“That’s jest what I see, too—nothing; and Scar-face Conover ought ter be layin’ thar, hadn’t he? Whar is he? Call ther roll, Buffler.”
Buffalo Bill looked about, and off over the surrounding country.
The sun had not yet risen, and a gray haze, of early dawn, hid much of the rugged landscape from his view.
“Cayuse?” he called, a strange quaver in his voice.
“Ai, Pa-e-has-ka.”
“Yuppah!”
“Huh!”
“Chappo!”
“Wuh!”
“Pedro!”