“And the man—her father; he was the other prisoner, wasn’t he?”
“He’s held in another cabin, out in ther hills.”
Question after question the scout thus put to the trembling wretch, until he had pumped him dry of information.
“Thank you,” said Buffalo Bill, at last. “I’m glad I fell in with you.”
“Can’t say thet I recipercates,” the fellow grumbled.
“No, perhaps not. Now, I’m going to leave you again, but I’ll call and see you later.”
“Say, boss,” the man called, as Buffalo Bill was about to apply the gag again, “who aire ye, anyhow? You’re a good un; and you’re fair, fer an enemy. If I was on your side, I’d tie to ye.”
“Likely you’ll know who I am later,” was the answer, as the scout stole away.
Buffalo Bill now pushed on up the gulch, finding no further obstruction. Without mishap he made his way along the side gorge, until he came at length in sight of the cabins, several of which were lighted by fires that leaped and flamed in the wide-throated fireplaces, for the nights up there in the hills were cool and fires were needed.