Buffalo Bill had an idea that he would make some discovery by going through that pass that severed the range.
As they drew near the farther end, they could see through the opening that a large valley lay far below them, a thousand or more feet.
The pass had narrowed to less than a hundred feet, and arose in solid walls of rock far above them.
When within a short distance of the end, Buffalo Bill halted suddenly and cried:
“See there, Ben!”
“This end of the pass has been blasted out with powder.”
“That is just what it was, Ben, and—we have found it—see? The Lost Valley lies before us!”
The chief of scouts, since his meeting with the black giant, almost used up by starvation and wounds, had had his mind set on the penned-up settlers in the Lost Valley. He had given his pledge to the negro to answer the call upon him for aid, to go with him on what to other men would have seemed an aimless trail. He had pushed on against all dangers, all obstacles, and his intention was to triumph.
There before him was the Lost Valley.
It was no wonder that a triumphant smile hovered about the mouth of Buffalo Bill and his dark eyes glowed with joy. He had come to the end of the long and perilous trail.