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I'll fix it up in a minute." He stepped briskly to George; closed the door behind him. George said faintly: "Say it quick, Bill. Quick." "You've got it, old man. Got it." George rose to his feet; stretched his arms aloft; wildly waved them. The tremendous shout for which he opened his mouth was stayed upon his lips by Bill's warning finger. He hurled himself on a couch; rolled in ecstasy.
So now, though the words were few after the first noisy demonstration, they were the kind of words that are worth hearing, from man to man. Haig and Bill Craven presently compared notes in the matter of "busted" legs. Bill's had mended much sooner than Haig's, which was quite easily understood, considering the great difference in their circumstances.
He's been shot more'n any feller I ever heard of. He's full of lead. Funny, because Bill's no troublehunter, an', like me, he'd rather run than shoot. But he's the best rustler Bland's got a grand rider, an' a wonder with cattle. An' see the tow-headed youngster. Thet's Kid Fuller, the kid of Bland's gang. Fuller has hit the pace hard, an' he won't last the year out on the border.
The other man limped up the farther bank and continued straight on without looking back. The man in the stream watched him. His lips trembled a little, so that the rough thatch of brown hair which covered them was visibly agitated. His tongue even strayed out to moisten them. "Bill!" he cried out. It was the pleading cry of a strong man in distress, but Bill's head did not turn.
Ain't quite as peart as one of the other Bobs I could tell you about. Now, boys, you are all right, but I want you to understand -well, since Moses hit the rock!" he cried, scrambling to his feet. "Hold on, now, don't you tech me don't know whether you are Bill or Bill's ghost. By jings, if it ain't Bill, I'm a calf's rennet. Since Moses hit the rock!"
One night we were on a boat that was putting off freight at the wharf-boat that lay at the mouth of Red River. Bill was in his element. He had a big pile of money up in front of him, and a large crowd intent on watching the game. Soon I noticed a fellow sitting at Bill's right who was fishing for one of the hundred-dollar bills, trying to coax it over to his side of the house.
The employees of the road numbered some twelve hundred, and Buffalo Bill's duty was to supply them with fresh meat, a most arduous task, and a dangerous one, for the Indians were constantly upon the war-path.
He was not so big as Mulcahy, or such a wrestler as Dougherty, or as skilled a boxer as McGraw; he knew little of the singlestick and nothing of knife- or gun-play; and yet his combination of strength, endurance and bullet-headed pluck made him by general voice "the best man in Links." Bill's temper was fiery; he loved a fight.
In some mysterious way we seem to feel that even if Shakespeare was wrong about Falstaff, Falstaff existed and was real; that even if Dickens was wrong about Micawber, Micawber existed and was real. So we feel that there is in the great salt-sea of Yuba Bill's humour as good fish as ever came out of it.
He is a tremendous old Turk in his house, and she is a little mincing woman; and they've made Gus he's one of us, you know a horrid sneak, and think it's all my bad company and Bill's. By-the-by, Cherry, Gus Shapcote asked me if my senior wasn't spoony about 'I nope you told him to mind his own business! cried Geraldine, with a great start of indignation.
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