“I’m going to take the facts as I find them,” replied Phelps. “But, first, I’m going to see what’s in those saddlebags.”
“That’s right,” approved Buffalo Bill. “I was careful to instruct the baron and Wild Bill not to let a thing be touched. Everything here is just as they found it. Go ahead and look through the saddlebags.”
Phelps went to the broken and twisted saddle, and cut the saddlebags away. Then he unbuckled the stout straps, and drew forth a canvas bag full of jingling yellow wealth. Untying the bag, he looked into it.
“The gold is here,” said he. “It’s not necessary to count it. I’m willing to concede that the bag is just as it was when Jake tucked it away in the bags.”
“Then you’re satisfied?” asked the scout.
“I am—entirely so.”
“Now say you’ve made a fool of yourself,” counseled the doctor, “and also thank Buffalo Bill and Benner for keeping your men from bringing shame and disgrace on the cattle country last night.”
“I was a little hasty,” acknowledged Phelps, “and I’m sorry I took the attitude I did; still, I don’t see how I could have thought any differently, considering the circumstances.”
“What about you, Bloom?” asked the scout. “Haven’t you got anything to say about this?”
“Not a thing,” answered the sheriff sourly.