CHAPTER XXVII. “THE DEATH KILLER.

Buffalo Bill had believed himself alone with the dead on this field of blood, and the voice fell like a knell upon his ear. For the moment he was half-unmanned. Then he wheeled completely to face the speaker.

He knew then that he had an old and deadly foe to deal with. His discovery, however, brought the scout to himself. He recovered his presence of mind, and in a tone that was reckless in its defiance, he cried:

“So we meet again, do we, Bennett? And you think you hold the trumps once more?”

“I do--and likewise a revolver at your head, Cody!” declared the bandit. “Drop your rifle!”

The scout obeyed. The pistol in Bennett’s hand was a well-timed argument. To all appearances the man was an Indian chief, for he was bedecked with feathers, his face was hideously painted, and he wore the full attire of a redskin, from moccasins to war-bonnet.

At his back, with rifles and arrows likewise covering the scout, were a score of braves who had, with the stealthy tread of panthers, followed their leader to the spot where Buffalo Bill had mourned over the bodies of the slain white men. Cody knew well that he was at the mercy of a merciless foe.

“You know me, do you, Cody?” said the bandit.

“Oh, I know you--even if you’ve turned squaw-man,” said Cody bitterly. “I recognize your black heart under the paint and feathers.”

“Have a care, scout, for every word of insult you heap upon me shall increase your torture at the stake.”

“I see you’ve got it all mapped out for my finish,” said Cody.

“You will not escape me this time, Buffalo Bill!” declared the bandit chief exultingly.

“Don’t be too sure.”

“Nay. It is settled. You are in my power. There can be no rescue here. _There_ lies the one who cheated my vengeance before. He has paid the price.”

“True. And _his_ death must be paid for,” muttered the scout.

“But not by you, Cody.”

“Wait!” was the enigmatical word of the Border King, his eyes flashing the hate he felt for his sneering captor.

“Do not tempt me too far, you dog!” exclaimed Bennett. “Remember you pay for all this when you come to die.”

“Aye; when I _do_ come to die! But I am one who believes that while there is life there is still hope, you accursed renegade!”

“That belief will not benefit you now, Cody. You are a dead man already.”

“I’m the liveliest dead man _you_ ever saw!”

The renegade looked as though he was about to shoot the scout in his tracks; but he caught sight of the smile that curled Cody’s lips, and, not understanding it, refrained. Indeed, he looked all about, somewhat nervously, to try to discover the meaning of the scout’s expression.

“You must have help at hand, or you would not be so defiant, Buffalo Bill.”

“That may be,” said the scout non-committingly.

“At least, these will not help you,” said Boyd Bennett, with a horrible smile, pointing to the stark figures in the valley.

“Not one left to tell the story--no prisoners?” queried Cody sorrowfully, forgetting for the moment his own peril.

“No, no! Chief Oak Heart wanted no prisoners from Danforth’s band. I told the chief that Danforth and his men were come to take him captive--that they had sworn to do it! Ha! ha! That was rich, eh? So every man of them died.”

“And he came for _you_,” said Cody bitterly.

“Aye; and met the death he deserved; but a more merciful death than _you_ will meet, scout. I do not need to stir up the red men’s rage against _you_. They will receive you with great joy at Oak Heart’s encampment.”

“And you fought with these savages?” cried Cody.

“I did. And killed as they killed--without mercy.”

“You do not fear to admit your crimes.”

“Why should I? For am I not speaking to one who will soon be dead? Bah! you can no longer frighten me, Buffalo Bill!”

“Yes, it looks as though I was near my finish; I do not deny it,” said Cody quietly. “But tell me one thing, Boyd Bennett. Did you kill Lieutenant Danforth yourself?”

“I am sorry to say I did not. There was a good deal of hot work right here. But Red Knife claims the honor of having delivered the finishing-stroke. We were returning to take the scalp-lock----”

“By Heaven, man! you shall not do it!” roared Cody, starting forward.

But a dozen rifles clicked, and he knew that he was helpless. He fell back again. Bennett laughed.

“Chief Oak Heart refused to allow any of his braves to scalp Danforth because he had fought so boldly.”

“God bless the old red sinner for that!” murmured the much wrought-upon scout.

Bennett laughed again.

“But I am Death Killer, the medicine-chief, and I have come back myself to take the scalp-lock from the head of the man against whom I swore revenge.”

“Boyd Bennett! accursed though you be, with a heart blacker than the foulest redskin can boast of, you would not do this wrong!” cried Buffalo Bill, in horror.

“Watch me, scout.”

“You shall not do it!”

“You are mistaken; I shall. I came back with Red Knife and a few of the braves to point me out the place where Danforth fell. On the way we saw you arrive, and we dogged your steps to the very corpse of your friend.

“Ha, Cody! this is sweet--this revenge. My kind have cast me off. Well, then! I cast the white men off! I spit upon them! I slay them! And now I scalp my enemy!”

Bennett had worked himself into a species of frenzy. He sprang forward now, dropping his revolver, knife in hand, to carry out his threat.

“Never shall you do this crime--not if this is my last act on earth!” shouted the scout.

As he spoke he suddenly jerked a revolver from his belt, threw it forward, and fired pointblank at Boyd Bennett, all with the quickness of a flash of light!