Nomad yelled again, in that high key, meaning thus to announce to Buffalo Bill that he was still unhurt, also to call Nebuchadnezzar to him.
Some of the Indians came up to the remaining prisoners. One of them was curious enough to inspect the cords, and in so doing discovered that Buffalo Bill’s hands were free. His cry of anger drew others.
The temptation was strong for the scout to dash his fist into this redskin’s painted face, and then make a break for safety; but, as before, he was restrained by a feeling that he ought not to abandon the other prisoners.
The Indians surrounded him now, and they tied him again, using neither kind words nor methods in doing it.
However, no sooner was he alone than he was again working to free his hands.
Pizen Kate was greatly excited by the escape of Nomad. “Persimmon Pete,” she wailed, “he’s deserted me ag’in. And now I can’t foller him.”
The white leader of the Redskin Rovers soon recovered from the knock-out effects of the kick given him by old Nebuchadnezzar, although he complained of severe pains in his chest, and he would himself now have shot Nebuchadnezzar, if the opportunity had presented. For a time he remained by the camp fire, groaning in sullen rage.
During that time, and while the search for Nomad was still going on, Buffalo Bill worked quietly at the cords on his wrists. Yet he had to work now with extreme care, for he was almost every moment under the eyes of some enemy.
By and by the disguised white man rose from his recumbent position and came over to where the prisoners were. He fixed his eyes on Buffalo Bill.
“What Long Hair do here?” he said, maintaining his character of an Indian.