“You know these savages,” he said harshly to Holmes. “Their coming was not unexpected. Do they play a part in this villainous scheme of yours?”
“It can do me no harm to answer that question,” replied the villain, with a malicious grin. “They are friends of mine, and I knew they were coming.”
“Why have they come? You did not need them to aid you in the murder of Matt Holmes, nor in the abduction of Myra Wilton.”
“No”—the grin broadening—“but I need them to assist me in taking care of the girl. She is to be the bride of Raven Feather, the chief.”
“Then I reckon she is with them now.”
“If she isn’t she ought to be. I left her with them when I made my sneak to prospect this cabin.”
“Did the Indians know that I was here?”
“No, neither did I know you were here when I started for the cabin. I knew some man, wounded, was here, but my notion was that the man was my Uncle Matt.”
A voice from without caused Buffalo Bill to look up quickly.
“Raven Feather would speak with the great white warrior, Buffalo Bill,” were the words, spoken in the Navaho tongue, that reached the scout’s ears.