“Probably his order of the Black Eagle was a tin tobacco-tag,” came sarcastically from the super. “Frieda wouldn’t know the difference.”
“Iss dot so?” returned Frieda scornfully. “I don’d vas so pig a fool as I look, den. No man can fool me, und you can’t fool me, neider. I vill tell you someding else.”
“What?” asked McGowan.
“Der baron iss a pard oof Buffalo Pill’s!”
The girl’s pride grew to towering dimensions when she said this. Her chin went up in the air and her blue eyes gleamed like a pair of diamonds.
Bernritter looked startled, for a moment, then smiled disdainfully.
“Another yarn, McGowan,” said he.
“An interesting yarn, anyhow,” answered McGowan. “Why hasn’t he said something about being a pard of Buffalo Bill’s to the rest of us?”
“He say dot he stop in dis camp shust pecause oof me,” blushed Frieda, “und he don’d tell nopody else der segret oof his being pards mit Puffalo Pill.”
At that moment Jacobs arrived with the horses.