“I don’t doubt it. In four days you will be well enough to ride, and we’ll start for that valley you have told me of, and get those people out of their trouble.”
Half an hour after, Buffalo Bill, having made his black comrade thoroughly comfortable, mounted his horse and departed on his trail to the fort.
Black Bill looked after him wistfully as long as he was in sight, but, looking back, the scout saw him wave a farewell, and muttered:
“I am sorry to leave him, yet I must do so, as I can do nothing else, for he could not stand the ride to the fort and back, and lives depend on quick work, if I am not mistaken.”
And the scout put his horse at a swift and steady pace.
But he had not ridden many miles when suddenly he saw an Indian bound from the ground and spring to the shelter of a tree, his bow and arrows in hand.
It was a long shot, and the scout had to fire quickly, and did so. It seemed as though there was a double report; but the redskin fell, and no others were visible.
Cody knew that he had killed the Indian, and rode toward him, dismounted, and bent over the body, when suddenly a human form confronted him and a voice said:
“Pard, I guesses I’ll take the scalp o’ this Injun, an’ as I holds ther drop on you, ye’d better be kinder discreetlike.”