“Well, by gorry!” he exclaimed. “Have I got the blind staggers? Pard Cody, is that you?”
“There’s no mistake, Wild Bill,” came back in the familiar tones of the king of scouts. “Get down and tell me what brings you here?”
Wild Bill got down and leaned against his saddle. He was dazed, and was trying to guess how fate had shuffled and dealt the cards in this amazing fashion.
“I can’t seem to pull myself together, Pard Cody,” said Wild Bill. “Did you drop in here to spend the night on your way from Texico?”
“I dropped into another place before I came here,” answered the scout; “and, if I hadn’t, I shouldn’t be here now.”
A cowboy pushed into the light and out through the door behind the scout.
“Who’s this, Buffalo Bill?” the cowboy asked.
“It’s my pard from Laramie, Wild Bill Hickok,” said the scout.
“From Hackamore?”
“That’s the last place he hailed from, I reckon.”