He stepped aside, drawing the apelike man with him.
It was the end of Matt Shepard, one of the bravest of the sheriffs of the Western border.
The panicky survivors encountered Buffalo Bill’s party. The shooting and yelling had been heard, and the scout had hastened.
“Better go back!” said Shepard’s deputy, whose name was Dugan. “Shepard’s dead or wounded, and the hull bilin’ that ain’t killed was captured, ceptin’ them that’s with me. They’ll wipe you clean off the slate, if you go there.”
The other men with Dugan said much the same thing.
Then they went on, riding and running in the direction of Blossom Range.
The hubbub of the Indians had died out.
Buffalo Bill took stock of the situation before moving on. The thing had a bad look.
“It’s Benson’s work, of course,” he declared.