He took a peep inside, but none of his pards were there. The coroner and sheriff were present and several hangers-on.
Hickok hurried away again, determined to get back to the hotel at once and tell Buffalo Bill what he had learned. He had not covered one-half the distance when there came a thunderous crash that made the surrounding low buildings rock.
Hickok paused to locate the direction of the explosion, which seemed to have come from all points of the compass at once. As he looked a familiar figure darted out from between two buildings and made down the street, keeping in the shadow.
“It’s Bloody Ike or I’m an ape,” muttered the Laramie man, taking up the pursuit.
Out of the settlement dashed pursued and pursuer, the latter confident that the former had been up to some deviltry and feeling that in some way it concerned himself and Buffalo Bill.
Half a mile out Bloody Ike reached an encampment of Indian traders who had several horses tethered on the plain. Hickok was near enough, crouched in the grass and weeds, to hear the conversation. The man wanted to buy a pony, and soon struck up a trade. Without even a saddle he mounted and rode away.
He was hardly out of sight before the Laramie man was bartering for a pony. He had noted one in particular that he wanted, for the little fellow was doing its best to get away and follow the animal ridden by Bloody Ike.
Hickok paid a generous price, and the moment he mounted the pony dashed out on the plain, in the direction taken by Bloody Ike, at breakneck speed.
“So,” said the Laramie man to himself, “I guess I can follow the trail if it is dark.”
He leaned well forward on the animal’s neck, and watched its ears outlined against the sky. At every attempt to whinny he slipped his hat over the pony’s nose.