Black-face Ned breathed a sigh of relief. “I wish,” he said, “I had a good snifter of the real thing.”
The king of scouts always carried a flask of whisky for emergencies. He produced it, and allowed the villain to swallow a generous dose.
“Thank you,” said Black-face Ned gratefully. “You are not a bad sort, really.”
“That so?” returned Buffalo Bill, with uplifted eyebrows. “Maybe you and I will be great friends before we get through with our little affair.”
The wounded villain smiled sourly.
Soon he asked: “How in the dickens did you get loose? I would have sworn that I had you tied for keeps.”
“Tied with rotten leathers, that’s what I was. Pity you did not inspect the cords before you started to use them.”
The villain swore softly. Then his eyes sought the floor. Presently he said: “Bend over me. I want to whisper something in your ear.”
But the king of scouts, who at the moment had heard a noise outside the door, declined to comply with the request.
“I am onto you, Ned,” he whispered. “You want to get me where Pigeon-toed Ike can surprise me. Not to-day. The program will be a surprise for Ike.”