CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE WESTERN DEAD SHOT.
The man who had galloped with that yell right into the crowd was none other than Wild Bill, the Western dead shot.
Many of the men there recognized him, and they were sure his sudden dash meant an attempt to rescue Buffalo Bill.
Wild Bill reined in his horse so quickly that he threw it back on its haunches. It reared, its pawing front feet making the men there scatter, and when it came down, Wild Bill, with a touch of the spur, drove it to Cody’s side. Then he half wheeled his horse, lifting his cap to the astonished crowd.
“It seems to me, from the look of things, that you’ve got the wrong steer by the horns! I know that my friend Cody is too white a man to ever do anything that would call for a hanging bee.” He smiled upon Buffalo Bill. “Eh, pard, what have they got it in for you for?”
Not a man there but had heard of Wild Bill, and many of them knew him by sight; so that when it was known that this was Wild Bill, the most dare-devil and reckless shot of the West, the man who feared not the face of clay, and if report spoke correctly would rather shoot than eat, there was a falling back. Yet they still surrounded Buffalo Bill and this new rider, and seemed no more disposed to give up their prey than if they were a band of wolves.
Wild Bill had seen many mobs, and he knew their moods and methods; yet his flashing eyes betrayed no sign that he really understood the very dangerous and ticklish position which he and his noted pard were in. He even seemed to be merry.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “won’t some one enlighten me? Here am I, a wayfarer, blundering into this tragic scene, but knowing no more what it is about than if I were the off hind wheel of a prairie schooner. I can see, though, that you are harboring some sort of hard feelings against my friend Cody, as white and true a man as ever breathed the breath of life. What is it? Spit it out!”
They began to “spit it out,” telling him the things with which Buffalo Bill stood charged.
“And he denies it? Strange that he should deny anything like that! I’m afraid, though, that I’ll have to help him deny it. For I know that there is another man who goes round here pretending to be my pard Cody. I got word of it, not long ago, over in the Bitterroot country, and I’ve ridden over here to hunt the devil down, just for my pard’s sake.”