However this was, certainly no red warrior was better known and feared than Black Buffalo.
And it was into his hands that Pomp had fallen.
Small wonder then that Frank Reade, Jr., was much alarmed, and even inclined to believe his faithful servitor’s life lost.
The merciless Black Buffalo would not be likely to spare Pomp’s life. The savages had captured him alive simply to drag him into the hills and torture him to death.
Barney began to bemoan the situation in violent terms.
“Och hone, the poor soul,” he cried, “he was a black naygur but he had a white heart jist that same. Be jabers av’ we cud only get near enough to the red omadhouns I’d loike to shoot ivery mother’s son av thim.”
“Well, I don’t see why the red fiends haven’t the best of us,” declared Frank.
“It luks that same, Misther Frank,” wailed Barney.
“I don’t see how we can ever get through that pass. The Steam Man might go there, but the wagon won’t.”
This was true enough.