“Things wasn’t lookin’ jest as they ought to outside, an’ I come up ter report, and this feller was layin’ right by the door—keeled over in a fit, I reckon, an’ when——”
Having talked with the first sentinel he had made a prisoner, Buffalo Bill was imitating the peculiarities of the man’s speech, and so clever was the imitation that the man in the doorway was for a moment deceived.
That moment was enough for Buffalo Bill’s purpose. He stepped forward with his burden, as if for the purpose of bearing it into the room.
“Not in heur,” the man objected. “Take it into t’other room, whar ther capt’in is.”
He was not given time to say anything more, for Buffalo Bill’s strong right hand shot out at this juncture and caught him by the throat in an iron grip.
As he pushed this man on into the room, holding him by the throat, the scout let the insensible form of the guard slip to the ground.
The man he had taken by the throat was not willing to be subdued without a struggle, however, and began to writhe and twist and fight with all his strength.
There was a stir in the other room, which, as the scout now saw, was connected by a door with this room.
With a quick glance around, Buffalo Bill saw that the other occupants of the room were Carter and his daughter Rose.