“I shore don’t know. Come over hyer an’ pinch me.”
The match went out just as Black-face Ned’s limbs began to twitch.
Buffalo Bill sat on the villain’s chest, and said roughly: “Are you going to be quiet, or must I give you a sleeping dose?”
“Oh, I’ll be good,” whined the now thoroughly frightened man. “I missed the trick, and I am willing to leave the field to you.”
“See that you don’t change your mind.”
Lifting the outlaw in his arms, the king of scouts bore him to the side of Alkali Pete. “I am shy on cords,” he said to the lanky plainsman. “Got any about you?”
“Ther one that held my wrists is hyer in my lap, an’ when ye ontie my ankles ye’ll shore corral another,” was the reply.
“Ah, I am on. You were tied up, and you’ve got your hands loose.”
“Ye’re singin’ on ther right key, Buffler.”
After the villain had been tied up, the king of scouts asked anxiously: “How are you feeling?”