“You’re not so high an’ mighty,” sneered Bloom. “Because you’re a government scout, you ain’t bigger’n the whole State of Texas.”
“I’m big enough to look after you and take care of Nate,” replied Buffalo Bill. “The boy’s no thief.”
“Prove it!” grunted Bloom.
The door was kicked open just at that moment, and Wild Bill pushed breathlessly into the room.
“Sure we’ll prove it!” he cried; “by gorry, that’s what I’m here for—it’s what I’ve been pounding over this range for during the last five hours. Nate’s innocent! Listen to the mellow trill of my bazoo, all hands!”
Wild Bill dropped wearily down on the bench beside Dunbar.
The Laramie man presented an appearance that was badly demoralized, to say the least. He still wore his mismatched footgear and his torn slouch hat. Where the disguise had been stripped away his usual costume showed itself, but it did not appreciably improve his appearance. His hands, face and clothing were covered with grime.
“Can—can this be Mr. Hickok?” faltered the sky pilot.
“It’s Wild Bill, parson,” laughed the scout. “Where’d you come from, pard?”
“From the Star-A ranch last, amigo,” replied Wild Bill. “Old Nomad gave me a tip as to what had happened, and where you were, and I raced on here. Beeswax has had some travel to-night—and it was a bee line and the keen jump every foot of the way.”