“I reckon you’ve got hold o’ some’un who’s willing to shoulder the blame jest to clear Nate Dunbar of——”
The scout whirled in his tracks and gave Bloom a square look. Bloom’s words died on his lips immediately.
“That’s right,” said the scout, “step carefully, Bloom. We’ve had one row over your recklessness in using language. Our next row will be more serious. Mount, friends,” he went on to the rest. “I’ll not be detaining you much longer.”
They all took to their saddles again. This time Wild Bill took the lead. The course they traversed was back into the trail, then off toward the timbered bottoms of the Brazos.
“We’ve had er s’prise er two,” observed the old trapper to the doctor, “an’ now thar’s more comin’. Got any idee what we’ll find next, doc?”
“Not the slightest, my friend,” was the reply, “but if the two Bills are back of it we can rest assured that it will be worth while, amply worth while.”
The first sign that the party had of their proximity to their destination was given by a voice very familiar to the pards.
“Dis vay, people! Here iss vere you vant to go! I peen here waiting so long as I can’t tell. Dis vay, bards!”
The baron showed himself in front of a copse of bushes. He was on foot, and seemed to have been on guard. But what was he guarding?
“Howdy, baron!” said old Nomad. “You an’ Wild Bill appear ter hev been doin’ a few things.”