“It war a good two weeks’ work to get back to that camp, for the prairy an’ woods war full o’ Comanches huntin’ around for Bill, an’ sometimes we had to go miles round to get out o’ their way.
“When we reached the camp, we found it nearly deserted by the braves; still, there war enough left to ketch me an’ ole Bill, if we should be diskivered. Wal, we lay round in the woods until dark, but not a glimp could we get o’ the ole man’s mustang. The critter might be in the camp, but more ’n likely as not he war carryin’ a Comanche on his back, an’ scourin’ the prairy in search o’ Bill.
“As soon as it war fairly dark, the ole man stuck out his hand, and said:
“‘Dick, I’m goin’ now. Good-by.’
“I never before felt so bad at partin’ from him. Somehow I knowed that somethin’ mighty onpleasant war goin’ to happen; but it warn’t no use to try to keep him from goin’; so I bid him good-by, an’ he commenced crawlin’ through the grass toward the camp. I watched him as long as he war in sight, an’ then settled back agin a tree, an’ waited to see what would turn up. For two hours I sot there listenin’, an’ thinkin’ of all the fights me an’ ole Bill had been in, an’ wonderin’ when the time would come when we must part—not as we had now, for a little while, but forever—when all to onct I heered the barkin’ of a dog in the camp. In course the hull village war aroused to onct, an’ a loud yell told me that ole Bill had been diskivered. The yell was follered by the crack of a rifle, an’ the ole man come gallopin’ out o’ the camp on his own hoss, shoutin’:
“‘Come on now, Dick, I’m even with the rascals. There’s one less Comanche in the world.’
“The Injuns were clost on to Bill’s trail, an’ come pourin’ out o’ the camp on foot an’ on hossback; an’, seem’ one big feller far ahead of the others, I hauled up for a minit, sent him from his saddle, an’ then, jumpin’ on my hoss, started arter the ole man. In course the yellin’ hounds war soon left behind, ’cause there warn’t no hosses on them prairies that could hold a candle to ourn; an’ we war beginnin’ to grow jolly over our good luck, when, the fust thing we knowed, crack went a couple o’ rifles, an’ Bill throwed his arms above his head an’ fell from his saddle.
“We had run chuck into a party o’ Comanches who had been out huntin’ the ole man, an’ had give up the chase, an’ were ’turnin’ to camp. The minit ole Bill fell I war by his side, an’, while I war liftin’ him from the ground, the rascals charged toward us with loud yells, sartin that they had now got both of us in their power.
“‘Dick,’ said the ole man, a’most in a whisper, ‘I’ve sent a good many o’ them screechin’ imps out o’ the world, an’ it’s my turn to go now. They have finished me at last. You can’t help me—so save yourself; but remember that every Comanche that crosses your trail falls, to pay for this. Leave me.’