Wild Bill saw that Crawling Bear meant what he said. The camp not appearing to be a very safe place for a red man, anyhow, the Laramie man decided to let his companion have his way.
“Got a place where I can write?” inquired Wild Bill.
“Go through the office an’ inter the bar,” replied Spangler. “You can write on one of the tables, an’ I reckon the barkeep can skeer up a patchin’ o’ paper and a lead-pencil.”
Leaving his horse with the Ponca, Wild Bill went into the barroom, and had soon written a few words to Buffalo Bill, asking him to come to Sun Dance as soon as possible. Returning to Crawling Bear, Wild Bill handed him the folded note and a dozen silver dollars.
“Why you give um Ponca dinero?” asked the Indian.
“That’s for carrying the message to Buffalo Bill,” said the Laramie man.
“Buffalo Bill?” wheezed Spangler, stirring a little in his chair. “You a friend of Buffalo Bill’s?”
“Yes,” answered Wild Bill, whirling on the fat man. “My name’s Hickok.”
“Wild Bill!” muttered Spangler. “Say, that’s different. Any Injun friend o’ Wild Bill’s can stop with me. I’ll break my rules for you, and——”
Hoofs clattered. Crawling Bear, not waiting further, was off for the edge of the “flat” on his return journey to Sill.