On that same evening Buffalo Bill and young Mainwaring were sitting on the veranda of the saloon alone, and the young rancher took the opportunity to cross-question his friend about the Death Riders.  
Buffalo Bill told him how he had met them, and of the danger in which he and his friends stood from them and also from the Shawnees.
 
“The scoundrels!” exclaimed the rancher fiercely. “I have heard a great deal about the doings of these outlaws, and how they have even dared to defy the authority of the United States and fight American troops.
 
“I can’t think what has come to our government, that it does not make them either obey the law or wipe them out. If we only had some of them on our ranches down in Texas for a few weeks we’d make them precious sorry for themselves, I can tell you!”
 
“I wish you had them there,” said Cody, with a laugh.
 
“Pardon me, gentlemen, but I don’t think you know very much about these people you are talking of.”
 
The two friends looked up hastily.
 
They had thought that they were alone on the veranda, but a man had stolen up to them as silently as a cat while they were talking, and he stood at the young rancher’s shoulder, less than a yard away.
 
He was a big, broad-chested man, with a coarse, bloated face, a swaggering figure, and a bristling red mustache.
 
 
Buffalo Bill recognized him at once.
 
He was Simon Ketchum, known to everybody as a professional gambler and suspected to be the spy and agent of the Death Riders in the settlement of Danger Divide.
 
“I think I ought to know something about the Death Riders,” said the border king, after he had looked at the man in silence for a few moments. “I am in their black books, as you probably know very well.”
 
“How should I know anything about it?” asked the intruder quickly. “The Death Riders? There are no such people. It is an old story that they tell around here to scare tenderfeet.”
 
“It’s hard to prove, isn’t it?” said the king of the scouts, giving the man a significant look. “Dead men tell no tales.”
 
“You seem to be quite nervous about these imaginary Death Riders,” sneered Ketchum. “I should not have thought that a man with Buffalo Bill’s great reputation feared anything.”
 
Buffalo Bill did not reply, for he did not care to assert his courage in words. But his companion faced the swaggering stranger and said hotly:
 
“Cody and one of his friends managed to account for a gang of your rascally assassins between them. You had better send ten times the number next time if you want to make sure of your bloody work!
 
“But you had better be careful. You are suspected, and if we can only get some good evidence against you, you will find that there is some law and justice in the West, after all!”
 
The swaggerer’s red face grew as black as night with rage, and he seemed about to spring at the throat of his bold challenger, but Cody stepped in between them and eyed him calmly and steadily.
 
Ketchum tried to meet his gaze, but he could not do[121] so. He read the menace of death there, and his cheeks turned pale.
 
“Get out of here!” said the border king. “We understand one another perfectly, I think. You can do your worst, and we will be ready to defend ourselves—and to strike back!”
 
Frightened by these words, Ketchum turned on his heel and left the veranda. He knew Buffalo Bill well by reputation, and thoroughly understood that he was not the kind of man to speak at random.
 
“You had better not meddle in this affair, old fellow,” said Cody to Mainwaring when they were alone again. “That man Ketchum is a coarse brute, and I’ve been inclined to insult him publicly and make him fight me. But I don’t think it would be the wisest course. I have other plans for meeting his murderous schemes.”
 
“Count on me to help you in any way I can,” said the brave young rancher, setting his lips in a stern line. “It is of no use for you to tell me to keep out of this business. I am in it, and I’m going to stay in it.
 
“Let me tell you one thing: I love May Doyle, and I mean to try to win her for my wife. It is true I have only just met her, but I fell in love at first sight. Now, do you expect to persuade me to keep out of this trouble in order to save my own skin?”
 
“No, I don’t,” admitted the border king, smiling cheerfully at his friend. “I wish you luck. You couldn’t find a better girl than May Doyle if you searched all through the West.
 
“But let me give you a word of advice about Ketchum. He is a notorious bully, gambler, and duelist. He has killed several men in duels and has the reputation of being one of the best pistol shots in this section. If you meet him again don’t let him draw you into a quarrel.”
 
