Without waiting for an answer, Buffalo Bill ran to the mouth of the cave, entered, and climbed up the rope that depended from the windlass above. As his head appeared out of the hole in the stone floor, he saw the dead body of an Indian.
The face was upturned to the ceiling, and was the face of Black Wing, the Comanche. The king of scouts, with serious mien, stood a moment by the body.
A glance disclosed the manner of death. The Indian had been tomahawked.
The other rooms were vacant. The Apaches had gone, and with them the two outlaws, Flag-pole Jack and Shorty Sands. But Black Wing had not been killed by either of the outlaws. They used pistols or knives, never tomahawks. The Indian had met his death at the hands of an Apache.
Buffalo Bill went back to the group of fantastically attired Comanches. His story was received first with amazement, then with savage indignation. Every face was turned toward Wild Bill.
The white leader of the Yelping Crew faced the Indians with flashing eyes. “Black Wing shall be avenged,” he said, in a voice that cut like a knife. “Peace be hanged. We’ll march to the castle, for the Apaches have gone back, of course, and camp there till we starve them out.”
Buffalo Bill knew that the time for conciliatory talk had passed, so he uttered no protest, but said quietly: “I think as you do, Hickok. The Apaches somehow got on to Black Wing’s plan and killed him. Then they hurried to the castle, taking the cut-off over the ridge that I took when I went from here this forenoon. But they may not stay there. The finding of Thunder Cloud’s body, the discovery of the dead Indian in the cellar, and the escape of the white prisoners will, I think, send them out again. And if they come back here they will come by the regular trail. Great Heaven, Hickok, they will come by the cottonwood tree! Alkali Pete and the Haydens may see them coming, but the chances to escape observation are poor. Come on, we must meet the fiends before they reach our friends, if it is possible to do so.”
The words were scarcely out of the scout’s mouth before the Apaches appeared.
CHAPTER XV.
THE FRUITS OF VICTORY.
Buffalo Bill saw the redskins rush out of the bushes into the open, and at once dropped to his knees and fired. A volley from the Apaches drowned the report of his rifle.