Nomad had doubled himself up in a chair in an uncommunicative way, and sat staring at Conover under his shaggy brows, taking his measure; apparently the old trapper did not like his looks any too well.
But Wild Bill was in a different and amiable mood.
For a few moments they discussed the accidental shooting of the Mexican woman; after which, without preliminary, Buffalo Bill introduced the subject of the kidnaped boy.
“That’s why we are here,” he explained. “I am under instructions from the commander at Fort Grant to take up this matter at once; which means, probably, a trip into the Cumbres in pursuit of the kidnaping redskins. You’re familiar with those mountains, I believe?”
Conover’s puffed face took on a deeper red.
“Just say that all over again, Cody,” he requested, for the purpose of getting time to think.
Buffalo Bill rehearsed the story of the kidnaping in all its details, so far as they were known, mentioning what had been said about old Fire Top and his Toltec Indians, called the Red Feathers.
“Tell me what you know about old Fire Top and his Red Feathers,” he said in conclusion, “and what it was made you think Fire Top probably had a hand in his present case.”
Conover was still hesitating; and after that question was asked so squarely he did not speak for some seconds. Once or twice he put his hand up to the scarlet scar on his forehead, apparently not knowing that he did it, and his hand trembled.
“Could I talk with you alone about this, Cody?” he said finally.