 
An ominous bending of the rancher’s dark brows was his only reply.
 
Just then May and her father came out to call the two men in to eat the roughly cooked dinner, which was the best that this frontier hostelry had to offer, and Mainwaring instantly forgot all about the bully in the pleasant society of the girl he loved.
 
But later in the evening the hot-headed young fellow met Ketchum again.
 
May had gone to bed, after sitting out on the veranda with him for some time, and he was wandering about the saloon disconsolately, when he happened to stroll into the card room at the back of the bar. It was full of men, sitting around little tables and playing poker, écarté, and other games.
 
Mainwaring sat down by the open window to smoke a cigar before going to bed, and presently, happening to turn around, he saw that Ketchum was playing poker at a small table near him with another of the men staying at the saloon.
 
Obeying the instinct of keen observation which had been bred in him by his life on the ranch, the young man began to watch the game with close attention.
 
Ketchum did not seem to like this. He was still sore, perhaps, at the memory of the meeting earlier in the evening, for he shot angry glances at Mainwaring now and then.
 
The other player was having a run of the very worst kind of luck. After winning a trifle, the cards went steadily against him. He lost once—twice—thrice—four times running.
 
He was just about to put down a fifth stake when Mainwaring jumped up from his chair and stopped him.
 
“Foul play!” he shouted. “Throw up your hand,[123] sir! This game must not go on! You are being cheated!”
 
Instantly an excited group of spectators came pressing around them.
 
Ketchum rose to his feet, trembling with passion, and asked fiercely:
 
“Whom do you accuse of foul play, you young whelp?”
 
“You—you card sharper and thief!” cried the young rancher.
 
Tearing the cards from the bully’s hand, he dashed them in his face with such violence that the blood started from his cut cheek.
 
The two men sprang at one another’s throats, and in a moment they would have rolled down on the floor, perhaps not to rise again, but the other men standing around closed in and dragged them apart by main force.
 
Such a dispute could have but one ending, even without the deadly insult in which it had culminated.
 
In those early days in the West dueling was common on very much smaller cause than this quarrel afforded. Any one who had dared to dissent from the custom and refused to meet his enemy on the “field of honor” would have been publicly branded as the most cowardly of men.
 
“You will meet me to-morrow morning!” hissed the bully, choking back his rage with an effort.
 
“Certainly—whenever and wherever you like,” replied the young rancher.
 
At this point Buffalo Bill, who had been smoking on the veranda and had heard the scuffle, entered the room. He took in the situation at a glance and went up to Ketchum.
 
“I don’t like your face or your manner, Mr. Ketchum,” he said, in a hard, clear voice, which every man[124] in the room could hear. “It will give me great pleasure if you will meet me in the morning before you fulfill your engagement with my friend here.”
 
Ketchum looked into the eyes of the border king, which were filled with a somber and dangerous light, and he quailed before them.
 
“I have no quarrel with you,” he muttered. “My quarrel is with your friend. He struck me in a most unwarranted manner.”
 
“Oh, is that all? Well, he’s not the only man who can do it.”
 
Buffalo Bill stepped lightly forward and struck the bully a smashing blow between the eyes, which sent him reeling to the floor.
 
“Have you got a quarrel with me now?” he asked, as the man got up and wiped away the blood that was streaming from his nose.
 
“Yes, curse you! I suppose I must fight you, but I insist on my right to fight this young whelp here first!”
 
“And so do I!” cried Mainwaring. “Cody, you mean well, but I won’t let you take up my quarrel in this way. I can fight my own battles, and I will. But I’ll be very much obliged to you if you will act as my second.”
 
“Certainly I will,” said Cody, seeing that it was hopeless to try to prevent the duel, now that the quarrel had gone so far. “And if you fall it will not be long before I avenge you. But, you hot-headed young ass, why couldn’t you leave h............