“I will run down below and get my weapons,” Cody said to Meinhold. “I would not lose them for a trifle.” He turned to execute this purpose, and as he got to the head of the companionway a tall negro came rushing up the stairs and butted into him. He was Joe Congo, the steward of the vessel, and one of the best specimens of the African race to be met with anywhere. “No time to go below, Massa Cody,” the black cried to him. “De ole ship go down plumb quick now.” Buffalo Bill would have gone, nevertheless; but at that moment another wave came sweeping over the vessel, carrying Joe Congo off his feet. The border king, who was gripping a rail on the companion, caught hold of the man with an iron grip, just in time to prevent him from being swept overboard. “Golly, massa!” said Congo, as soon as he could recover his breath and speak. “Dat was a near t’ing! I owe you a life. Maybe I pay it some day.” “All right, Congo. Don’t worry about that. I must go below for my guns.” As he was about to do so a voice sang out in stentorian tones that sounded clearly above the roaring of the storm: “All for the boats! We can’t wait any longer.” “Leave de guns, massa,” said Congo. “T’ink ob your life.” Buffalo Bill concluded that this was good advice to follow under the circumstances. Helping Congo along, he hurried across the slippery deck to the side where one of the boats was even then being launched. He helped the three women into it, and then motioned to Congo to enter, following himself. The other boats were being got away at the same time, and in a few moments all the crew and passengers who survived had left the doomed vessel, which sank below the waves with a heavy lurch after they had got a little distance away from it. The danger of their position was understood by all, and it is probable that not a soul in the company expected to set foot on dry land again. All through the long night, however, the men battled manfully at the oars trying to keep the head of the boats to the waves and avoid being capsized. Again and again large volumes of water poured over the sides and had to be bailed out. It seemed as though the night would never wear through, but at last it ended, and with the first rosy streaks of dawn the sea moderated somewhat. The welcome sun revived the sinking spirits of the worn-out men in the boats, and they looked around eagerly for signs of land, but they could see none. They had little or no knowledge of their location. They had been somewhere near the center of the lake when they were wrecked, but the only men who could have given them any exact idea of their bearings--the captain and the mate--were both dead. Buffalo Bill, who had been looking around constantly, in accordance with his usual habit, suddenly exclaimed: “Hello, what’s the matter with that boat? She’s going over, by thunder! Bad management there! See!”