Buffalo Bill haunted the scene of disaster. He could not give up hope that Hickok had escaped. But no clue was uncovered that led to any other conclusion than that Wild Bill had perished miserably.
Then Buffalo Bill began an investigation on his own hook to discover the author of the tragedy. Lambert, the hotel proprietor, had no idea regarding the miscreant or his object. He—Lambert—did not know that he had an enemy, and he could not imagine the object of any man in destroying his property, and at the same time taking the lives of innocent people.
The scout began to suspect that he and his pards were the object of the dynamiters.
“Were there any inquiries yesterday,” he suddenly asked of Lambert, “concerning the sleeping quarters of any of your guests?”
The hotel man started, and then answered:
“Yes; Dave Green asked me about you and your party—who you were and what rooms you had. He said he guessed he would see if he couldn’t sell you a quarter section up the valley.”
“Who was with him at the time?”
“Jim Price, the Indian agent.”
“Did you see either of these men about town after the explosion last night?”
“Yes, I saw Price, and he said Green was laid away, ossified, at the Red Tiger.”