This man came up to them, riding a piebald pony. He had keen black eyes that bored them through and through. His clothing was nondescript, but the rifle he bore and the revolvers he carried were of the best and latest patterns.
“Howdy!” he said, and he looked Buffalo Bill straight in the face, knowing at a glance who he was, for the resemblance to the man who was his leader was remarkable. “I been lookin’ all round fer ye,” he added, with rare confidence and nerve.
The scouts were a bit puzzled.
“Yes?” said Buffalo Bill. “And now that you’ve found us?”
“Well, I didn’t know what orders you might have fer the boyees.”
He was making the daring pretense of believing that this man was the fake Buffalo Bill.
Buffalo Bill dropped a hand to his ready revolver.
“Who do you take me for?” he asked.
“Buffalo Bill, o’ course,” said the man, with a meaning grin.
“Yes, that’s my handle, as we say in this country; but I don’t seem to know you.”