“If you are afraid,” began the king of scouts, when his old comrade quickly and roughly interrupted:
“Afraid nothin’,” and upon the words he crawled into the room.
No bullet came to put an end to his existence. He listened a moment, and then stretched himself by the hole and assisted Buffalo Bill in getting through the trap.
On his feet, the king of scouts made for the window. The yard, or, rather, that portion within his range of vision, was clear of Indians. Where had Wild Bill and the Yelping Crew gone? And everywhere was silence. Within the house there were no sounds.
“Pete,” whispered the scout, “are we living in a land of enchantment? Fifteen minutes ago the air was filled with yells and gun reports. Now all is as still as the grave.”
“But ther Injuns kain’t hev left ther castle?” said Alkali Pete, as he vigorously worked his tobacco-filled jaws. “Mebbe they aire all in ther front room. This aire castle is stone, an’ sound don’t travel wuth a cent.”
“I am going to find out what the silence means,” returned Buffalo Bill resolutely. So saying, he went to the door and tried to open it. The effort was vain. The door was barred from the outside.
“Better work back through the tunnel, hedn’t we?” suggested the lanky plainsman.
The king of scouts nodded. The trapdoor was open, and Buffalo Bill was kneeling by it, preparing to descend when the door of the room opened, and Thunder Cloud walked in.
His countenance was grave, and he was shaking his head as he came forward and held out his hand to Buffalo Bill, who, upon the opening of the door, had quickly arisen to his feet.