But Buffalo Bill had been also discovered, and up to the outlaw's shoulder went his rifle, at the same instant that the weapon of the scout was leveled.
The two rifles cracked almost as one, and the outlaw reeled, tried to spur his horse in flight, and fell to the ground. The scout at once advanced toward him, revolver in hand, when in faint voice came the words:
"Don't fire again! Your shot is fatal!"
The scout put his revolver in his belt, bent over and took the mask from the face of the wounded man, his horse following him to the spot.
The face revealed was not a bad one—that of a man of thirty, with mustache, imperial, and hair worn long.
The scout made him as comfortable as he could, for he saw that he had told the truth, that the wound he had received was fatal.
Then he sat by the side of the wounded man for a while, the light of a full moon falling full in his face, and the scout heard him say:
"I am glad that I missed you, for I have done evil enough in my time."
"Who are you?" kindly asked the scout.
"My name is Alvin Wolf, and I had just resolved to lead a different life, for I am an outlaw, one of the masked chief's band."