That old mine Buffalo Bill had conceived to hold a “pay-streak” for him, but as he proceeded onward without finding any trace of Wild Bill, he began to think that there was not so much of a pay-streak as he had imagined.
Then, the next minute, as he drew close to the end of the level, one of those surprises which occasionally drop across a person’s path with results undreamed of presented itself.
Ahead of him, in the flickering glow of the candle, he saw a form stretched out at the side of the level.
“Hickok!” he cried, running forward.
The form gave out an incoherent gurgle, and the scout fell to his knees and flashed the candle in front of the man’s face. An exclamation of astonishment escaped his lips.
The man was not Wild Bill, but Nomad!
The old trapper was securely roped and gagged. Although he could not talk, his eyes, wide open and peering upward into his pard’s face, spoke volumes.
Wedging the candle in between two stones of the hanging wall, the scout proceeded to strip the ropes from his old pard.
The trapper’s first words were surprising.
“Let’s git out o’ hyar!” he gasped, floundering to his feet and grabbing his pard’s arm.