“Yas, sah, and it w’u’d hev been a big chance, too, as I has got but one load in my gun an’ one in my revolver.” “Well, I am glad you didn’t take the chances; but I would have found you, anyhow, as I intended to camp right here for the night.” “Den I is sabed, sah, I is sabed, fer I gits somet’in to eat, an’ sabin’ me, sah, means a heap, fer dere is lives dependin’ dis werry minit upon dis nigger.” “Where---- But you must be fed first, and then you can tell me. Sit there, and I’ll soon have a fire, and cook supper.” “Boss, I is mos’ so weak I has got ter let you do de work, an’ you see, sah, I is wounded, too.” “Poor fellow!” Buffalo Rill glanced at a bullet wound in the negro’s side. Hastily the scout set to work, pitched his camp in a secluded spot on the bank of a little stream, and, taking from his pack saddle a pair of extra blankets, he spread them on the ground and told the negro to lie down. He quickly gathered some wood, built a fire among some rocks, and, after staking out the horses, started to prepare a venison steak, bacon, hoecake, and coffee for supper. The negro would have eaten ravenously, so nearly starved was he, only the scout made him go slow, and did not give him half what he craved. “I’ll give you some more after a while; but now I’ll build a shelter for you, as I think you’ll have to rest here for a few days, at least.” The shelter was built and made comfortable, and then the scout cut off from the swollen, blistered, and bruised feet the deerskin covering that served as shoes, took a liniment from his pack, and, after having the man stand in the water for some time, put it upon them, after which he dressed the wound in his side, which, though painful, was not serious. “Who gave you this?” “A bad white man, sah, who pretended ter be my friend, but arter he heerd my story, he shot me, an’ he meant ter kill me, only I got one in on him, sah. “Then I heerd a man call out, an’ voices talking, so I lit out, thinkin’ they must be his frien’s, an’ I come rapid, sah, thinkin’ I c’u’d reach the fort afore I died.” Buffalo Bill was now convinced that the negro had a secret of importance to tell, so he gave him another steak, some hoecake, and a cup of coffee, and watched him eat it with the look of a half-starved animal. “I am mighty glad I met you, my man. What is your name?” “Black Bill, dey calls me, sah.” “All right, that is one bond between us, for my name is Bill. Did you ever hear of Buffalo Bill?” “Is I hear ob him, sah? Indeed I has, an’ dere ain’t nobody livin’ dat ain’t.” “Well, I am Buffalo Bill.” The look on the negro’s face at this information fairly startled the scout. “You is de very man I’s lookin’ fer,” exclaimed the negro finally, after he had recovered from his surprise. “Yas, sah, I knows you is Massa Buf’ler Bill, I does, as he tole me jist how ye looked.” “Who did?” “De gemman who sent me ter find yer, sah.” “Who was it?” “Massa John Hill, sah.” “Ah! My old friend, John Hill?”