Buffalo Bill quickly decided what course he would pursue. He would walk to his camp, get some provisions and an increased outfit, return there for the balance of the night and go into camp, so as to make an early start in the morning directly on the trail.

So he set out at a rapid walk, and within three hours' time had reached his basin camp. He quickly set to work to look up some provisions and get ready for his trail, and in an hour was ready to start, mounted upon his best horse.

It was after midnight when he reached his camping-place, but he was soon asleep, wrapped snugly in his blankets, while his horse was resting and feeding.

With the breaking of dawn he was up and ready to start, and a few miles away discovered the spot where the outlaws had removed the m.u.f.fles from the hoofs of their horses.

From there on he felt no further anxiety about the trail, so cooked his breakfast, ate it leisurely, and again started on his way.

He understood now thoroughly why the outlaws had left no trails going to and coming from the Dead Line and other points upon the Overland Trail.

The m.u.f.fled hoofs of the horses explained this, and they stuck to their determination to leave no tracks until they got far away from the scene of their evil deeds.

Buffalo Bill did not believe that he would have to go very far from the Dead Line before he found their retreat, and was expecting to find out where they were in hiding within half a day's ride from his starting-point.

But noon came, and still the trail led him on. He had plenty of time, so did not hurry. He could do nothing alone, other than to discover the retreat, and then he would make for his rendezvous with the surgeon-scout, and together they would plan their future movements.

But night came on, and found him still on the trail. He was compelled to go into camp, for he could not follow it by night, and he soon made himself comfortable.

Again he started after daybreak, and a ride of several hours caused him to say:

"This trail is surely leading direct to the Grand Canon of the Colorado.

Can they have sought that weird land for a retreat?--yet why not, for no safer one could be found."

Within an hour more he felt that the country had a familiar look, and he was not long in discovering upon riding a few miles farther, that he had ridden right along there with Doctor d.i.c.k when on the trail of Andrew Seldon.

Suddenly he came upon the grand vista of the canon, and at once drew rein. There before him was the mighty view that had so impressed him on his former visit, and he knew that the outlaws must have found a retreat in the depths of the Grand Canon.

Not daring to go farther on horseback, he rode off the trail to find a hiding-place for his horse, and, after a search, discovered a little glen where he felt that he would be safe, unless his trail was discovered and he was tracked there.

There was a pool of water in one end and gra.s.s about it, so he staked his horse out, feeling that he could at least subsist comfortably there for a couple of days, should he be kept away that long.

Hiding his saddle and bridle he set out on foot, with a couple of blankets strapped on his back, his bag of provisions, rifle, la.s.so, and belt of arms.

He went back to the trail and again took it up where he had left it to hide his horse. Every step forward now was one of caution, for the country was open in places, and he did not know what moment he might come upon a party of outlaws and have to fight for his life.

But he reached the rim of the canon by dark, and a short search revealed to him that the trail down into the depths of the tremendous chasm had been discovered also by the road-agents, and their tracks led down into it.

The night pa.s.sed with a cold supper and breakfast, and then he set off on foot down the dizzy pathway leading to the bottom of the canon, for now he felt sure that he would discover the lair of the outlaws, and that done and his own presence unknown to them, he could arrange for an attack upon them at his leisure.

CHAPTER x.x.xVII.

THE MINER'S MISSION.

The gold-hunter, Andrew Seldon, rode on his way from his retreat in the canon, determined to risk his life by returning to Fort Faraway and reporting the presence in the Grand Canon of the masked outlaw band.

If recognized as Sergeant Wallace Weston, under sentence of death, he would be at once arrested and his execution would follow.

But he knew that Wallace Weston was believed to be dead, reported as dying of starvation in the desert at the time of his escape.

As Sergeant Weston he had been an erect man of martial bearing, with a face smoothly shaven and hair cut short. As Andrew Seldon he wore his hair long, and his beard fell half-way down to his belt, while he further had a pair of spectacles to disguise his eyes with, and had manufactured a hump in the shoulders of his coat that gave him a changed form, like one who stoops badly.

"But come what may, I shall risk it," he said firmly, as he went on his way.

After his night in the deserted camp where was the grave of Black-heart Bill he struck out for Fort Faraway. Suddenly he drew his horse to a halt as he saw a dust-cloud far ahead. It was approaching him, and it was made by horses crossing a sandy part of the country.

Out of the dust suddenly emerged a horseman, and behind him followed a pack-animal.

Hidden in a clump of timber Andrew Seldon saw that it was a white man, and that the trail he was following would bring him near his position.

"I believe that it is Buffalo Bill," he muttered, as he saw that the horseman was clad in buckskin and wore his hair long. But as he came nearer he said eagerly:

"It is the surgeon-scout--Doctor Frank Powell!"

The coming horseman eyed the timber carefully as he approached.

Something had evidently made him suspicious of danger there, and, turning to the left, he was about to flank it, when Andrew Seldon rode into view and waved his hat.

Then he rode forward once more, but cautiously, for the chances were that the man he saw might be a foe, he well knew.

But Andrew Seldon raised his hands above his head, in token of peace, and Surgeon Powell rode straight toward him.

"I dare not let him know who I am, though I would trust him, Heaven knows. He knows me as well as any man, and I'll see how I stand the test of his piercing eyes," muttered the gold-hunter, and, as the surgeon-scout drew nearer, he called out:

"Are you Buffalo Bill, sir?"

"No, I am Surgeon Frank Powell, of the army."

"I see now, sir, that you are not Buffalo Bill, for I met him once when he was in a tight place with road-agents. Are you from Fort Faraway, sir?"

"I am."

"I was on my way there to see Buffalo Bill, when I saw you coming, sir."

"And I am on my way to seek Buffalo Bill, for I have an appointment to meet him not many miles from here at a deserted camp, where there is a grave."

"I know it well, sir, for I made the grave, and I stopped there last night."

"You made what grave?"

"The grave of Black-heart Bill, the desperado, who is buried there."

"You killed him, you mean?"

"I did, sir, for he had wronged me greatly."