When the desperadoes lifted him to the back of old Nebuchadnezzar the cords slipped from one of his wrists.
He did not try to take advantage of it, so far as attempting an escape was concerned; but in writhing around, as he struggled to straighten up on his horse, he contrived to drop from an inner pocket the letter which Buffalo Bill found.
The shrewd old trapper was sure that sooner or later the keen-eyed scout would hit that trail, and then would find that letter, and he believed that if he could contrive to keep the breath of life in his body until Buffalo Bill was given time to do something, his chances of escape were yet good. Hence, he resolved to do nothing to unduly anger this truculent outlaw chief and his men.
“I kin be as humble as a creepin’ field mouse, when I haf to,” was his thought, “and meek and humble is my lay now; maybe it’ll pull me through.”
When the outlaws went on they left Pool Clayton lying unconscious on the grass, his horse lariated and grazing close by him.
CHAPTER VI.
ABANDONED.
When Pool Clayton came to himself, with the darkness about him, except where it was lightened by the dying camp fire, he saw that he was alone—that he had been abandoned.
His horse, grazing close by, tearing noisily at the grass, was the only thing of life near him; but he shuddered when he heard, afar off, the howl of wolves.
“The men have left me!” he said, staggering to his feet.
There was caked blood on his face, and on his shirt, for that blow in the face had caused his nose to bleed freely. He was stiff and sore, and he felt dizzy and wretchedly sick and miserable.