A moment he remained thus, and then came a distant report of a rifle that echoed and reëchoed among the cliffs, and Buffalo Bill saw the negro sink down upon his face as though dead.
Buffalo Bill was fairly startled at what he beheld. He had not thought of danger there to himself or to the negro. The shot had come so unexpectedly that, for a moment, he did not know where to look for an enemy.
It appeared to have ended the life of the guide, for he had fallen in a heap and lay motionless, like a dead man.
But the scout was not one to hesitate long when action was needed, or to allow a crime to go unpunished when he could bring the perpetrators to book.
Thoughts went like lightning through his mind. He thought of the people of Lost Valley that the negro had risked so much to rescue. Could they have killed their rescuer?
How far was the Lost Valley from where he then was?
Of course, it must be those from the valley who had fired on the black giant. But who they were he must know, and where they were, as well as why that murderous shot had been sent at a rescuer.
Bounding forward while these thoughts were raging through his brain, the scout reached a large rock at the base of the cliff.
As he did so, a man sprang in view through the break of the cliff, and within a few feet of the form of the negro. He was a large man, heavily bearded, long-haired, and he held a rifle in his hand.
With a wave of his hand to some one unseen, he called out: