Just as he halted his horse for water, confident that the coach could not be very far from him then, his eyes fell upon the trail beyond.
There was something in it which caught his eye. It was a revolver. He spurred toward it, dismounted, and cried:
“It’s Frank Powell’s revolver!”
He looked about him and saw tracks of horses, blood-stains, footprints, and the evidence of a struggle. Instantly he leaped into his saddle, and his horse was sent flying on up the hill.
A mile ahead he caught sight of the coach, and it was driving rapidly. He had no time to lose in overtaking it, so, drawing his revolver, he fired several shots.
The sound reached the ears of Horseshoe Ned who glanced back, saw who it was, and, wheeling his team in a broad space of the trail, drove back to meet the scout with all speed.
He soon drew rein, and the scout dashed up and leaped from his horse.
“Ho, Ned, what is the matter?” called out Buffalo Bill.
“Matter enough, Bill, for the doc, the detectives, and the prisoner is gone.”
“Gone where?”