By the time Buffalo Bill and Hickok had discovered the cañon, old Nomad had rounded the bend in hot pursuit of the flying Navi.
Price and his partner were making the best time possible, and apparently hoped to outstrip their pursuers. If they knew the locality they could hardly have selected a better place in which to traverse a long stretch of country without the possibility of being observed from any direction.
Little Cayuse was determined to keep the fellows in view at any cost, and took long chances of an ambush as he darted around sharp angles at the top of Navi’s speed. Cayuse trusted to Pa-e-has-ka to do the rest if he—Cayuse—could only perform the task he had been given.
The Indian boy did not turn his head, but he knew that Nomad was closely following, for he heard the trapper’s cries of encouragement to his steed.
Cayuse’s black eyes shone as he patted Navi’s neck and said:
“Hide-rack all same heap clumsy pile bones. No ketchum Navi.”
After an hour’s hard riding in a straight-away stretch, Cayuse saw the fugitives for a little while, and just as they were approaching an angle one of the ridden ponies fell. Both horse and rider rolled over and got up injured, for both limped. They passed the corner out of view slowly, and a moment later Cayuse saw a man with a rifle come into sight again for a moment and then jump back.
Little Cayuse halted and waited for Nomad.
“Hain’t gittin’ bashful, be ye, Cayuse?” greeted the trapper.
Cayuse told what he had seen.