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A tin lamp stood on the earthen shelf. Red Steve, covered by the scout’s revolver, moved sullenly to the shelf at the end of the dugout. There, somewhat in the shadow, lay the form of a cowboy. The scout could not see much of him, but he knew very well that he would see more of him later.

“Two!” called Buffalo Bill. “That’s your cue to begin the untying, Red Steve.”

“This ain’t goin’ ter be the end of this,” snarled the red-haired Texan. “Ye ain’t got no bizness buttin’ in on me an’ makin’ me let this feller go. Some big men over on the Brazos’ll call ye ter time fer it.”

“I’ll foot any bill the big men over on the Brazos present,” returned the scout. “Meanwhile, you heard what I said a minute ago, Red Steve. Carry out your orders and there’ll be no trouble.”

“But ye don’t understand! This here galoot is a villain from the spurs up, so——”

“I can’t see much of him, but if he’s more of a villain than you’ve shown yourself to be, I’ll be more surprised than I was when I dropped through your roof. I said ‘two’ all of a minute ago,” the scout finished significantly.