That any other demonstration would be made in the hacienda than the weird sounds already heard, Buffalo Bill did not believe, so he decided that he would keep his stand at the gate and let Rawlings guard the cattle, singing to them to quiet them.
The moment the others had walked away, Buffalo Bill had quickly crouched down in the shadow of the wall, just at the entrance. He heard no sound save the impatient tramping of the horses, the singing of Broncho Rawlings, and an anxious lowing of a frightened steer.
An hour passed, and he saw that the horses were becoming more restless.
A moment after his keen eyes detected a white object running along the wall. It came from the corner where the horses were.
Keeping his position, Buffalo Bill watched the white object as he could distinctly see it.
The song of Broncho Rawlings was still kept up, and the cattle, too, became restive in spite of the lulling notes of the melody.
“Broncho soothes them, but if I attempted to sing to them I’d stampede the whole outfit, yes, scouts and all,” said Buffalo Bill, with a full realization that music was not one of his accomplishments.
The chief of scouts was upon the opposite side, crouching in the shadow of the massive adobe column on either side of the entrance.
The white figure came straight toward him, and had Pinto Paul been where Buffalo Bill was, he would have stampeded with alacrity.
The white figure did not seem to be able to see well, for the scout had not been discovered yet.
Halting at the entrance, not twenty feet from Buffalo Bill, the “ghost” showed what its intention was. It intended to break down the barrier, and thus leave an open way for the cattle to stampede.
But the entrance had been better closed than the midnight prowler in white thought, as it had some difficulty in its attempt.
Just then there came from the hacienda, rising far above the singing of Broncho Rawlings and all other sounds, wild and piercing shrieks.
The ghost seemed determined to break down the barrier as he heard the sound, but was suddenly startled by the stern command:
A cry broke from the white-robed form, and, with a bound, he was off, when sharp, loud, and deadly came the report of a revolver.
Just as Buffalo Bill pulled the trigger it seemed as though the white form fell heavily, and then Buffalo Bill’s voice was heard: