“Well, that woman idolizes that wicked brother of hers, and all the miners in Yellow Dust Valley idolize her. Did she wish to make a dash and rescue her brother she could get every man in the valley to follow her lead, so I am going to see just what her destination is.”
“A good idea,” responded Doctor Powell, and half an hour after Buffalo Bill rode away from the fort following the trail of the stage-coach.
“They is two dandies from ’wayback, miss.”
Such had been Horseshoe Ned’s comment regarding Surgeon Powell and Buffalo Bill as the coach rolled by them.
“Who are they?” innocently asked Ruth.
“Ther one in fatigue uniform is Doctor Frank Powell, miss, better known as ther Surgeon Scout, for he’s one of the best Injun-fighters and trailers on ther plains, and no man has had a more dangerous life than he has lived. He’s a dead shot, and don’t know no more what fear is than I does about preachin’ ther Gospil. Ther’ ain’t no squarer and better man in the wild West than White Beaver, as the Injuns call him, nor a better surgeon, scout, and all-around man, either.”
“You certainly give him a most delightful recommendation, Horseshoe Ned; but, who is the one in buckskin and the broad sombrero who was talking to him?”
“That are Buffalo Bill.”
“Yes, I have heard of him, as I have also of the Surgeon Scout, for they are known everywhere, it seems, through their deeds.”
“Yes, miss, they is, for a fact.