“The Yelping Crew. Appropriate name, isn’t it?”
“Very,” said Buffalo Bill dryly. The leader of the Crew lazily lighted a cigarette, then tossed paper and tobacco pouch to the prisoner.
“We yelp to some purpose,” the strange man continued. “During the last year we have wiped out seventy Apaches.”
“Then you cannot be an enemy of mine or an enemy of the United States government?”
“No-o,” was the slow reply. “I am not your enemy, and yet I am not quite ready to say I am your friend.”
“How can that be? You must be one thing or the other?”
“Let me explain,” returned the leader of the Yelping Crew composedly. “You were found with two of the worst rascals in America. These fellows, Flag-pole Jack and Shorty Sands—you see, I know them—the pards of Black-face Ned, who is hand in glove with the Apaches. Thunder Cloud is with Black-face Ned now.”
“Beg pardon,” interrupted Buffalo Bill quickly, “but you are in error on two points. Thunder Cloud is not with Black-face Ned, and Thunder Cloud has been cast out by the Apaches.”
“I may not have literally struck it when I said Thunder Cloud is now with Ned,” replied the disguised white man calmly, “but I did strike it when I said Ned is thick with the Apaches. The chief has not been cast out by this tribe. He broke his parole, and was whipped like a dog, but his tribe did not turn on him for a little thing like that. On the contrary, his braves backed him up when he swore revenge. He has plotted to kill the captain who ordered the lashes and the colonel who approved the order.”
The king of scouts felt a cold chill strike his spine. “What is the colonel’s name?” he asked.