Carl Henson was so excited that he would have rushed down the hill in spite of his promise to obey Buffalo Bill’s orders, if Bart Angell had not caught him by the arm and held him back. “Keep cool, sonny,” was the big backwoodsman’s admonition. “You’ll shore hev a chance ter take part in ther circus, but you got ter remember that Buffalo Bill aire ther ringmaster.”
The king of scouts, still watching the scene in the basin, was both relieved and delighted to observe that Holmes was having trouble with his captive. Myra Wilton had refused to mount her pony. An angry discussion was evidently taking place.
Meanwhile, Wild Bill, active as a cat and with the cunning and discretion that had so many times stood him in good stead, was making quick time toward the trail beyond the peak.
Once Myra Wilton turned and looked toward the spot where Buffalo Bill and his two companions were concealed. Did she know they were there?
The king of scouts was in doubt on this point, but the inference was that Holmes believed that she suspected help was near, for, while she was looking at the point of concealment, the villain caught her around the waist, lifted her from the ground, and, despite her struggles, began to carry her in the direction of the peak.
“Come on, boys,” said Buffalo Bill, as he leaped to his feet. “My slate is smashed. It’s now a case of get there.”
When they reached the basin, Holmes and the girl were out of sight. The huge rocks of the hollow hid them.
But as the objective point of the alarmed and desperate villain must be the peak trail, the king of scouts pressed forward, running as he never had run before.
He outstripped his companions, and was in an open space that permitted a view of the base of the peak when he stopped in amazement.
Rixton Holmes was ascending the peak. Assisted by the rocky rings, he had reached a point over fifty feet from the base. His strength must have been prodigious, for he still held the girl in his arms.