The scout took off his hat and fanned the air in front of Wild Bill’s face. Then, presently, Wild Bill’s eyelids flickered open, and his dazed eyes stared upward at the scout.
“By gorry!” were Wild Bill’s first words, “you were a deuce of a long time getting to Sun Dance, Cody.”
“We were, that,” answered the scout, considerably relieved, “but we got here at last.”
“And right in the nick,” added Wild Bill, floundering to a sitting posture; “another ten minutes and it would have been all day with me. Got anything to eat or drink?”
“Nick,” said the scout, “go to the shaft and tell Wah-coo-tah that we have found Wild Bill, and that he is hungry and thirsty. See what she can do.”
“On ther jump,” returned Nomad, taking one of the candles and scrambling for the shaft.
“You’ve evidently had a rough time of it, Hickok,” observed the scout.
“Rough? That’s too mild a word. What day is this?”
“Wednesday afternoon.”
“And I was walled up in that stub-end of a crosscut Monday night. It seemed like a year instead of two nights and going on two days. Woosh! Of all the tortures that have ever been tried on me, that was the worst.”