But the savages had his scalp, and cared little for him, and he reached the band in safety, a piteous sight to look at, and told how he had heard of the capture and death of Buffalo Bill.
“Haddock, for those cheering words I would give a year of my life to save you; but you are badly wounded, besides being scalped, and—hold him up, men, for he’s falling!”
Before any one could catch the man he fell dead on the prairie; and, remembering only himself, Kent King muttered:
“Now I can return to the train and continue on to Denver. Then, my sweet Mary Hale, we meet again, and you will have no champion knight to protect you, for the coyotes will feast upon him, and the vultures will flap their wings in his handsome face. By Heaven! Sioux, I could almost love you for the service you have done me, and grasp your hands in fellowship.”
Giving his instructions to the band of outlaws, he returned to the people whom he was deceiving under his disguise of a parson—a veritable wolf in the clothing of a lamb.
CHAPTER XVII.
A FOE’S GRATITUDE.
When the chief of the Sioux band entered the hills, and came to the spot where Buffalo Bill still lay insensible, he glanced into the upturned face and then at the long hair, and said, quickly, in his native tongue:
“It is Pa-e-has-ka, the white brave; my warriors have done well not to touch his scalp or kill him, for he served me long moons ago.”