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CHAPTER IV.
Some three months before the opening of this story, the Hale emigrant train had pulled out from Border City, bound for Colorado, under the guidance of a noted gambler, who had suddenly offered his services to run the settlers to their destination.
This gambler guide was Kent King, a man well known as a good prairie scout, yet supposed to think too much of his comfort to take to the hardships of an overland journey again.
A skillful card player, he always had plenty of money; and, with the education of a gentleman, he was very popular in the society of that day. Judge Hale, the head and front of the settler’s train, was warned against the Gambler Guide.
Hale was told that Kent King was only going in that capacity on account of Mary Hale, the only child of the judge; but the warning was unheeded, and the train pulled out on its way to the Far West.
As Kent King was a thorough plainsman, a dead shot, and a man of undisputed courage, there were many along who congratulated themselves upon their luck in securing as good a guide. But, from the first, it was evident that Mary Hale was the attraction which drew Kent King. It was also evident that the judge seemed willing that his daughter should receive the attentions of the guide.
In fact, Judge Hale encouraged them to such an extent that Parson Miller, an emigrating preacher along with the train, was notified to hold himself in readiness to perform a marriage ceremony within a few days.
That the wedding would have taken place there is no doubt but for the timely arrival in camp of Buffalo Bill, the army scout. When Buffalo Bill heard that the girl, with the consent of her father, was to
be forced into an immediate marriage with the gambler, he decided at once that she should not be so sacrificed.
Buffalo Bill knew that the Gambler Guide was one of the most desperate characters on the border. Therefore, he sought out a character of the train, whose bargaining propensities had gained for him the name of Old Negotiate, and held a conversation with him, the result of which was the conclusion between them that without a parson there would be no wedding.
And there was no wedding, for the next morning the parson and Old Negotiate went on a hunt; the former got lost and was found by Buffalo Bill; and when they at last reached the train, weeks after, they were accompanied by a band of Texas herders known as Revolver Riders.
This band the reader has already met in this story, in the party of Captain Dash and his men.
Their arrival in the camp of the settlers caused a change. Kent King was taken prisoner by Captain Dash, who determined to carry him to Texas, to be tried there for crimes committed, and Buffalo Bill was made the guide of the train to Denver.
The judge seemed delighted at the change, for he had been acting under a power held over him by the gambler, who held some secret of his past life.
CHAPTER V.
In one of the most popular resorts of Border City, combining hotel, bar, and cardroom, a large crowd of men had assembled, as was their wont every evening, to while away the time.
The shuffle of cards, click of faro chips, clink of glasses, and hum of voices, mingled together continually, with now and then a hearty laugh and fearful oath rising above the other sounds.
It was a motley gathering, for there were returned miners, gambling away their silver and gold dust; plainsmen, back after a long trip westward; teamsters, bullwhackers, scouts, soldiers, cattlemen, a few Indians, vagabonds, and general dead beats, hanging around to be treated, and to pick up a dishonest penny when possible.
At one table were gathered some cattle herders, lately arrived from Texas, and as they were playing for large stakes, those uninterested elsewhere in the room had been drawn to the point of most interest to them.
“Pards, hasn’t I seen yer physymyhogamys before?” suddenly asked a queer-looking character, forcing his way through the crowd, and confronting the Texans, one of whom answered pleasantly:
“I think you have; you were one of the Hale emigrant train we struck on the trail.”
“You hes it right; I were ther boss teamster, but I’ll lay yer a prime pelt agin’ that pile o’ money thet yer can’t call my handle.”
A general laugh followed the remark of the borderman, and the Texan who had before spoken answered:
“I will bet you wine for all round that I can, for the money is not mine, and I guess you haven’t a pelt along with you.”
“Done; wine fer all ’ceptin’ ther dead beats.”
“But how are we to pick them out?”
“Oh, I knows ’em, Texas; now, come, what’s my appellations?”
