Buffalo Bill understood that his pard was making wild and half-humorous guesses, in lieu of something tangible to hit upon.
“Well, Hickok, we’ve made a beginning,” he said, with immense satisfaction; “and now we’ll turn back and get something to eat, and talk the thing over while getting ready for another start. These trails go straight toward the notch in the mountain there; we can see that from here.”
“And they were made last night.”
“Or early this morning.”
“But this doesn’t tell us anything about Conover, Pard Cody; what of him? Why did he make a sneak like that out of our camp?”
That was not easily answered.
The two pards met Nick Nomad at the edge of the sand, where the old trapper had halted and dismounted.
“What yer goin’ ter do now?” was his querulous inquiry.
“We’ve found some trails that we’re going to follow, Nomad, as soon as we’ve had some breakfast,” Buffalo Bill informed him. “It isn’t healthy to begin a hard day’s work on an empty stomach, so you may open that war bag, while I start a fire here, and we’ll boil some coffee and have something to eat.”
Wild Bill, looking across the slope of the hills, saw the four Indians bunched together and staring down at the party of whites. He waved to them, and Little Cayuse started down the slope reluctantly.