The face of the figure was blank. Two washed-out blue eyes stared at the scout; and the scout, on hands and knees, stared back.
“Who in blazes are ye?” demanded the red-headed man, all at once finding his voice.
“A stranger and a traveler,” answered the scout, the ludicrous nature of the situation gradually appealing to him. “A man who—er—a-tchoo!”
“What d’ye mean by knockin’ a hole in the roof an’ slammin’ in on me like this?” went on the other, coming out of his surprise with a manner distinctly hostile.
The scout picked himself up slowly, felt of his bruises, and gave vent to a grewsome laugh.
“If you think, amigo, that I meant to knock a hole in your roof,” said he, “you’ve another guess coming. If I had planned to pay you a visit I wouldn’t have gone about it like this, would I?”
“How do I know who ye are, or what ye’d do?” fumed the other, far and away more savage than the scout thought the mishap warranted. “I don’t want no truck with ye, anyways. If ye didn’t allow ter pay me a visit, an’ if ye ain’t here from ch’ice, then yore next move is ter git out as quick as ye come in. Them’s the stairs”—he waved a hand toward a ladder that led upward to a flat door in the roof—“an’ at the same time we says hello, we also says good-by. Start yerself.”
“I’m not inclined to stay here any longer than you want to have me,” answered the scout, “but I landed with something of a jolt. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll just catch my breath before I try the stairs.”
“It ain’t all the same ter me,” barked the man. “I want ye ter go, an’ I want ye ter go ter oncet! With this ter back up the invite, I reckon ye won’t stand none on the order ter hike.”
The red-haired man made a swipe at his belt and lifted a hairy hand with a six-shooter. Buffalo Bill looked him in the eye and then coolly sat down on a two-legged stool that happened to be handy.