“Old Negotiate,” answered the Texan, with a laugh.
A shout followed his reply, and the borderman said, in a lugubrious tone:
“By ther Rockies! Yer hev calt me, pard; I is gettin’ too darned well known in these parts; waal, what do you an’ yer pards drink?”
“We are one against many, and I believe in fair play, so you and your friends drink with us,” frankly answered the Texan, and turning to the crowd he continued:
“Gentlemen, join us; wine here, barkeeper.”
“Hold on, pard; let me sift ther dead beats out, fer——”
“No, no, Old Negotiate; I include all in my invitation; fill up all around, barkeeper.”
The corks popped, the wine went round, and the health of the handsome Texan was drunk with a cheer, after which Old Negotiate said:
“Pard, when last I see yer, thar were in your comp’ny a man by ther name o’ Kent King.”
“Yes, the Gambler Guide, whom our captain was taking to Texas.”
“Thet were ther man; has he passed in yit?”
“No, he escaped from us, when we were near Santa Fe.”
“Escaped!”
“The Gambler Guide free?”
“Kent King not dead?”
Such were the expressions that ran round the crowd, after a general exclamation of surprise that followed the Texan’s announcement.
“Yer say he escaped, an’ from you?”
“He certainly did.”
“Didn’t go by the way of a h’ist to a tree?”
“No; he gnawed the thongs from his wrist, secured his saddle and horse, and, though we gave hot chase, managed to escape.”
“Boys, thar’ll be music in ther air afore long in Border City, fer every man, woman, an’ kid heur hes been giving Kent King ther devil, as wuss nor a horse thief. He’ll come back fer a reckoning, or I are a screechin’ liar, and I bet a lariat agin’ a horse on it.”
“On which, Negoshy, that you are a liar, or thet King comes back?” asked one of the crowd.
“I’ll bet both, or t’other way, jist fer ther negotiate, pard, ef it suits yer; but, by ther Rockies, Buffalo Bill better look out, now thet wolf are on his trail.”
“You refer to the scout who was instrumental in his capture?” asked the Texan.
“Come ag’in, pard, fer I isn’t great on book larnin’.”
“Buffalo Bill was the one who run him to cover, I mean?”
“Yer has it; he are, an’ thet Kent King will kill him yet.”
“I fear you is right,” answered another. “Buffalo Bill hes got ter look sharp. I’ll bet high the gambler kills him.”
“I’ll take the bet.”
The clear voice caused all to start and turn. The subject of the conversation was before them.
“Buffalo Bill! Three cheers!” cried a voice; and a ringing salute was given him as he forced his way to the table and asked quietly:
“Who is betting against my life?”
“Put it thar, pard; now I’ll tell yer,” cried Old Negotiate.
After grasping the hand of the scout, he continued:
“These Texans an’ myself were havin’ a leetle chin music, an’ I l’arns from one thet Kent King escaped——”
“Ah! This is Mr. Tabor, I believe; an’ Seven-foot Harry,” and recognizing the different men around the table, Buffalo Bill greeted them warmly and asked:
“Has Kent King really escaped?”
“Yes, as I have just told these gentlemen, he escaped from us near Santa Fe.”
“An’ he’ll raise a breeze here when he comes back, an’ we was bettin’ thet he’d kill you, Bill,” said Negotiate.
“And I take the bet; who will wager, and what sum?” said the scout.
“I’ll take your bet, sir,” and a heavily bearded, stout-formed man stepped forward.
“You are a stranger to me, sir, and will have to plank down your dust, unless some one here knows you,” said Buffalo Bill, eying the man closely.
“I am a stranger in Border City, but I have the money to deposit, and as I know Kent King well, I’ll bet on his killing you if you have wronged him,” replied the stranger.
“Wronged him! Why, who could wrong a wolf? If he is your friend, I will say that you keep low company; but what will you bet that he kills me?”
