“So-o I am shodt py der headt in!” He stared at the hole in the ground marking the empty cache. “Unt he haf daken off der goldt? Vale, vor bermitting dot I oughdt to pe shodt more as I am now.” But the baron had not been robbed. He looked about, but saw no one; then he examined his wound again. It was but a scratch on the top of the head; but it had knocked off his hat and dropped him senseless. The wound had bled freely and the baron discovered that his face was dyed crimson. “Dot iss vodt haf made him t’ink I am deadt,” he thought; “vhen he seen dher bloodt vlowing like dot he iss shure I am a goneness undt he tond’t do noddings more; only he yoost dake der goldt unt gidt oudt. Yidt I t’ink me dot a doctor petter loogk at dot pullet sgratches pooty kvick.” He knew that it was useless to think of following Jackson Dane; in his present condition the baron was not equal to it. “Uff I kan gidt indo town I vill haf Puffalo Pill unt Nomat dackle der yob vot I had made a messes uff,” he said. “Yaw! I am no goodt.” The baron climbed to his feet, staggered a few times in trying to go forward; then got a new grip of his strength and started off at a pretty good gait. Now and then he experienced a sensation as if he were falling over on his face; at other times he felt as if he must sit down and rest. But Dutch grit carried him through and got him into the town. Buffalo Bill and Nomad were at the Eagle House and astonished they were, too, when they saw him in that condition. “Whoop!” Nomad roared. “What in the----” “Kvit idt!” commanded the baron, waving his hand. “I am shodt, but I tond’t vandt nopoty to knowed idt.” “Wow!” Buffalo Bill and the trapper caught the baron by the arms and drew him hastily into the scout’s room. “Bad hurt?” asked the trapper. “Dake a loogk, unt seen vor yourselluf.” Buffalo Bill made a hasty examination, asking questions, with Nomad, while he was doing it. “Idt vos der Denfer dedecdive,” said the baron. “Waugh!” Nomad rumbled. “How’d et happen?” “Vale, he hadt a bistol, unt he bulled der triggers. How does idt effer habben, vhen a vellers is shodt--huh?” “I mean----” “I am in der vay vhen der pullet gomes--dot iss vot _I_ mean.” “Stop yer guffin’! Is his skull bu’sted, Buffler? Blame ef he don’t seem like it; acts like he’d lost what little sense he ever had.” “You vix oop dot voundt fairst, Cody, unt dhen I vill do some dalkings. Der ploodt is ruining dhis nice brosbector’s suidt uff cloding, v’ich gost me dwendy tollars.” “Yer aind’t keerin’ fer yer bu’sted headpiece?” said Nomad, with a grin. “I don’t wonder! ’Tain’t wu’th much.” When the scout had bathed and washed out the wound, he finished his examination, and told the baron that it was but a scalp wound, which he did not consider at all serious. “I think I can fix you up, without any need of sending you to a doctor.”