It came soon enough.
The door opened before him, into the cellar, and some men jumped at him.
But as they expected to find that he had been knocked out by the dropping of the timber, they were not prepared for the facts. One went down from a blow of the scout’s fist planted where it would do much good; the others—there were four of them—tumbled backward.
In another moment the scout was out in the cellar, his revolver swinging.
“Stand back!” rang his clear voice.
When they came at him with a jump he fired. One man dropped, hitting the cellar bottom with a grunt. Another the scout knocked down, giving the rascal a left-handed side-winder.
The total result enabled Buffalo Bill to run to the other end of the cellar, looking for a way out.
One of the men on the floor opened with a revolver, but he shot wild, being excited, and not able to see very well.
The scout did not reply to the shooting, but groped along, looking for an exit.
He came beneath a manhole, with a pile of coal under it. He knew the coal could not have been dumped there unless there was a place above for a wagon to stand. So he scrambled to the top of the coal and set his broad shoulders against the iron covering.