Buffalo Bill had seen this man, whom Lawless and his gang called ‘Tex,’ and it was easy to recognize the fellow’s huge bulk, in spite of the screening darkness.
A powerful man was Tex, and he marshaled all his strength for what he must have believed to be a fight for life.
At close quarters Tex could not use his rifle—in fact, that weapon had dropped the instant the scout had grabbed him—so he sought to break away and draw one of his revolvers.
Buffalo Bill understood perfectly well what Tex’s intentions were, and hung to him with a grip of iron.
Finding himself unable to get clear of the scout’s hands, Tex attempted to draw a bowie that swung in front of him from his belt.
In a mix-up like that a knife was far and away more dangerous than a revolver.
Back and forth, and around and around the two men strained, and the scout was not long in discovering that he had never met a man more worthy of his strength and prowess than was Tex.
Time and again Tex got a hand on the knife-hilt, and time and again the scout caught the hand and wrenched it away, always with the blade still in its scabbard, although once or twice the blade was half-drawn.
For either combatant to gain an advantage seemed out of the question. The contest, the scout early made up his mind, was to be one of endurance.
After the first exchange of words neither of the men spoke. Breath was valuable, and could not be wasted.