The man seemed angered for an instant by the outspoken words of the scout, but answered quietly:
“Say a thousand dollars.”
“Done! It’s the amount you name, and I’ll seek a stakeholder!”
“I’ll get one,” the man answered.
“Hold on, pard; as you are a friend of Kent King, I am a little doubtful about your stakeholder.”
“Sir, do you dare say mine came differently?”
The man turned fiercely upon Buffalo Bill, who answered:
“Take it as you please; you certainly look like a——”
“What?”
“Horse thief!”
Two hands fell upon their pistol butts at the same time, but Ben Tabor, the Texan, sprang between the stranger and the scout, and said, in his calm, forcible way:
“Hold! This must stop here.”
“True, Mr. Tabor; I forgot that he was like a cat in a strange garret; for he is a stranger here, while I have a host of friends; come, sir, let us conclude our bet,” said Buffalo Bill frankly.
“All right; I was a fool to get angry; but who holds the stakes?”
“There is the very one; here, Panther Kate! This way, please,” cried the scout.
The one to whom he called had just entered the room. She was a young girl. Her form was perfect, and her fancy dress of beaded buckskin, with short skirt and tight-fitting waist, set it off to perfection, while her soft gray hat, turned up upon one side, gave her face a fearless, saucy air that was very winning.
In her belt hung holsters that held two ivory-handled revolvers, and a knife was suspended to a short chain, while with a jaunty, devil-may-care air, she held a small rifle upon her shoulder. Beautiful she certainly was, and her dark eyes had won many a heart that had failed to make hers ache in return.
In Border City all knew her. She had come there over half a year before with a traveling dramatic company and had remained when they departed, and was engaged as a singer and dancer at the town theater. After appearing each night, she would mount her mustang and ride out to a little ranch she had purchased, two miles distant, where she lived alone, caring for her cattle herself, and devoting her days to hunting.
She was a superb horsewoman and a crack shot; in fact, her deadly aim with the revolver had gained her her name, for one day she had killed two panthers with her revolver as they were springing upon her. Having finished her act at the theater, Panther Kate, or as she was known on “the boards,” Kate Kearney, took a stroll through the various saloons.
This she did each night, as though she were constantly on the search for some one; and, though no other of her sex dare go amid the wild set of men to be seen there, she showed no fear, and was welcomed whenever she appeared.
“Buffalo Bill, I am glad to see you back; did you call me?” she asked, coming forward, the crowd giving way for her, while many shouted:
“Yes, make Panther Kate stakeholder!”
“Kate’s the gal fer ter hold ther dust!”
“Kate don’t gamble her duckits away!”
“Nor drink ’em up!”
Such were the cries heard on all sides. The girl turned to Buffalo Bill, who said:
“Yes, Panther Kate; I have just made a bet with this—this stranger here that I kill Kent King——”
“Hold! Is that your bet, sir? I thought it was to be that Kent King killed you,” interrupted the stranger.
“Make it as you please, and in either case let the winner get the money.”
“All right; if he kills you, I win; if you kill him, you win.”
“Yes, and, Kate, you are to hold the stakes; here’s my dust.”
“And here is mine, girl.”
“Let me fully understand the bet,” she asked quietly, and it was explained to her.
“Thank you; I hope you will win, Mr. Cody; you know where to find me, and this gentleman can look me up should he be the winner; good night!”
And taking the bag of precious metal, Panther Kate left the saloon.
Scarcely had the man departed from the saloon, when, like a returning memory, there came to Buffalo Bill the knowledge that he had seen this man before—that in truth he was none other than KentKinghimself, so disguised as almost to defy detection.
CHAPTER VI.
O L D N E G OT I AT E ’ S WA R N I N G .
The next day, when Old Negotiate entered the hotel—which had been named the Cody Hotel in honor of Buffalo Bill—he found there a motley crowd.
There were tradesmen of the town, miners from the camps, cowboys from the surrounding ranches, sports, idlers, and a few strangers who had just arrived in Border City.
