“Tampered with!” growled McGowan.
“That’s the size of it,” returned the scout.
McGowan drew the mate to the firearm from his pocket and tried to fire that. The result was the same as in the case of the other revolver.
“Bernritter must have done this!” declared McGowan.
“Did you leave the weapons where he could get at them?”
“They usually hung from a belt on a nail in my room. As my room is off the office, it was easy for Bernritter to get at the guns and fix ’em. Oh, the depth of that villain’s trickery! He laid his wires well, and he would have won out against me, Buffalo Bill, if it hadn’t been for you and your pards.”
“Such a man,” commented the scout, “deserves the worst that can happen to him.”
Nomad was kneeling beside the baron, binding up his injury with a piece of sacking.
“Is it a bad wound, Nick?” the scout asked solicitously.
“Scratch, thet’s all,” said Nomad.