The prisoners were sent first, a windlass at the top furnishing the motive power.
Buffalo Bill had been in many of these dwellings, and found the one that received him to be like the others he had seen. All the furniture was of stone, but to the utensils of the Aztecs had been added many of the modern implements of easy, practical convenience.
There were three large rooms, each provided with a cliff outlook, and furnished with stone seats and a plethora of bear and buffalo skins.
But one Wolf was in the dwelling to receive the prisoners. He was an Indian, and never opened his mouth until the windlass had performed its office.
He then addressed the leader in the tongue of a nation that had been considered as practically extinct for many years.
“It is well,” he said.
“Comanche,” muttered Buffalo Bill, under his breath. “These reds may turn out to be friends. Uncle Sam has had no trouble with them for a long time. I didn’t know there was a single one of them in Arizona.”
Shorty Sands and Flag-pole Jack were placed under guard in one of the rooms. The king of scouts was taken to another, and soon found himself alone with the leader.
The latter threw himself upon the stone floor near a couch of skins that served as the resting place of the prisoner.
“Well,” he remarked slowly, “how does it strike you?”