“She has nerve of an uncommon order, Ned, and she sends a bullet to dead center. But where is your prisoner?”
“He’s in ther tavern under guard, the doctor havin’ fixed up his wounds.”
“Are they very bad?”
“Ther leetle bone in his right arm were smashed, and ther bullet grazed the one in his left, but he’ll be well enough to hang with t’others of ther gang, for it’s his neck we wants in prime condition for thet occasion. But whar is you goin’, Bill?”
“I thought I would ride on here and see if you needed any aid going back with your man?”
“No, indeed, for I’ll tie him on the box with me; but I’ll be glad of your company, Bill, if you will go along.”
“Thank you, no, for I’ll continue on in my scouting along the range to-morrow.”
Staying that night at the tavern, Buffalo Bill left bright and early the next morning, taking the trail for Yellow Dust Valley.
He was well-mounted, and it was not yet sunset when he rode by the lonely cabin of the miner, Deadshot Dean, where he had so nearly lost his life at the hands of the desperadoes who had captured him as Silk Lasso Sam.
The cabin was closed and doubly locked, and an air of desolation and desertion was upon all. The scout had hitched his horse down in the valley, and walked up to the cabin.