The roars of laughter from the other Indians showed how they appreciated the fun. Their laughter so angered the bruised redskin that he would have shot Nebuchadnezzar dead but for the prompt interference of a man who had but recently come into the camp.
That he was a white man, and the real leader of the Redskin Rovers, Buffalo Bill was sure as soon as he saw him; but he was dressed as an Indian, and his hands and face were so covered with paint that one not closely attentive would have been sure he was an Indian.
This leader caught the wrathy redskin by the throat and thrust him back when he picked up a rifle and would have shot the old horse, and the language he used, though in the Indian tongue, told Buffalo Bill even more clearly that he was a white man, for it was imperfect, showing that he had not fully mastered it.
“Thet’s a white man, Buffler,” said Nomad; “and he’s an outlaw, I reckon, and is pertendin’ thet he’s an Injun. Them things I never could stand. Still, it does sorter warm me up and make me feel kinder good toward him ter have him chip in thet way in behalf of ole Nebby.”
“The question that’s troublin’ me,” said Pizen Kate, who was apparently not interested in either the exploits or the safety of Nebuchadnezzar, “is, now that we’re here, how we’re goin’ to git away from here? Aire we ever goin’ to git away?”
It was a question that also troubled the other prisoners.
CHAPTER XI.
ESCAPE.
Buffalo Bill was trying to settle that question by releasing himself from the cords with which he had been bound.
This was slow and difficult work. He was bound to a small tree, close to the camp fire, with his hands tied behind his back, and cords were round his ankles.
The other prisoners were tied in much the same manner. Nearest to him was old Nick Nomad. Close at Nomad’s side was Latimer, with Pizen Kate farther away, this fact seeming to give a feeling of relief to the old trapper.