And Cody knew the scoundrel. He had recognized the voice, and likewise by the fact that he held his left arm stiffly bound to his side, the scout knew that it was Boyd Bennett himself. Dick Danforth had indeed “stung” the robber. The bone of his left arm had been broken, and he could barely hold the reins with that hand.
Buffalo Bill was greatly tempted. Here was a chance for him to take his old enemy, single-handed. And did naught but personal vengeance enter into the affair, he would have made the attempt. But there was a brave opportunity of rounding up more of the gang, despite their affiliation with the redskins, and Cody resisted the temptation.
He made his way back to the cave, found most of the troopers already peacefully asleep, and Danforth anxiously awaiting his return.
“Well?” demanded the young lieutenant.
“We’re going to have visitors about midnight.”
“How’s that?”
“Mr. Bennett and his gang will make the attack; a set of thieving reds will stand off to pitch in if the whites can’t handle us.”
“Gee, Cody! how d’you know all that?”
Buffalo Bill told him.
“Why didn’t you shoot the bloody thieves?”