His judgment was good in this case, too. He had not been lying in wait an hour when he saw two mounted figures coming along the valley toward his station. Dark as it was down here, he could make out their outlines sufficiently to know that one was an Indian and the other was a white man. They came to the point where the troopers had diverged from Boyd Bennett’s trail, and there halted to whisper together.
From where he lay in the rocks, Cody could see the fire blazing in the mouth of the cave up in the gorge. He knew the men below him could see it, too. Writhing down the hill, like a serpent between the boulders, the scout reached a point where he could overhear something of what the Indian and the white man said.
“Return and bring them to this place. The hour must be no later than midnight,” the white man was saying in a commanding manner.
“It shall be as my brother says,” the redskin muttered.
“My men will advance and draw their first fire—perhaps get them out of the cave. You say there is no chance of getting in from the rear?”
“No Sioux would venture, if it were possible. That cavern was the abode of a great spirit at one time.”
“Ha! Very well. Do as I have bid you. You and your braves hold back if you must. But if we draw the badgers, we can count upon you to pitch in?”
“It is as my brother says.”
“All right! Off with you. I await my men here.”
The redskin twitched his pony’s head about, and rode softly away. After standing a moment in the path, the white man’s horse was turned out upon a bit of sward, and Cody knew that the fellow dismounted. He evidently proposed to remain near and watch the cave until reenforcements arrived.