But the horse ridden by Pawnee Bill set its foot in a dog hole, and fell, throwing the dead shot to the ground. At the same instant, the jerk on the lariat tore it from the saddle. As it flew out it became wrapped round the body of the fallen rider, dragging him across the plain.
Buffalo Bill shouted, and rode to the help of his friend, driving his horse at its highest speed.
Pawnee Bill, caught in the lariat and dragged by the frightened mustang, would have been dragged to his death if Buffalo Bill had not ridden quickly to his rescue.
Leaning from his saddle, Buffalo Bill slashed the rope with his knife; and the mustang raced on, leaving Pawnee Bill on the ground, somewhat crestfallen and bruised, but practically unhurt. He sprang up, and ran to get his horse, which had got its foot out of the dog hole, and seemed to be uninjured.
“Cody, yours forever!” he shouted. “I’ll come to your aid likewise and also whenever you get into trouble like that.”
Then he was in the saddle, chasing the running mustang, which was dragging the severed end of the rope. He succeeded in riding around it, and drove it back toward the herd, where Buffalo Bill noosed it, and it was subdued.
“Great work, Cody!” called Black John, the leader of the mustangers. “That is your mustang, if you want him.”
“I’ll make you a present of him, so far as my interest goes,” said Buffalo Bill. “It seems a pity, though, that such a fine fellow has to be subdued and turned into a work animal.”
“True enough, Cody; but we men have to work, and why not horses? He’ll never do enough work to harm him, in my judgment. I get twenty dollars apiece for these, after they’re a bit broken, and there’s some money in it.”
A man was galloping across the valley.