“I’m Buffalo Bill!” cried the scout; “those men are my pards! We’re helping McGowan. Get into the laboratory and help stand off those red scoundrels. Quick!”
Without waiting for more, Buffalo Bill dashed around the end of the laboratory and rushed for the cyanid-tanks.
Rushing up an incline that led to a plank toe-path along the rim of the tanks, the scout pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and waved it.
The engineer, faithful to instructions, was on the watch. The instant the handkerchief began to wave, the mill-whistle took up its wild clamor and sent ominous echoes through the camp.
The men poured out of the bunk-house and out of the mill.
Up to that moment not a shot had been fired, but the mill-whistle was followed by a chorus of yells from the white defenders and a burst of fierce whoops from the attacking reds.
A revolver cracked; then the popping broke suddenly into a fusillade—and the fight for the Three-ply bullion was on.