“A hull cageful,” he answered. And again he sent out the cry.
Buffalo Bill was already climbing up the slope, knowing that the outlaws would soon be there. He was glad he had aroused old Nomad, but he regretted that he had drawn the rifle fire of the sentry; for he had hoped the outlaws would not guess that an enemy had gained access to that slope of the hill overhanging their permanent camp.
But regrets were useless. The only thing to be done was to accommodate himself to the fact.
When the outlaws, climbing up the hill, gained the point where the sentry lay senseless, they found him, and flashed lights to discover if he were dead or what had happened to him. By shaking the man, they aroused him; and he sat up, staring and wheezing, clutching at his aching throat.
“I thought it was a coyote,” he gurgled.
“And what was it?”
“Well, I dunno; but somethin’ grabbed me and choked me, and——”
“Must have been a man!”
“I thought it—it was a coyote, prowlin’ round after a dog owl,” he explained. “I heard the dog owl, and then I thought I saw the coyote, and——”
“Shot at a coyote? That was no way to do!”