His face was white, his ratty eyes rolling, his pendulous lips were apart, and his whole huge body quivered with fear.
“Yes,” said Juniper Joe, not less scared, “who air ye, anyhow?”
The man of the blond hair smiled.
“Wash off the stain that has turned my hair and mustache to golden, and make a few other changes, and you might recognize me; for I’m Cody’s old chum and side pardner, Wild Bill Hickok!”
The men at the table groaned.
“Shall I jump through the winder and try ter git that feller?” Nomad asked. “He’s ther wust of ther lot.”
“He is,” the scout admitted; “Benson is the worst of the lot, but he hasn’t escaped yet, even if he is out of this room. Better let him go, right now, Nomad, unless you’re hankerin’ to get a bullet. Better put in your time in tying these rascals here, while the rest of us keep them covered.”
“Uff yoost vun uff dhem moves,” said the baron, “I am going to shoodt him; I haf suffered so mooch dot it vouldt pe a bleasure.”
The white, scared face of the woman called Vera Bright appeared in the doorway.
“You’ve got them?” she said, peering in.