That view of Wilkins following on after the scout struck sudden suspicion into the mind of Barlow. He followed Wilkins, and saw him go toward the room which the scout, as he knew, occupied.
“Something’s up,” he whispered to himself. Thereupon he took off his shoes, and crept through the hall up to Buffalo Bill’s door.
So cleverly did he perform this feat that even the keen-eared scout was not aware that a spy stood outside with eye to the keyhole, and hearing strained to the utmost to get every word that was said. No very close listening was needed, however, for in his rage Wilkins lifted his voice.
Barlow’s face grew pale, and he shook with rage as great as that of the young man who was talking to the scout. He knew that he was being ruined by that story, and if he could have safely reached Wilkins with a knife he would have struck him dead.
When he saw that Wilkins had about finished his revelation and would not remain much longer in the room, Barlow retreated into the yard for safety.
For a minute he stood in hesitation. The desire to kill Wilkins burned like a flame in his heart.
“I’ll do it later,” he said, as he moved off; “he can’t escape me. I’ll kill him for that just as sure as the sun rises.”
He hurried to the stables. There getting his horse he rode down to a palisaded gate. Being the officer in command, and stating that he was going to ride round outside for a while, he was permitted to pass out without a word of question.
He rode straight out from the fort into the darkness for a short distance, making the hoofs of his horse clatter, for the benefit of the listening sentry by the gate. Then he drew the horse down, and rode softly back until he was near the corner of the wall on that side, and tied his horse to a stunted mesquite that grew a few hundred yards from the wall.
Leaving the horse, he was about to slip on to the wall, and climb quietly back into the grounds by a way he knew, when a dark form rose apparently out of the ground before him. He stopped, hoping he had not been seen.