“You’ll do, Wild Bill,” said he, “all but the horse. Your get-up don’t jibe with the riding gear and the animal you’re riding. The horse and trappings will be a dead give-away.”
“Nary, Pard Cody. The horse and trappings are going to be a big help.”
“How?”
“Why, look. I come breezing up to Benner’s hangout with a yarn to the effect that I lifted the horse at the Star-A. That ought to get me in with Benner, if he’s at all crooked. A man who’ll steal a horse will probably be the sort of a chap he’d like to use in his present game of cold deck and loaded ivories. I’ve the medicine tongue for a job like that, don’t you think?”
“You’re one of the most resourceful men in a pinch I ever saw, Hickok,” declared the scout. “Lay your own plans and carry them out in your own way, but be sure and get back here to-night.”
“That’s me. When I come, I’ll come loaded.”
“With information, I hope, and with none of Benner’s lead. So long, and good luck to you.”
“Adios!”
Wild Bill kicked his heels into Beeswax’s ribs and started through the timber, en route down the river and headed for Benner’s.
“He’ll make good,” thought the scout, “and if there’s anything brewing at trouble headquarters, Wild Bill will hustle back with the news.”