oked back. Persimmon Bill had vanished, not an Indian
was in sight, and no one unacquainted with their vicinity could have
seen a sign to show that such dangerous beings were near.

No smoke rose above the trees, no horses were feeding around, nothing to
break the apparent solitude of the scene.

"And that was Persimmon Bill?" muttered the auburn-haired rider, as he
galloped back. "So handsome, it does not seem as if he could be the
murderer they call him. And yet, if all is true, he has slain tens,
where Wild Bill has killed one. No matter, he will be useful to me. That
is all I care for now."

CHAPTER III.
A WARNING.

When Wild Bill and Sam Chichester entered the saloon alluded to in our
first chapter, they were hailed by several jovial-looking men, one of
whom Wild Bill warmly responded to as California Joe, while he grasped
the hand of another fine-looking young man whom he called Captain Jack.

"Come, Crawford," said he, addressing the last named, "let's wet up! I'm
dry as an empty powder-horn!"

"No benzine for me, Bill," replied Crawford, or "Captain Jack." "I've
not touched a drop of the poison in six months."

"What? Quit drinking, Jack? Is the world coming to an end?"

"I suppose it will sometime. But that has nothing to do with my
drinking. I promised old Cale Durg to quit, and I've done it. And I
never took a better trail in my life. I'm fresh as a daisy, strong as a
full-grown elk, and happy as an antelope on a wide range."

"All right, Jack. But I must drink. Come, boys--all that will--come up
and wet down at my expense."

California Joe and most of the others joined in the invitation, and
Captain Jack took a cigar rather than "lift a shingle from the roof," as
he said.

"Where are you bound, Bill?" asked Captain Jack, as Bill placed his
empty glass on the counter, and turned around.

"To the Black Hills with your crowd--that is if I live to get there."

"Live! You haven't any thought of dying, have you? I never saw you look
better."

"Then I'll make a healthy-looking corpse, Jack. For I tell you my time
is nearly up; I've felt it in my bones this six months. I've seen ghosts
in my dreams, and felt as if they were around me when I was awake. It's
no use, Jack, when a chap's time comes he has got to go."

"Nonsense, Bill; don't think of anything like that. A long life and a
merry one--that's my motto. We'll go out to the Black Hills, dig out our
fortunes, and then get out of the wildern