“You might watch a year, Buffler, an’ never git that aire chance. I’m gamblin’ that both doors aire guarded.”
“What’s the matter with settling the guard?”
“Ter do that ye’d hev ter pay yer respecks to a mob of ’Paches. O’ course, they aire fillin’ up ther hall.”
“Nonsense, Pete. It is more likely that the most of them are in the room where the windows are, looking out into the inclosure. Come, let’s go back. There is more chance of winning out, now that you are with me.”
“I’ll go ye, Buffler,” said Alkali Pete promptly. “Ye may be right. I hope ye aire; but right er wrong, I’m at yer back until yer stummick caves in.”
“Thank you,” responded the king of scouts heartily. “And now for it.”
The two scouts reached the cellar without trouble. The trapdoor through which Alkali Pete had descended was open, and, climbing upon Buffalo Bill’s broad shoulders, the lanky plainsman looked into the room. It was vacant. The dead body of the outlaw had been removed.
“I shore don’t like ther looks o’ things,” whispered Pete to his comrade. “Ther body war thar when I lit out fer ther tunnel, an’ it bein’ gone sartinly shows that ther ’Paches know I hev vamosed. Mebbe they aire waitin’ fer me ter come back, an’ mebbe thar’s a bullet waitin’ fer ther man that crawls inter that aire room.”
“I don’t believe they expect you to come back,” replied Buffalo Bill. “Why should they? You were a prisoner, and you escaped. Is it the usual caper for a prisoner to voluntarily return to the room of imprisonment?”
“Ye talk mighty fine, Buffler, but all ther same, I’m plumb leery of that aire room.”