The king of scouts looked up the mountainside, but saw no sign of a human being. Yet it was to be believed that the persons he was seeking were concealed behind one of the many huge rocks that strewed the steep incline.
He whistled, and, receiving no answer, shouted in a voice that could be heard far up the mountain.
Still no answer. “Pshaw!” he said to himself, in disgust, “of course the prisoners are gagged. They could not answer if they wanted to.”
After a short debate with himself he returned to the Indian.
Thunder Cloud was sitting up, and, though his face was flushed, Buffalo Bill knew by the state of his eyes that the danger point had been passed.
“You are out of the woods,” he said kindly, as he came and stood by Thunder Cloud’s side. “In a little while you will be able to walk. But you won’t be in shape for work for several days.”
The Indian’s head was lowered. He was looking fixedly at the ground. The king of scouts waited for the redskin to speak. Several moments passed before Thunder Cloud raised his head and looked his rescuer full in the face. “Thunder Cloud owes his life to the great white warrior. Thunder Cloud must pay the debt.”
Buffalo Bill said nothing in reply. But there was smiling appreciation in his expression.
“Thunder Cloud is no more the enemy of the great white warrior, Pa-e-has-ka,” the Apache chief slowly continued.
“Glad to hear it,” replied the king of scouts earnestly. “This deadly enmity business isn’t what it is cracked up to be.”