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“That packhorse is wounded. Why doesn’t he leave it?” cried one of the officers. “It is delaying him—can’t the fellow see it?”
At that moment the commander shouted:
“Captain Keyes, take your troop to the rescue of that brave fellow!”
“With pleasure, sir! I was about to ask your permission to do just that,” declared the junior officer.
The bugle sounded, but its notes were drowned in a sudden wild shout of joy that rose from the two hundred inmates of the fort. Another officer, with a field-glass at his eye, had suddenly turned and shouted:
“It is Buffalo Bill, the Border King!”
CHAPTER II.
THE BORDER KING.
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The wild cheers that greeted the recognition of the daring gantlet runner came in frenzied roars, the piping voices of children, the treble notes of women, and the deep bass of the men mingling in a swelling chorus that rose higher and higher.
The Border King, as he had been called, heard the sound. He understood that it was in his welcome, and he fairly stood up in his stirrups and waved his sombrero, while the horses dashed on at the same mad pace.