“I think so. The foul air got the best of him. Stand by to take him as I push him through.”
“Send him erlong,” answered the old trapper. “I’m blamed ef this ain’t ther strangest thing We, Us an’ Comp’ny ever went up ag’inst.”
Buffalo Bill put down his candle and lifted the limp form from the rocky floor. Nomad reached through and caught the form by the shoulders, dragging it to the other side and laying it down on the bottom of the level.
The next moment the scout had clambered clear of the breach and rejoined his pard.
“Hadn’t we better take him ter ther surface, Buffler?” asked Nomad. “Mebbyso a leetle water ’u’d help ter bring him ’round.”
“Pure air is all he needs,” the scout replied, “although, I suppose, if he has been shut up there long, both water and food would be acceptable.”
“This hyar must be ther work o’ thet skunk, Lawless,” growled Nomad.
“No doubt of it.”
“But whyever did he treat Wild Bill like thet?”
“We’ll know in a few minutes. Ah!” the scout added, noticing Wild Bill’s breast expand convulsively, “he’s coming to himself.”