“The traitor!” was the scout’s indignant thought, as he flashed Conover a look of high scorn. “This is worse than that affair of the Niobrara.”
A way opened before him between ranks of Indians, and Buffalo Bill was conducted through it into a stone prison.
When he was thrust in, and the door banged behind him, a human form flung itself against him.
“Ach! Donnerwetter! Dis is awful!”
It was the baron.
CHAPTER XXIV.
BUFFALO BILL HEARS THE TRUTH.
Buffalo Bill knew the worst. He and his friends were condemned to death. They were crouched together in the little prison, whose shining bars and heavy door were too much for their combined strength. Wild Bill and Nomad were there, as well as the baron and the scout.
The Piute and his Apaches, out scouting when the attack of the Red Feathers was made on Wild Bill and Nomad, had escaped, perhaps by running, and where they were now, or whether living or dead, could not be told.
Though knowing now the worst, Buffalo Bill and his friends were not cast down. Peril only seemed to quicken the spirits of Wild Bill. While as for old Nomad, he did not fear Indians, nor did he fear death.
Nor was the baron as much alarmed as one might have expected.