“In his village, but he has left a scout or two behind to find where we are and report.”
“Them aire scouts must ha’ fell inter a hole or got cold feet, Cody, else we should ha’ heerd or seen ’em.”
A number of shots from down the flat stifled the reply on Buffalo Bill’s lips. He jumped to his feet and ran out into the open. Between the ruins of Matt Holmes’ cabin and the ravine two horsemen could be seen.
The horses were standing still, and the backs of the riders were turned toward the two scouts.
Buffalo Bill used his field glasses, and saw that the horsemen were whites.
Before he lowered the glasses the horsemen turned and rode up the flat. They waved their hands when they caught sight of the king of scouts and his comrade.
Buffalo Bill’s face blushed with joyous excitement.
“Bart,” said he, as he slapped his brave comrade on the back, “do you recognize the tall one? It’s Wild Bill.” Angell gave a whoop and threw his sombrero high in air.
The riders came up. One was a young, handsome, honest-eyed man; the other was Wild Bill, the noted Indian fighter and old comrade of the king of scouts.
If Buffalo Bill was delighted at the meeting, what must be said of the emotions of Hickok? Usually cool, self-contained, slow in speech and rarely demonstrative, he now exhibited the exuberance of an impressionable youth.