“By ther great jumpin’ jack rabbits, ef that ain’t ther queerest ever!” he grunted. “Somebody callin’ ter me hyer, at a p’int whar thar ain’t nobody!”
A pebble came rolling down the side of the hill, the suddenness with which it bounced out at him making him jump. He saw that it had come from a clump of aspens on the hillside not far away.
His ancient rifle swung around with a quick motion, and the muzzle was elevated toward the aspens.
“Hi, there! Don’t shoot,” a voice called. “Like Davy Crockett’s coon, I’ll come down.”
Then a hand appeared, pushing some leaves aside, and, following this hand, came the body of a man.
Nomad gasped his amazement when he saw the clothing and face of this man. Before him stood Buffalo Bill.
Though Nomad’s astonishment was deep, he did not forget the peril in which he was placed at that time.
“Stand whar ye aire, Buffler!” he called. “The pizen reds aire rompin’ round, and aire after my ha’r. Ole Crazy Snake is reachin’ fer me with his fangs.”
He guided his horse up to the aspens where the scout stood; the scout asking questions, which he did not then answer.
“Buffler, I’m gladder ter see ye than ef I’d found a gold mine! Got yer hoss hyar?”