“A goot schmoke iss vot I am needting. Aber a glass uff lager peer vouldt be efen petter. I am going to schmoke, vhile you tell me apoudt Yuniper Yoe, vhen you vos oop to his blace dhis morning.”
“Waal, you’ll find it as movin’ a tail, baron, as was ever stuck on a dawg,” said Nomad. “Buffler went up thar, jest after daylight. He found ther cabin locked tight as a money chist; and when he hammered on ther door he heard a groan. So he broke ther door down an’ went in, ter find Juniper Joe hog-tied an’ gagged in the corner, and Mrs. Joe layin’ slung out on the floor as ef dead. An’ ther place had been robbed.”
The German dropped his pipe and stared.
“Himmel!” he cried. “Iss dot der troot?”
“Nothing truer, baron.”
“It’s a correct account of it,” said Buffalo Bill. “The woman was unconscious from a wound on the head; it looked like a bullet wound to me, but she thought it had been made with the hammer of a revolver; at least, that is what she claimed. I got Joe on his feet, and then we worked over the woman for a while, finally bringing her round. They declared that the man who had attacked them and robbed them was Tim Benson.”
“Who iss also-o Shackson Dane!” said the baron.
“So far, that is merely a supposition.”
“Eenyhow, I am pelieving it.”
“Thet would er been excitement fer ye, baron, ef so be you hed been thar!”