She hesitated. She did not like the thought of that long night ride, even though she did not yet distrust this fake Buffalo Bill, for she believed him to be the real Buffalo Bill. It seemed strange to her that her father should ask her to do this thing, for she reasoned that he ought to know she would not personally be in any danger in the town.
“I think I ought to see Mr. Denton first,” she said.
Though Panther Pete’s anger flamed at that name, he still maintained his outward composure.
“I have already met him and sent him out there!” he said.
“Mr. Denton has gone out there?”
“Yes; he was in as much danger as either your father or myself, and I told him so. He was riding, beyond the town, and I urged him to hurry on to the claim. I told him I’d get you, with this escort, and see you safe to the claim to-night.”
The thing seemed so impossible to her. She did not, however, have the least inkling of the truth—that this cold-blooded and smooth-tongued villain had shot Denton but a few minutes before on the very steps of her own home.
“Come!” said Panther Pete, as she hesitated, “I can’t stay long. Those vigilantes will know soon that I’m in the town, if they don’t know it already, and then I’ll be in peril of having my neck stretched so long that it would be easy to tie bowknots with it.”
His words were flippant, but his manner was not.
“Oh, is the danger so great as that?” she cried.