They were miners, they said, from up the country farther, and having dug out a rich harvest of golden metal, they had come to Border City to spend a little of it in having a good time.
There were five of them present, and they were evidently having a “good time,” according to their ideas, for they were drinking heavily. One of their number, dressed in corduroy, the same man who had made the bet with Buffalo Bill the day before, was “standing treat” continually for the thirsty souls in Border City, whose thirst seemed to increase after every drink they took.
“Come, Old Negotiate, let me interdoose yer ter my pertickler friend, Cap’n Corduroy, o’ Calamity City, up ther mountains,” cried a tipsy idler, whose friendship with the “captain” had begun but half an hour before and increased according to the treats he had received at his hands.
Old Negotiate accepted the outstretched hand of the man in corduroys, who then presented him to his four pards from Calamity City.
Captain Corduroy, it was evident, wanted to win the favor of the denizens of Border City, and he sought the hearts of the masses by filling their stomachs with liquor at his own expense.
“I understand this is called the Cody Hotel, in honor of that desperado, Buffalo Bill?” said Captain Corduroy, addressing Old Negotiate.
The latter turned and laid his hand upon the captain’s shoulders and said, with solemnity:
“Stranger, this house were named in honor o’ Buffalo Bill; but don’t you whistle out no such word as desperado whar that cleangrit white man are concerned, or thar’ll be trouble.”
“You don’t mean thet he will cause me trouble?”
“I does mean that, and more.”
“What more?”
“Thar be friends o’ his heur as won’t hear a word said agin’ him.”
“Bah! I have heard that he is hated here by all who know him.”
“You hes heerd a darned lie, ef yer mother told it to yer.”
“What?”
“I say it are a lie, fer Buffalo Bill hev done more fer this town than any other man, an’ thar ain’t no one in trouble as he don’t help out, while he sometimes are on hand ter clean out them as come heur fer a fight. I wants ter be friendly with yer, stranger pard, but don’t yer say nothin’ agin’ Buffalo Bill, fer he are my friend.”
“Well, I don’t wish trouble with you, or any other man in Border City, for we came here to have a good time, and are not quarrelsome. We’ll spend our money free, and do the square thing all around; but I have met Buffalo Bill, and I owe him a grudge I hope one day to settle.”
“Pard, yer talks squar’; but onless yer keeps yer tongue atween yer teeth, ther fust thing yer know, up will go yer toes to ther moonlight, an’ Buffalo Bill will be payin’ ther expenses o’ buryin’ yer.”
“I do not fear him!”
It was evident that the potations he had indulged in were making Captain Corduroy very reckless of consequences.
“I don’t say yer is skeert; but onless yer wants deadly trouble, don’t say nothin’ as will bring yer ter drawin’ agin’ Buffalo Bill.”
Having given this advice to Captain Corduroy, Old Negotiate called for drinks, and when they had been disposed of, he slipped out of the crowd. Going to Buffalo Bill’s room he failed to find him, and then he strolled down to the store where the scout always traded.
There he found him laying in a supply of provisions for a trip, and also filling his cartridge boxes with ammunition.
“Waal, Bill, yer is fixin’ fer ther trail, it seems?” he said.
“Yes, for I start soon.”
“Bill, I’d oughter let yer go without tellin’ yer suthin’; but somehow I cannot.”
“What is it, Negotiate?”
“Waal, fust and foremost, there are five galoots in ther hotel who says that they have come down from Calamity City ter hev a good time.”
“Well, can’t they be accommodated here?”
“Yas, fer as fer thet, their graveyard are not full, an’ there are room fer more.”
“Ah! They want a row?”
“Thet seems ter be thar way o’ thinkin’, Bill.”
“Well, you keep out of it, Negotiate. There are five of them, you say, and you are too good a man to be killed.”
“Bill, I is jist a leetle afeared thet it are a better man than I be they is lookin’ fer.”
