While he was eating, the king of scouts glanced at the feet of the outlaw. The toes were turned in, and the man’s nickname was at once explained. “What do they—your pards call you?” the scout asked.
The outlaw scowled. “They shore aim ter be funny,” he answered. “My name is Isaac Alexander, but ther blame’ fools call me Pigeon-toed Ike.”
“Been here long?”
“No; I blew in yesterday.”
“What’s Ned going to do with me? Did he tell you?”
“He ’lowed he was goin’ ter send you pikin’ up ther flume.”
“When is the interesting event scheduled to take place?”
“Don’ ye get gay, Cody. Yer up agin’ ther real thing this clatter.”
“It looks like it,” soberly admitted the prisoner. A pause, and then he asked: “Has Thunder Cloud’s outfit returned?”
“No, an’ Ned’s gittin’ oneasy. Maybe we’ll light out fer ther cliff if Thunder Cloud fails ter show up inside of an hour.”