then we retreated to seek the wise counsel of Thunder Cloud’s friend and ally, Black-face Ned.”
“You’ll find him in the cellar. He is flat on his back.”
The Apache chief gazed at the speaker in startled inquiry. “Has he met with an accident?” he asked.
“Yes. An enemy, the most dangerous man in the West, nearly killed him.”
“The great white warrior, Pa-e-has-ka?”
Bat Wason nodded. Thunder Cloud shivered. “Where is he now, this dreaded foe of the Apaches?”
“In the castle. If you like, you may go in and lay him out.”
The Indian looked puzzled. The little outlaw grinned, and then explained the situation.
“I was in the cellar and got Ned out of a hole. Buffalo Bill had gone from the room where I found Ned, but I didn’t care about hunting him up. He is inside, though, and has the run of the castle above stairs, and thinks the game is in his own hands. Fool! The provisions are downstairs, and if we can’t kill him any other way, we will starve him to death.”
Buffalo Bill heard, and smiled. There was enough in his wallet to last him three days, and much might be done in that time.