“For I was making love to you and all that?” He laughed harshly.
“No; because you were father’s friend.”
“Well, I’ve been good to him, for your sake,” he said brazenly.
She became terrified, for this seemed almost a confession that he was not Buffalo Bill.
“I’ve been good to him,” he repeated, “and he knows it, and he don’t doubt that I’m Buffalo Bill. I let him have a thousand dollars to help him out with that claim, and he doesn’t forget it.”
She regarded him with terror, for there was a change in his manner—a reckless change apparently.
“You will take me on to father’s claim as soon as possible?” she said.
He dropped to a rough stool close by the door, in such a manner that the door was still guarded by his body.
“Well, what if I’m not Buffalo Bill, as you say?”
“I—I am afraid you’re not.”