All he would have to do would be to find a match in his ragged pocket—scrape it lightly over his trousers leg—so; and apply it to the end of the fuse.
Oh, yes, his nerve had always stood him in good stead—when he lighted a fuse he always stood over it after other men had fled, to see that the fuse was well fired and not going out.
How easy! It lighted the first time! It was running splendidly! He had cut a generous length of fuse to give him ample time to get well beyond the terrific concussion, which would follow in a few seconds.
He must go.
With the agility of the experienced mountaineer he darted over the rocks, caught up the other can of powder and some of the provision bags, and sprang away into the shadows and disappeared among the rocks.
Buffalo Bill was restless. He was not given to visions or presentiments, and did not believe in forerunners; but when a decaying molar got its tantrums and began to put in the kicks of a wild horse, it disturbed his slumbers. He bore the pain as long as possible and then crawled out softly, that he might not disturb his companions.
The scout had determined to try the solace of his pipe.
As he approached the almost lifeless coals of the evening’s fire he was surprised to see a man arise from the dense shadow of a pile of rock and dart away.
He at first thought it was one of the miners, but the apparent haste and stealthy step aroused the scout’s suspicion.
He stepped along and peered behind the rock pile to see if there might be others.