To avoid a possible alarm which the girl’s surprise might cause her to give, and which would effectually block the scout’s game of rescue, he reached forward and clasped one hand over the girl’s lips.
She straightened her shoulders suddenly and tried to scream, but the hand over her mouth stifled the sound.
“Don’t make any noise,” whispered the scout in the girl’s ear. “I am a friend, and am going to try and take you from the island. But, if I succeed, you must not make any noise. Bascomb and Bernritter are within a few yards of us, and if they heard what I was doing, they would shoot. Do you understand? I am Buffalo Bill, and I have come from your father.”
Whether it was the magical name of “Buffalo Bill,” standing for so much of chivalry and daring throughout the West, or whether it was the scout’s mention of her father, the girl became pacified at once, and apparently plucked up courage and hope.
The scout removed his hand.
“Oh, take me away, take me away!” breathed the girl. “I will be quiet—I will not make a sound—but get me away from this awful place and these hateful men as quickly as you can.”
The sorrow and anxiety in the girl’s words went straight to the heart of the scout.
Without taking time to reply, he pulled his knife from its sheath and slashed it through the rope that bound the girl to the boulder, and then through the bonds that secured her hands and feet.
Miss McGowan then attempted to stand, but her limbs, benumbed by the bonds, would not support her weight.
Seeing how matters stood, the scout bent down and lifted her in his arms.