“In chargin’ you, sir, with these crimes, I now mention the runnin’ away a while ago with Miss Ellen West. And fur these things I ask that the vigilantes, organized for this purpose, take you, and tie a rope round your wu’thless neck, and swing yer wu’thless carkiss to that tree limb over there; and may God have mercy on your soul!”
The scout had listened at first in amusement and amazement. He now saw that there was black meaning back of all this fustian; that in truth this bombastic orator represented a committee of vigilantes determined to take his life. He saw, too, how easy it was for these men to mistake him for the man who had been masquerading in his place.
“See here,” said Buffalo Bill, “you are making the greatest mistake of your life. I have heard of the rascal for whom you take me, and I agree that if what has been reported of him is true he deserves hanging; but I am not that man. I am William F. Cody, known as Buffalo Bill. There is a man, I am told, in this section, who has been posing as Buffalo Bill.”
They interrupted him with howls of anger and laughter.
He saw now that he would have to fight his way through that crowd if he hoped to get away, and he swung with a quick movement into his saddle. But as he did so, he heard an ominous clicking of revolvers and saw that more than a dozen were trained on him.
To attempt to break through the crowd, it seemed, would be simply suicide. He might kill one, or several, of these men, but they could get him in spite of that; and then they certainly would make short work with him at the end of a rope.
They pushed toward him angrily, and three or four jumped to get hold of his bridle reins.
“Will you listen to reason?” he said. “I came here because I had heard of the things done by that masquerader who was sullying my good name.”
“Oh, we don’t take no bluff like that!” was yelled at him.
“We know that you’re Buffler Bill, all right,” another shouted. “And it’s Buffler Bill we’re wantin’.”