“Yes, but what makes you think they want a row with me?”
“I was interdooced to ther cap’n, who interducted me to his pards, and he told me he had a grudge agin’ you, an’ calt you a desperado.”
“Well, I am often called pet names, Negotiate.”
“Yas, and thar are many who holds ill feelin’ agin’ yer, too; but I thinks these fellers mean biz.”
“We can soon find out,” said the scout calmly.
“I knows it, an’ after that thar’ll be shootin’. But I wants ter tell you thet after I left this Cap’n Corduroy and his men, the Chinee at the hotel come ter me and said that Panther Kate wanted ter see yer. She seems ter be afeared that thar’s trouble in the air, jest the same as I am.”
Buffalo Bill seemed undisturbed.
“Negotiate,” he said, “will you do me a favor?”
“I’ll do it, ef it’s ter git drunk, Bill.”
“I have an idea that I know who this Captain Corduroy is. If I am right, he is after my hair. Therefore, I want you to go back to the hotel and take a seat on the piazza, where you can watch them.”
“I’ll do it, Bill.”
“I’m going up there to see what they want. When you see me coming up the street, call out:
“‘Here comes Buffalo Bill!’”
“But that’ll give ’em warnin’, and they’ll be ready for ye, an’ lay ye out a cold corpus.”
“I’ll be ready for them quite as soon as they can get ready for me. If they show signs to prove that I am their game, you wave your hat to me, and I’ll set the circus going. Now describe them to me.”
This Old Negotiate did. Then, while Buffalo Bill went after his splendid black horse Midnight, Old Negotiate returned to the hotel.
CHAPTER VII.
When Old Negotiate returned to the Cody Hotel he first sought the parlor, for the Chinese waiter told him he would there find Panther Kate.
“I found Bill, miss,” said Old Negotiate. “I found him at the store, and he will be up heur soon, and ef yer wishes ter see a immortal row, just you lie low in this heur parler an’ wait fer ther music ter begin.”
“Will you allow a number of men to attack your friend?”
“Oh, I’ll be thar, miss, an’ thar shan’t be no underhan’ game played agin’ Bill. But I must leave you. Jist you wait heur a leetle.”
With this remark Old Negotiate left the parlor. Panther Kate, riveted by a fascination she could not resist, remained standing at the window, half hidden by the heavy, coarse curtains, and waiting breathlessly for the coming of what the scout had called a “circus.”
In the meantime Old Negotiate reëntered the bar and found the crowd still drinking heavily and getting more intoxicated each moment.
But he saw that Captain Corduroy and his comrades, though they had seemingly drunk freely, were apparently more sober than when he left them, which further convinced him that they were playing a part and were not allowing themselves to lose control of their faculties.
The reëntrance of Old Negotiate was greeted with a shout of welcome, and of course he had to drink, and Captain Corduroy treated; but Negotiate did not swallow the liquor, and watching
closely he saw that the strangers also failed to drink the contents of their glasses, a circumstance none of the drunken crowd observed.
Going out upon the piazza, Old Negotiate called out:
“Pard strangers, thar comes a man, ef yer wants ter see one, who hesn’t got his ekal in these heur parts.”
Captain Corduroy looked out and cried:
“Buffalo Bill! Be ready!”
Old Negotiate heard the words and asked quickly:
“Say, pards, does yer mean harm ter Bill?”
“He means harm to me, and I will but protect myself,” said Captain Corduroy.
“All right; that are squar’; but as he don’t see yer, I’ll jist shout an’ tell him.”
Then he raised his voice and shouted:
“Ho, Bill! Thar are danger camped on yer trail heur.”
The warning caused a dead silence to follow, and Captain Corduroy and his pards dropped their hands upon revolvers, as though to first turn them on Old Negotiate. But he had his weapon out already, and the strangers seemed to realize that he was not the man to pick a quarrel with then and there, for a dozen friends were around him.
