“Same thing I heard a while ago,” reflected Wild Bill, “only the case is different. I’ve been more kinds of a chucklehead this trip than I know how to mention. Oh, I’m proud of myself! And Pard Cody will be just as proud when he finds out about it. Here I am, loaded to the guards with information that means liberty and good name for Dunbar, and perhaps life itself for Perry, and not able to do a thing to tell what I know. Pleasant situation! Mighty pleasant—if you don’t care what you say.”
The Laramie man was greatly cast down, but he never allowed chagrin or dejection to cut very deep into his optimistic nature. He was caught hard and fast in the clutch of circumstances; yet it was better to face the gloomy situation with some show of grace, than to deaden his resources by giving way to despair.
But Wild Bill was sorry for Dunbar and Perry—sorrier for them than he was for himself.
The afternoon passed. Wild Bill, his limbs cramped and numb from the ropes, twisted around on the bed and fretted for some one to talk to.
He beguiled some of the time by working at his bonds. They were knotted firmly, but he tried sawing the hempen strands in two by working the rope up and down on the side board of the bed.
These tactics might have won out if he had had two or three days to keep at them, but a few hours grinding would accomplish little.
When the shadows of evening began to settle down, the bolt was pushed back, the door opened, and Benner and Red Steve came in again, the latter bringing the prisoner’s supper.
Wild Bill’s hands were not unbound. Red Steve propped him up on the bed and fed him.
“Have you made up your mind what you’re going to do with me?” inquired the prisoner, when the meal was finished.
Lige Benner stood gloomily by with folded arms.