o, Weston, such must not be your fate, for I shall take your case in
hand and prove your innocence of robbing that bank and killing the
watchman, for I believe your story, and then with Sergeant Mayhew's
character proven, you can readily secure pardon for taking his life as
you did in self-defense."

"Heaven bless you, Surgeon Powell!"

"I only make one request, Weston."

"Yes, sir."

"That Buffalo Bill hears your story as I have, for he believes in your
innocence most thoroughly, and will be most happy to welcome you back to
life."

"I will be guided by you, sir, but some one is coming."

"It is Buffalo Bill," cried Frank Powell, and just then the scout rode
into the camp.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

THE OUTLAW'S CONFESSION.

When Buffalo Bill went on his way down into the Grand Canyon, he
continued on until he discovered just where the outlaws had made their
retreat. This done, he retraced his way as rapidly as possible, and at
once went back on the trail to where he had left his horse.

The sun was just setting as he neared the spot, and he approached
carefully, for he was not sure that some one had not been there and
discovered the animal.

Just as he caught sight of his horse he also saw that there was some one
there, a horseman who had just ridden up to the spot.

The face of the horseman was masked, and this told the story in an
instant.

But Buffalo Bill had been also discovered, and up to the outlaw's
shoulder went his rifle, at the same instant that the weapon of the
scout was leveled.

The two rifles cracked almost as one, and the outlaw reeled, tried to
spur his horse in flight, and fell to the ground. The scout at once
advanced toward him, revolver in hand, when in faint voice came the
words:

"Don't fire again! Your shot is fatal!"

The scout put his revolver in his belt, bent over and took the mask from
the face of the wounded man, his horse following him to the spot.

The face revealed was not a bad one--that of a man of thirty, with
mustache, imperial, and hair worn long.

The scout made him as comfortable as he could, for he saw that he had
told the truth, that the wound he had received was fatal.

Then he sat by the side of the wounded man for a while, the light of a
full moon falling full in his face, and the scout heard him say:

"I am glad that I missed you, for I have done evil enough in my time."

"Who are you?" kindly asked the scout.

"My name is Alvin Wolf, and I had