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CHAPTER VII.
THE ACE OF CLUBS.
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“We’ve got through, Jack!”
“We sure have, Pard Cody.”
“Anybody hurt?”
“I got a couple of nicks from the pesky arrows,” said Omohondreau. “But, shucks! them Injuns can’t shoot with a white man’s gun worth a hoot in a rainwater barrel.... Yuh lost Buckskin, Cody.”
“And sorry enough I am to lose the poor creature. He’s been a good nag.”
“How about you, Pard Cody?”
“A scratch from a bullet in my left shoulder. It’s bleeding a little, but I won’t stop to fool with it now. And I got four arrows through my clothes. Oh, we were lucky!”
“Betcher life! We’ve been favored mightily.”
“Thank God for it,” said Buffalo Bill devoutly. “I don’t expect often to come through two such circuses in one day—and have nothing worse to show for it.”
“Right. Now, old man, what’s the program?”
“Keep on. I don’t feel safe as long as we’re at the bottom of this hole in the hills.”
“That’s all right. But we haven’t got but one horse——”
“I was thinking of that.”
“And your thoughts?”