“His shins are skinned a little,” he announced to Dunbar, “but he came through that affair a heap better than I had dared to hope. Get your horse, Nate,” he added, vaulting into the saddle, “and we’ll be touching the high places.”
Dunbar started south and vanished into a shallow swale. The scout rode after him.
“The horses are here, all right,” called Nate, “but I can’t locate the riding gear.”
“Wasn’t it taken to the dugout?” returned the scout.
“I didn’t see it in there, but—Ah,” he broke off abruptly, “here it is. I just stumbled over it.”
He saddled and bridled in record time, swung a leg over his bronk and rode to the scout’s side.
“Where now, Buffalo Bill?” he asked.
“Take me to Perry’s ranch, Nate,” said Buffalo Bill.
Impulsively Nate Dunbar reached out his hand and gave the scout’s a grateful grip.
“Let me rise to remark,” observed Nate, with a touch of sincere feeling, “that you’re a whole man. I’m playing in big luck to-night. There was about one chance in a thousand that you’d break a hole in that roof—but it’s the one chance that came my way. Dick Perry and Hattie are about discouraged with all their troubles, but they’ll take a fresh lease of hope when they learn that you’re on our side.”