Angell went off, following the route taken by the savage trio.
He was out of hearing when it occurred to Buffalo Bill that the three Indians might retreat to the cave spoken of by Raven Feather where Myra Wilton was hidden a prisoner, with the chief’s brother Crow-killer as guard.
If this should prove to be the case, Angell might not be able to return as soon as he had hoped when he set out.
It was probable that he knew nothing about the cave, for if he had, he would assuredly have spoken of it. Somewhat uneasy in mind, the scout lit a pipe and began to smoke.
Observing his sober face, Rixton Holmes said maliciously: “You are not feeling very well, in spite of the fact that you have turned the tables on me. I’ll bet a hat your pard doesn’t come back. He has played in luck twice, but he’ll miss it on the third trial.”
“His coming here in the nick of time showed you up as the champion liar,” returned the king of scouts sharply. “You said you had killed him.”
“And I thought I had,” was the calm reply. “He was lying on the ground up the ravine, looking at something below, when I stole up, used my knife, and tumbled him over the bank. I saw him go plunging down a hundred feet or more, landing in a clump of bushes.”
“He’s a hard man to kill,” said Buffalo Bill, as he blew a cloud of smoke into the air, “and he won’t miss this last trick. When he returns, the girl will be with him.”
“Do you care to make a small bet on that proposition?” asked Holmes, a queer look on his face.
The king of scouts regarded the villain curiously. “You think you know something that I have not yet discovered,” he said. “It’s about the cave, I am sure.”