With Buffalo Bill it was different. Negotiate’s hail had given out a declaration of war. A man ever cool, Captain Corduroy was only an instant nonplused; then he cried:
“Yes, pards, I have come on Buffalo Bill’s trail. He killed my two brothers, and right here I intend to avenge them.”
This caused a general scattering of the crowd from the piazza. They were not too drunk to forget that self-preservation is nature’s first law, and they dashed into the barroom with an alacrity that was amusing.
Old Negotiate went, too, though not from fear. He thought that from a window he could the better aid Buffalo Bill, and he took up his stand just inside, and stood ready for what might follow. The strangers had held their ground.
They had proven themselves generous fellows in facing the bar, and they would not flinch now when it was a case where there were five against one man, no matter what the reputation of that man might be.
“Give out ther hymn, cap’n, an’ we’ll shout ther doxology,” cried one of them.
“I will meet him first,” sternly said the captain.
“Thet bein’ ther case, we’ll fall back a leetle,” and the first speaker gave a backward step or two, which was followed by his immediate comrades.
“You lose your geld if you desert me,” savagely cried Captain Corduroy.
“Ain’t desertin’, only takin’ up a more safer posish, cap’n.”
In the meantime Buffalo Bill was coming toward the hotel, his horse in a slow walk. He had answered the hail of Old Negotiate with a wave of the hand, and shown no other sign that he understood it.
He saw the sudden decamping of the crowd and smiled. Then his eyes fell upon the form of Captain Corduroy, and he gave a slight start. Buffalo Bill was mounted upon his matchless black, Midnight, sat easily in his saddle, and was evidently equipped for a journey. As he drew near the steps leading to the hotel piazza, he drew rein and said:
“So it is you, Kent King, known as the Gambler Guide! I know you in spite of your disguise.”
Captain Corduroy, revealed now as Kent King, drew his revolver.
“Then it is war?” said Buffalo Bill, at the same time drawing his weapon.
“Yes, war to the death,” shouted Captain Corduroy, and with the last word he threw forward his revolver to fire.
Before it could flash, the report of Buffalo Bill’s weapon was heard, and the bullet shattered the pistol of his foe, knocking it from his hand.
“Come, boys; at him!” yelled Kent King, shaking his hand, which was stunned by the shock, though he was not wounded.
With his war cry ringing on his lips, a revolver in each hand and his spurs held to the flanks of Midnight, Buffalo Bill rushed to the charge. It was a thrilling, desperate scene. Shot after shot was poured at the daring man. One of Kent King’s followers fired upon the scout from the barroom window.
Instantly the miscreant dropped, cut down by the deadly aim of Buffalo Bill. Another fired at him, and went reeling with a bullet through him.
Up the steps Midnight bounded with his daring rider, while the scout’s revolvers flashed fire. It was more than Kent King and his murderers could stand.
In another second Midnight was upon the piazza, and charged right into the barroom, from which men were scattering by the dozen. Within a minute the barroom was empty, though one of Kent King’s miscreants lay dead on the floor.
Old Negotiate, racing at Midnight’s heels, entered the barroom at this juncture, and bawled:
“Bill, he hev lit out!”
“Who?” Buffalo Bill demanded.
“The boss of ’em all.”
“The leader?”
“Yes, Captain Corduroy.”
“I shot to kill him.”
“Waal, you missed him.”
“I did not, for I saw him fall.”
“Then the bullet glanced on his hard skull, and he played possum to get away.”
“That may be; but let him go.”
Going out upon the piazza, Buffalo Bill saw that Kent King was indeed gone, though two of his allies lay dead where they had fallen, and a third he had just left lifeless, lying on the floor of the barroom.
A
CHAPTER VIII.
V I L L A I N S U R P R I S E
D.
When Buffalo Bill made his desperate charge for the piazza, there was one of Kent King’s followers who felt that he had made a mistake in volunteering upon a service so dangerous as the killing of the noted scout.
