“A mighty close shave, Cody,” remarked Wild Bill, as he slapped his old comrade on the back; “mighty close. I never expected to see either you or her alive again.”
Buffalo Bill was sitting on a rock mopping his face. He was about to make some sort of response, when Myra Wilton left her lover and stood in front of him. First she smiled, and then impulsively leaned over and kissed him.
“The debt is wiped out,” he said, as he took her two hands and pressed them. “But”—he paused and smiled at Carl Henson—“you must let me dance at your wedding.”
“You shall,” she responded, with a pretty blush.
The king of scouts now gave his mind to more serious concerns. “How is it with Rixton Holmes?” he asked Wild Bill.
“It’s a case of dying, Cody. The fellow struck his cabesa on a sharp rock when he fell, and the point became acquainted with his Sarah Billium.”
“Can he talk?”
“Don’t know. I’ll bring him down for you.”
Bart Angell went with Wild Bill. They soon returned bearing the limp form of the villainous cousin of Myra Wilton.
The wound was bandaged, and whisky was forced down his throat.