"The place war gutted, as you say yours war," continued Lute, "and Bob war nowhere."
"The red devils had been there," added Dorsey. "We counted the tracks of some ten of them."
Fatigued as I was, I at once proposed starting for Bob's cabin. The memory I have already alluded to, gave me a sharp twinge of commiseration for any unlucky fellow who might be treated to a similar phase of personal experience.
CHAPTER XI.
Lots of Pluck—One of the Rangers Killed—Thinking of a Brother—Taking a Good Position—Loss of Hair, and what the Red-skins think of it—"Captain Jack's" or the Modoc Country—"Captain Jack's" Stronghold—On Our Way Back—Signal-fires and Some Strategy—Half a Hundred Scalps for One—The Pah-utes on the Warpath—Fishing for the Dead—The White Flag—Washo Bravery.
Bob's location was at some thirty miles' distance from my cabin, and we arrived there, shortly after the dazzling rays of the morning sun were blindingly increased in strength by the reflection from the snow.
Spencer and Dorsey had told us the bare fact. Butch', however, had a keener nose than they apparently possessed.