That gurgling exclamation, unintentional though it was, proved a mighty lucky happening for Jim Betts right then. The clutch on his windpipe, which was closing again, dropped away; then a voice sounded:
“Who are you?”
“Wow! Who air you?”
Jim Betts fell back, gasping and gurgling.
“I’m Buffalo Bill!”
“Wow! I’m Jim Betts!”
The man drew himself together, pulling the blanket over him.
“I beg your pardon,” he whispered: “I thought you were an Indian.”
“An’ I thought you must be the devil the way you got holt o’ me.”
“Get under this blanket quick, and lie low. Some of the Utes are coming over this way.”