Uttering the yell, Buffalo Bill seized his friend by the neck and flung him suddenly forward upon his face. He fell himself as well, and at the very instant there was a flash in the bushes on the side-hill, an explosion sounded, and the zip-zip of the bullet cut the air over their heads.
Both scouts rolled aside, found covert, and sprang into position, revolvers in hand. Cody emptied one pistol as rapidly as possible into the brush-clump from which the treacherous shot had been fired.
“No use, Bill! There he goes!” yelled Texas Jack.
Off at one side they saw a huge figure pass rapidly out of sight. It looked like a bear running on its hind legs—were such a thing possible.
“Of all the bloody-minded scoundrels!” said Texas Jack, as the two scouts set forth again, in the same direction as that taken by the person who had fired at them—which was likewise toward the lake, “that fellow takes the bun.”
“Who was he? The smoke was in my eyes, and I couldn’t tell whether he was white or red.”
“He was white, all right—or, so I have always heard,” declared Texas Jack.
“By thunder! you don’t mean to say you know the scoundrel?”
“Not personally acquainted with him—no,” laughed Jack.
“What then?”