Going over to Thunder Cloud’s side, Buffalo Bill stooped, and said sternly: “Where did you put Colonel Hayden?”
The Indian, who was in full possession of his senses, promptly answered: “He should be hanging from the big cottonwood at the lower end of the valley.”
Sybil Hayden uttered a despairing cry. “No, no,” she wailed, “you couldn’t have sent him out to die.”
“Of course he couldn’t,” said the scout consolingly. “He is mad, and he wants to torment you.” Then to the Indian: “Why do you lie? Don’t you realize that you are in a mighty ticklish position?”
“Thunder Cloud has spoken the truth as it appears to him. The father of the white maiden went off with Black Wing and the Apache braves, and the order of Thunder Cloud was that the white man who is responsible for Thunder Cloud’s disgrace should be hanged like a dog from the cottonwood tree.”
“The order may not have been carried out.”
The Apache chief smiled grimly. But he said no word in reply.
Buffalo Bill tried to comfort the colonel’s daughter. “From all accounts,” he said, “Black Wing is a decent sort of an Indian. He was bossing the Apache outfit when he left for the cliff. He wants peace. Is it in the line of peace to do an act that would bring the military down upon him? Hardly. So cheer up. I’ll bet anything that your father is now alive and in good hands.”
Somewhat reassured by these words, the girl dried her eyes and insisted upon an immediate departure for the home of the Comanches.
“I’ll go as soon as I have attended to Black-face Ned and have found out what has become of my friend Alkali Pete. Remain here, and in half an hour, at latest, I’ll be ready to depart.”