The two men uttered a yell of fright, and, for a moment, seemed about to risk bullets in the face of superstitious fear.
Had it been nighttime, the added dread that darkness brings to the superstitious would have sent them away on the jump.
“Why, Black Bill, I thought that you were dead, and, thank Heaven, it is not so!” said Buffalo Bill earnestly.
“No, massa; it was a close call, for dat bullet done cut my head, and I guess will kill me yet.
“I is awful dizzy in my head like, but I kin tie dese gemmens, all right.”
With this, the negro passed his hand across his head, took his lariat from over his shoulder, and began to tie the two men, Buffalo Bill keeping them covered with his revolver, and aiding in binding them securely.
“The one lariat will do for them both, and keep them tied together—there, now we have them; but you cannot stand up?”
“It don’t seem as though I could, sir,” said the black, who kept sitting on the ground.
“I’ll see to your wound right off.”