“Boss, I is mos’ so weak I has got ter let you do de work, an’ you see, sah, I is wounded, too.”
“Poor fellow!” Buffalo Rill glanced at a bullet wound in the negro’s side.
Hastily the scout set to work, pitched his camp in a secluded spot on the bank of a little stream, and, taking from his pack saddle a pair of extra blankets, he spread them on the ground and told the negro to lie down.
He quickly gathered some wood, built a fire among some rocks, and, after staking out the horses, started to prepare a venison steak, bacon, hoecake, and coffee for supper.
The negro would have eaten ravenously, so nearly starved was he, only the scout made him go slow, and did not give him half what he craved.
“I’ll give you some more after a while; but now I’ll build a shelter for you, as I think you’ll have to rest here for a few days, at least.”
The shelter was built and made comfortable, and then the scout cut off from the swollen, blistered, and bruised feet the deerskin covering that served as shoes, took a liniment from his pack, and, after having the man stand in the water for some time, put it upon them, after which he dressed the wound in his side, which, though painful, was not serious.
“Who gave you this?”
“A bad white man, sah, who pretended ter be my friend, but arter he heerd my story, he shot me, an’ he meant ter kill me, only I got one in on him, sah.