There was a stir beyond the palisade gate, together with the challenge of a sentry.
“Who goes there?” the sentry asked.
The answer was sharp and clear:
“Wild Bill Hickok. My good friend, it’s so dark that I don’t even know myself, but if you’ll speak that name to Buffalo Bill, who I think is on the inside, he may bring a lantern out here and light up my face enough to recognize me.”
“Hickok!” cried Buffalo Bill, with joy. “The one man above all others that I should most prefer to see just now!”
He turned to the gate.
“That’s Wild Bill Hickok,” he said to the sentry. “I know his voice, even if he hadn’t announced his name. I’ll guarantee with my life that he is all right.”
Hickok was permitted to enter; and, as most of the men there had seen him, and all had the highest regard for him, there was almost an ovation as he came in through the gate.
He was mounted, and he threw himself out of the saddle to clasp the hand of his old pard, Buffalo Bill.
“Glad to see you—more than words can tell, Hickok! What’s the news?”