“Any of you lads know Bascomb, otherwise Slocum, the deserter from Fort Apache, by sight?” he demanded.
“I do,” replied a grizzled trooper.
“Go into that cave, Smith,” ordered Doyle, “and report whether the fellow you find there is Bascomb.”
Smith threw his reins to a comrade, slid down from his saddle, and rattled into the cave. A minute later he rattled out:
“It’s him, all right, leftenant,” said Smith. “I could pick him out from among a thousand.”
“Dead, is he?”
“As a smelt.”
Smith lurched back into his saddle.
“That’s a job the government has been saved, at all events,” remarked Doyle. “What can we do for you, Buffalo Bill?” he added.