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work on the docks early today. We’re going to have a meal and all.”
    â€œI ought to be going too,” Jennie added. “There should be some sewing work I can pick up to take home to Mother.”
    After quick good-byes, Dooley and Jennie set off. Owens gave Wiggins a sidelong look. “You’re not going to let it go, are you?”
    â€œMaybe I should,” Wiggins replied. “Maybe I should just be glad like Dooley and let the coppers go after the savages. What do I owe them? But then I remember the Indian who calmed down the buffalo outside the show.”
    â€œSilent Eagle.” Owens shrugged. “All he did was bring some grain.”
    â€œWould you walk up to a giant beast that was huffing and puffing away? One false move and it could have turned Silent Eagle into jelly—along with us, I’d wager. That took courage.”
    Owens shrugged again. “As much as you’d need to slice a man’s hair off ?” he asked. “Maybe he’s the Indian who attacked the constable.”
    â€œThat copper was already wounded. He couldn’t have stopped whoever scalped him,” Wiggins replied. “His attacker wasn’t brave. He was a coward.”
    Owens slowly nodded. “So, I say we go to the exhibition grounds and nose around some more.”
    Moving southwest, the boys hitched rides on the backs of wagons and carriages until they jumped off only a short walk from the exhibition grounds.
    â€œI hope you’ve been thinking up some sort of plan on the way here,” Owens said as they got closer to the exposition. “Do you plan to tell the ticket taker we’re personal friends of Buffalo Bill?” He grinned. “Or do we hope they’re moving another buffalo in?”
    Wiggins didn’t have a plan, but as they arrived at the exhibition grounds, they quickly saw that wouldn’t have mattered. All bridges leading to the show grounds—and to the tent village—were guarded by groups of police constables.
    â€œWhat are they all doing here?” Owens asked.
    Wiggins sighed. “We heard Mr. Pryke shooting his mouth off to Inspector Desmond about Americans in general—and the Wild West show folk in particular. I’ll bet he’s been stirring up others as well. Maybe it would be a good idea to keep people out.”
    Owens abruptly nudged him. “There are a couple of familiar folks.”
    Wiggins quickly spotted a short figure in a dapper suit talking with a taller, bronze-skinned figure in rough clothes. “Nate Salsbury and Silent Eagle,” he said.
    Even from a distance, Wiggins could see that the two men clearly weren’t having a friendly chat. At last, Salsbury abruptly turned away and walked off through the police guards. When Silent Eagle went to follow, the constables turned him back. The Indian vanished into the tented area.
    â€œLooks as if the idea is to keep some people in,” Owens said in a dry voice.
    â€œJust yesterday, you were carrying on about the way Indians scalped people,” Wiggins growled. “Is it any wonder the coppers would be suspicious?”
    â€œBuffalo Bill took some scalps too,” Owens replied. “I wonder if the coppers are keeping him in?”
    There was no way to answer that, just as there was nothing they could do here. As the boys turned away, however, Wiggins caught a hint of movement from the corner of the lot where the performers’ tents stood. He spotted a human figure drop from the top of the wall that enclosed the Wild West show area. The man slid down the steep embankment to the railway tracks, where he disappeared from the boys’ sight. Seconds later, he swung himself over the top of the fence on their side of the tracks, dropping lightly to the pavement.
    The boys looked toward the nearest group of policemen. Obviously, they’d noticed nothing. Wiggins and Owens stared as the escaping man paused to tuck long, black hair