He was a good shot, yet both the shots he had fired at long range were fruitless, and he noticed that those of Kent King and his comrades also failed to bring down the human game they had flushed.
At once, when the eye of Kent King was not upon him, he turned and darted into the hall. An open door attracted his attention, and he glided into a large room, rudely furnished, yet comfortable.
It was what was called the parlor of the Cody Hotel, and was devoted wholly to distinguished guests and ladies.
It was no place for the deserting stranger, but it was, he observed, apparently unoccupied, and it afforded a delightful haven of refuge for him just then. He halted in an uncertain manner for an instant, while the rattle of revolvers without proved to him that he had been wise in decamping when he did.
The tremendous racket of Midnight’s iron-shod hoofs upon the piazza coming to his ears, a sudden thought seemed to seize him. He darted to the window, which was open, and looked out upon the piazza.
There was his game, mounted still and boldly forcing his matchless horse upon the piazza. Kent King, sheltering himself behind the furniture and creeping toward the opposite door by which he managed to make his escape, also caught the eye of the desperado.
“Ha! Now is my chance, Buffalo Bill. I never miss at close quarters!” hoarsely hissed the villain; and, with the side of the window for a rest, he ran his eye along the barrel of his revolver.
Buffalo Bill was not six feet from him, and the curtain concealing his foe, he did not see him, and it looked as though death must certainly follow the shot.
But before the finger drew on the trigger a form glided from the shelter of the curtain at the other window, and a revolver muzzle was pressed hard against the head of the desperado, whose startled ears were greeted with the words:
“Drop that weapon, sir, or die!”
The alacrity with which the villain chose the former alternative proved his appreciation of life. The weapon fell upon the piazza, and then came the words:
“Drop down on your face, sir, and lie there!”
Never in his life before had the villain lain down in such haste.
“Put your hands behind you, sir.”
The order was obeyed.
“Who in thunder are yer?” he growled.
“A girl.”
“Blarst yer petticoats, what in thunder is yer playin’ this on me for?”
“Mr. Cody is my friend, and you sought to kill him.”
“Waal, this do beat all!”
“Hold your hands closer together—there, now I can tie your wrists firmly together.”
Then, with her silk scarf, taken from around her waist, Panther Kate bound the desperado’s hands behind his back.
“Now you are safe.”
“I doesn’t think so, gal, for I’ll be chawed up as soon as thet wild man comes in here.”
“Yes, he may kill you,” was the unconsoling response.
“Lordy!”
“It is what you would have done for him had I not prevented you.”
“You is mistook, gal. I were jest lookin’ out at ther circus.”
Panther Kate laughed lightly, but it was a laugh the villain did not like. As the firing had now ceased, the girl went to the door, and her eyes fell upon Old Negotiate.
Negotiate had boldly stood in the doorway, his revolver in his hand, ready to aid Buffalo Bill with a shot, should he need it; but his admiration of his friend and the great feat he was performing caused him to keep back unless he was actually needed.
“Bill will slew ’em all, darned ef he don’t,” he muttered.
“Waal, miss, yer did see ther circus, an’ hed a front seat. Wasn’t it han’some?” he said as, in obedience to the call of Panther Kate, he entered the parlor.
“It was a most thrilling scene, sir; but is Mr. Cody wounded?”
“Guess not, miss. Leastways he didn’t look thet way, tho’ yer kin never tell, as Bill kin carry a skin full o’ lead an’ not show it.”
“I wish you would kindly go and see if Mr. Cody is wounded, and ——”
“Lordy! What hev yer thar?”
Old Negotiate’s eyes had discovered the prostrate and bound prisoner.
“A present for Mr. Cody.”
“Waal, he are a healthy one, and one o’ ther Calamity gang, too— yas, he are ther one thet never treated, but allus drinked when t’others treated. I guess he are a sneakin’ cuss, miss.”
