“You are almost at the end of them now,” answered the scout, in a kindly voice. “It is always darkest just before dawn, you know.”
“The day of hope is a long while breaking for us,” said Mrs. Dunbar.
“It will be all the brighter when it finally comes. Let’s go out in front, Perry, and wait there for developments.”
There was a bench near the front door of the cabin. Here Perry and Buffalo Bill seated themselves. Little Cayuse sat just inside the door, his head bowed over and his arms folded. Suddenly he broke into a crooning chant that came weirdly to the ears of the rancher and the scout.
“What’s that?” asked Perry; “what’s the boy doing, Buffalo Bill?”
“He is calling on his fathers and his Piute gods. He wants the Great Spirit to be kind to Nate Dunbar and the white squaw. Listen!”
“Ta-vi kwai-nant-si ya-ga-wats
Si-chom-pa kung-war-ru
Tu-yung-wi-ra-vats.”
The strange words floated out of the door, not unmusically, although they were little more than a whisper.