“There is a screw loose somewhere,” the king of scouts remarked, with a clouded brow. “Have you seen an Apache since you came here?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Black Wing knew that five o’clock was the time for the confab over the treaty, did he?”
“Sure.”
“Then something has happened to him. Send one of your Comanches down close to the cliff and have him call to Black Wing.”
“I’ll go myself.”
Wild Bill ran to the base of the cliff and shouted: “Black Wing! Are you there?”
No answer. The call was repeated. Still no answer.
Astonished beyond measure, Wild Bill returned to Buffalo Bill and the waiting Comanches. “I don’t believe there’s a soul up the cliff,” he said to the king of scouts.
“I am of your opinion. Here, hook onto Black-face Ned for me, and I’ll soon solve the riddle.”